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.
Monday, March 31, 2008
A Thing, Plus Some Other Things.
This is when I remind you that Three on the Third is coming around again! If you didn't know (gasp!) or forgot (gasp!), Three on the Third is when you draw three comics about your life on the third day of the month. It is not very hard and it is a lot of fun. April 3rd will be the second Three on the Third; you can see the comics from the first one here. Note that artistic ability is not a requirement. Do it! Do it.
I keep meaning to blog about things besides that thing, and now that I am finally blogging I have no excuse not to. So here are some other things:
Dryer report: I took it to the repair shop and they said, "There's nothing wrong with it! Check your exterior vent." So I replaced my ancient exterior vent, which was exasperating because I am not very good at that kind of thing. But after all that, my dryer still smells like burning. I don't know what's up with that, but it makes me nervous.
Discardia report: I have already discarded a substantial list of things, if not a particularly impressive volume of things. Perhaps my most impressive feat was to pass off an old computer, a hefty bag of peripherals, and two large boxes of software to my parents. They did the same to me several years ago ("Here, you have a house now, want these?"), so I am just returning the favor ("Here, you added on to your house, want these back?"). We all want this stuff (mostly old favorite games) to remain within reach; we just don't know where to put it all. Well, no tagbacks, Parents!
This week, I will clean out the fridge the night before trash day, and hhw and I will venture to a Hazardous Waste Disposal Facility to get rid of old batteries and fluorescent bulbs and maybe a little asbestos. Saturday the 5th is the last day of Discardia. The idea is not to buy or bring anything into your home on that day. I'm curious to see how that will go. Should I put a "no thank you" sign over my mail slot?
Job report (current): My part-time work for my jewelry-making cousin continues to buy the groceries, but hasn't made much of a dent in the bills. However, continued persistence with an unresponsive temp agency has finally landed me a few days of clerical work. I am fervently hoping this marks the end of the long dry spell of underemployment.
Job report (future): Summer plans are finally looking definite enough to blog about: I have two cousins (other side of the family) who run a fishing charter on Maui, and they're hiring me on as crew June through August. It's not sailing, but it's fun work for good money, and I'm extremely excited about it. In case you're wondering if this job will be anything like my last boat job, the answer is no, they are pretty much opposite in every way.
And in case you're wondering if all six of my first cousins are outrageously talented, attractive, generous, intelligent, fun, and useful to know, the answer is yes. (As my sister once said: "I hope we're not a disappointment to them.")
I keep meaning to blog about things besides that thing, and now that I am finally blogging I have no excuse not to. So here are some other things:
Dryer report: I took it to the repair shop and they said, "There's nothing wrong with it! Check your exterior vent." So I replaced my ancient exterior vent, which was exasperating because I am not very good at that kind of thing. But after all that, my dryer still smells like burning. I don't know what's up with that, but it makes me nervous.
Discardia report: I have already discarded a substantial list of things, if not a particularly impressive volume of things. Perhaps my most impressive feat was to pass off an old computer, a hefty bag of peripherals, and two large boxes of software to my parents. They did the same to me several years ago ("Here, you have a house now, want these?"), so I am just returning the favor ("Here, you added on to your house, want these back?"). We all want this stuff (mostly old favorite games) to remain within reach; we just don't know where to put it all. Well, no tagbacks, Parents!
This week, I will clean out the fridge the night before trash day, and hhw and I will venture to a Hazardous Waste Disposal Facility to get rid of old batteries and fluorescent bulbs and maybe a little asbestos. Saturday the 5th is the last day of Discardia. The idea is not to buy or bring anything into your home on that day. I'm curious to see how that will go. Should I put a "no thank you" sign over my mail slot?
Job report (current): My part-time work for my jewelry-making cousin continues to buy the groceries, but hasn't made much of a dent in the bills. However, continued persistence with an unresponsive temp agency has finally landed me a few days of clerical work. I am fervently hoping this marks the end of the long dry spell of underemployment.
Job report (future): Summer plans are finally looking definite enough to blog about: I have two cousins (other side of the family) who run a fishing charter on Maui, and they're hiring me on as crew June through August. It's not sailing, but it's fun work for good money, and I'm extremely excited about it. In case you're wondering if this job will be anything like my last boat job, the answer is no, they are pretty much opposite in every way.
And in case you're wondering if all six of my first cousins are outrageously talented, attractive, generous, intelligent, fun, and useful to know, the answer is yes. (As my sister once said: "I hope we're not a disappointment to them.")
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The Other Holiday Season.
Man, the holidays, they can really wear you out.
March 14: Pi Day
I ate a pear-almond tart, because I didn't want that ate-a-whole-pie feeling.
March 15: The Ides
I bewared to the best of my ability. Did not get assassinated.
March 16: "The Controversial Latvian Legion Day" (Wikipedia)
I observed a hiatus from celebrating.
March 17: St. Patrick's Day
I avoided going downtown.
March 18: Flag Day (Aruba)
I did my taxes.
March 19: Discardia begins
I sent a book away in the mail, and made plans for the further disposal of unwanted items.
A word or two about Discardia: It is a festival of casting aside. It is a quarterly sloughing off of the unnecessary. It is such a very good idea. If you have too much stuff, I encourage you to celebrate Discardia with me. This season it is two and a half weeks long! Just think how much stuff you can get rid of in two and a half weeks.
If you do not have too much stuff, do you want some of mine?
March 14: Pi Day
I ate a pear-almond tart, because I didn't want that ate-a-whole-pie feeling.
March 15: The Ides
I bewared to the best of my ability. Did not get assassinated.
March 16: "The Controversial Latvian Legion Day" (Wikipedia)
I observed a hiatus from celebrating.
March 17: St. Patrick's Day
I avoided going downtown.
March 18: Flag Day (Aruba)
I did my taxes.
March 19: Discardia begins
I sent a book away in the mail, and made plans for the further disposal of unwanted items.
A word or two about Discardia: It is a festival of casting aside. It is a quarterly sloughing off of the unnecessary. It is such a very good idea. If you have too much stuff, I encourage you to celebrate Discardia with me. This season it is two and a half weeks long! Just think how much stuff you can get rid of in two and a half weeks.
If you do not have too much stuff, do you want some of mine?
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Three on the Third Roundup!
Hey, how was your March 3rd? Mine was pretty terrible, but I got some good comics out of it. No suffering is wasted if it's transmogrified into ART, right?
Riiiight. Anyway, I am thrilled by how many other people participated in The Inaugural Three on the Third Challenge by making three journal comics on the third day of the (third!) month. The other entries I've seen so far are fantastic! I will update this post with links as more appear online.
You guys! You are so cool.
Riiiight. Anyway, I am thrilled by how many other people participated in The Inaugural Three on the Third Challenge by making three journal comics on the third day of the (third!) month. The other entries I've seen so far are fantastic! I will update this post with links as more appear online.
You guys! You are so cool.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Leap Day is a Day for Leaping!
Happy Leap Day, everybody! Remember to leap today. At least once. C'mon, it won't hurt... I didn't say you had to leap off of anything.
This is the last day of February, which means that the Three on the Third challenge begins in only three days. To participate in Three on the Third, all you have to do is draw three journal comics on the third day of the month. Not every month, unless you want to; just a month. They don't have to be well-drawn. They don't have to be funny. I'm not going to fact-check them to see if they're even true. They just have to be pictures and words about your life, as written and drawn/rendered by you. Making comics about other people who are part of your life is also okay, of course. And while the idea is to record what happens on that day, you can fudge on that too and no one will think less of you.
So, not very hard, right? You should give it a try. And yeah, you could put it off to do another month, but then you'd miss the auspiciousness of trying Three on the Third in the third month. Oooo....
Now that you've decided to participate (yay!), please keep in mind that it will be a lot harder if you try to do all the comics at once. So avoid putting them all off until the end of the day if you can possibly help it. Maybe try doing a morning comic, an afternoon comic, and an evening comic. That's what my plan is, anyway. Sharing your work online is appreciated, but optional; if you do, let me know if you want the URL to your comics included in future Three on the Third compendia or not.
In other news, the wire mesh on the heating vents is keeping the mice out quite effectively. Also, it turns out that a former roommate's husband works at a DIY ducting company, which is going to be extremely helpful when I venture into the Uncharted Realms beneath my house. I suspect he could probably even loan me a d20 if I needed it (which I, um, don't).
This is the last day of February, which means that the Three on the Third challenge begins in only three days. To participate in Three on the Third, all you have to do is draw three journal comics on the third day of the month. Not every month, unless you want to; just a month. They don't have to be well-drawn. They don't have to be funny. I'm not going to fact-check them to see if they're even true. They just have to be pictures and words about your life, as written and drawn/rendered by you. Making comics about other people who are part of your life is also okay, of course. And while the idea is to record what happens on that day, you can fudge on that too and no one will think less of you.
So, not very hard, right? You should give it a try. And yeah, you could put it off to do another month, but then you'd miss the auspiciousness of trying Three on the Third in the third month. Oooo....
Now that you've decided to participate (yay!), please keep in mind that it will be a lot harder if you try to do all the comics at once. So avoid putting them all off until the end of the day if you can possibly help it. Maybe try doing a morning comic, an afternoon comic, and an evening comic. That's what my plan is, anyway. Sharing your work online is appreciated, but optional; if you do, let me know if you want the URL to your comics included in future Three on the Third compendia or not.
In other news, the wire mesh on the heating vents is keeping the mice out quite effectively. Also, it turns out that a former roommate's husband works at a DIY ducting company, which is going to be extremely helpful when I venture into the Uncharted Realms beneath my house. I suspect he could probably even loan me a d20 if I needed it (which I, um, don't).
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
In This Case, My Enemy is a Varmint.
When I was a little kid, my favorite animal was the mouse. I identified with their shy and secret ways. Their tiny pink hands and soft furry bodies were the embodiment of Cute. I had a stack of children's fiction about mice, and a sizeable collection of mouse toys and figurines. I even had a file of cute mouse pictures that my mom and I had cut out of magazines and greeting cards.
I remember an exhibit at the Honolulu Zoo that made a big impression on me: it was a glass-walled mouse burrow, and you could see them running from chamber to chamber, this one full of food, that one full of sleepy mouse babies. I could have watched it all day. My parents' house, still fairly new at the time, was free of any kind of pest, so I didn't have a lot of contact with real-life mice.
All of which makes the following so excruciatingly ironic:
I was at least never going to resort to sticky mousetraps. A traditional snap-trap does the job quickly, and is also so incredibly cheap that there's no shame in throwing it away after one use. But when, night after night, you put out the snap-traps and find them unsprung but licked clean the next morning... well, you might start to wonder who's baiting whom. And when you find poop in your dish cupboard, you might even take it as a declaration of war.
Believe me, if negotiation was an option, I'd negotiate. But my enemy is a varmint, and a varmint will never quit. Ever. So I've spent a lot of time in the last several days studying their ways, thinking about their habits, trying to figure out what they can and can't, will and won't do. For example, they tend not to crawl up flat vertical surfaces, but they will readily climb any sort of cord or string. They got to the dish cupboard by way of a long phone cord, which I now realize was like a little mouse-sized ladder with a sign saying "Fun Times This Way!"
But much of mouse behavior remains a mystery to me. I mean, what's the deal with my roommate/renter's room? There's no food in there, but for some reason it's their favorite hangout. We were both horrified to discover the quantities of mouse poop between her bed and the wall. (Bad, bad landlady!) She has been surprisingly stoic about all of this, but she's sleeping on the spare mattress in my room (on the second floor, where there's still no sign of mice) until I can assure her that she will have no more rodent visitors.
And yes, I am now using sticky traps, which are awful and inhumane and leave you to finish the job yourself, and I will spare you the details of that horror. But until the problem of mouse access has been resolved, they seem to be my best option. Live traps are impractical; wild mammals can find their way home over ridiculously long distances, and I'm not driving across town every day to release the night's catch in someone else's yard. Poison's no good; then you've got tiny corpses all over, and you have to go find them to get rid of the smell.
I'm kind of surprised at the number of people who have suggested (or even offered) a cat as a solution. While I like most cats, they bring their own complications, and I have several very good reasons for not wanting to live with one. The bottom line, though, is that a cat is not a solution to the mouse problem, any more than traps are. It is a mouse mitigating device, an abatement factor, if you will. Even if the cat kills all the mice on my entire property, there will always be more mice. The world has an effectively infinite supply of mice. Cats are, in fact, probably the reason that this house is still so mouse-permeable: they've dealt with the symptoms and allowed their owners to ignore the root of the problem.
The root of the problem, of course, is that mice can get inside at all. I live in a modern house. I do not have a thatched roof or log walls. Therefore, the number of entry points into my house is finite. And while sealing up the outside of my house may not be possible without re-siding, the number of entry points to the interior of my house is actually quite limited. When these are effectively sealed, then the mouse problem will be solved.
Mice can theoretically pass into the interior of my house through: a) that hole in the laundry room drywall where the fusebox used to be; b) gaps in the construction of the closets; c) possibly the dryer vent; d) heating vents. All of these entry points can be mouseproofed. Unfortunately, last night I observed a mouse using option (d), which is by far the most daunting to fix. I am seriously daunted every time I think about it.
My heating ducts run through a crawlspace below the house which teems with rodent and arachnid life, and which for some reason is partly covered with that really jaggedy porous red lava rock that you see in cheap landscaping. I look at it and my knees twitch reflexively. I can't even see half of the crawlspace from my small cellar area because of how the ducts are placed; who knows what marvels await me in that sunless realm. The ducts themselves are sloppily installed and draped half-heartedly with random scraps of insulation, which is surely the ancestral home of generations of rodents. Oh, and did I mention the asbestos? Thanks, Previous Residents.
But the ducts have to be sealed. Even if I could keep the mice from entering the part of the house I live in through the vents, the ducts would still be supplied daily with mouse poop and pee, which is subsequently atomized and blown through the house by my fancy high-efficiency furnace. That's not okay. Besides, I dropped a large chunk of cash on that furnace several years ago, and here I am wasting it on a duct system that's full of holes and barely insulated. Once I set things to rights down there, I expect that the savings on my heating bill next winter will more than pay for my time, not to mention the money I'll save on medical bills by not getting a hantavirus.
Some of my readers are now asking, "Surely you're not going to take this project on yourself, Lindsey?" But here's the thing: even if I had money to throw at it, I wouldn't trust any contractor I could afford to do it right. And here's the other thing: this is not a job for a Big Strong Man(tm). This is a job for a person who is good at getting into very small places, and I happen to be a lot better at that than the average adult.
But it will be a convoluted, multi-day project, and I am not embarking on it today, or even this week. I am preparing a list of supplies and safety equipment that I'll need. I am collecting information on duct repair (which is surprisingly hard to come by; the internet mostly wants me to call a Qualified Professional). I am sketching diagrams and thinking through strategies, and I am soliciting advice. And in the meantime I'm covering my heating vents with wire mesh, so my roommate can sleep in her own bed again.
I really hope it works.
I remember an exhibit at the Honolulu Zoo that made a big impression on me: it was a glass-walled mouse burrow, and you could see them running from chamber to chamber, this one full of food, that one full of sleepy mouse babies. I could have watched it all day. My parents' house, still fairly new at the time, was free of any kind of pest, so I didn't have a lot of contact with real-life mice.
All of which makes the following so excruciatingly ironic:
I was at least never going to resort to sticky mousetraps. A traditional snap-trap does the job quickly, and is also so incredibly cheap that there's no shame in throwing it away after one use. But when, night after night, you put out the snap-traps and find them unsprung but licked clean the next morning... well, you might start to wonder who's baiting whom. And when you find poop in your dish cupboard, you might even take it as a declaration of war.
Believe me, if negotiation was an option, I'd negotiate. But my enemy is a varmint, and a varmint will never quit. Ever. So I've spent a lot of time in the last several days studying their ways, thinking about their habits, trying to figure out what they can and can't, will and won't do. For example, they tend not to crawl up flat vertical surfaces, but they will readily climb any sort of cord or string. They got to the dish cupboard by way of a long phone cord, which I now realize was like a little mouse-sized ladder with a sign saying "Fun Times This Way!"
But much of mouse behavior remains a mystery to me. I mean, what's the deal with my roommate/renter's room? There's no food in there, but for some reason it's their favorite hangout. We were both horrified to discover the quantities of mouse poop between her bed and the wall. (Bad, bad landlady!) She has been surprisingly stoic about all of this, but she's sleeping on the spare mattress in my room (on the second floor, where there's still no sign of mice) until I can assure her that she will have no more rodent visitors.
And yes, I am now using sticky traps, which are awful and inhumane and leave you to finish the job yourself, and I will spare you the details of that horror. But until the problem of mouse access has been resolved, they seem to be my best option. Live traps are impractical; wild mammals can find their way home over ridiculously long distances, and I'm not driving across town every day to release the night's catch in someone else's yard. Poison's no good; then you've got tiny corpses all over, and you have to go find them to get rid of the smell.
I'm kind of surprised at the number of people who have suggested (or even offered) a cat as a solution. While I like most cats, they bring their own complications, and I have several very good reasons for not wanting to live with one. The bottom line, though, is that a cat is not a solution to the mouse problem, any more than traps are. It is a mouse mitigating device, an abatement factor, if you will. Even if the cat kills all the mice on my entire property, there will always be more mice. The world has an effectively infinite supply of mice. Cats are, in fact, probably the reason that this house is still so mouse-permeable: they've dealt with the symptoms and allowed their owners to ignore the root of the problem.
The root of the problem, of course, is that mice can get inside at all. I live in a modern house. I do not have a thatched roof or log walls. Therefore, the number of entry points into my house is finite. And while sealing up the outside of my house may not be possible without re-siding, the number of entry points to the interior of my house is actually quite limited. When these are effectively sealed, then the mouse problem will be solved.
Mice can theoretically pass into the interior of my house through: a) that hole in the laundry room drywall where the fusebox used to be; b) gaps in the construction of the closets; c) possibly the dryer vent; d) heating vents. All of these entry points can be mouseproofed. Unfortunately, last night I observed a mouse using option (d), which is by far the most daunting to fix. I am seriously daunted every time I think about it.
My heating ducts run through a crawlspace below the house which teems with rodent and arachnid life, and which for some reason is partly covered with that really jaggedy porous red lava rock that you see in cheap landscaping. I look at it and my knees twitch reflexively. I can't even see half of the crawlspace from my small cellar area because of how the ducts are placed; who knows what marvels await me in that sunless realm. The ducts themselves are sloppily installed and draped half-heartedly with random scraps of insulation, which is surely the ancestral home of generations of rodents. Oh, and did I mention the asbestos? Thanks, Previous Residents.
But the ducts have to be sealed. Even if I could keep the mice from entering the part of the house I live in through the vents, the ducts would still be supplied daily with mouse poop and pee, which is subsequently atomized and blown through the house by my fancy high-efficiency furnace. That's not okay. Besides, I dropped a large chunk of cash on that furnace several years ago, and here I am wasting it on a duct system that's full of holes and barely insulated. Once I set things to rights down there, I expect that the savings on my heating bill next winter will more than pay for my time, not to mention the money I'll save on medical bills by not getting a hantavirus.
Some of my readers are now asking, "Surely you're not going to take this project on yourself, Lindsey?" But here's the thing: even if I had money to throw at it, I wouldn't trust any contractor I could afford to do it right. And here's the other thing: this is not a job for a Big Strong Man(tm). This is a job for a person who is good at getting into very small places, and I happen to be a lot better at that than the average adult.
But it will be a convoluted, multi-day project, and I am not embarking on it today, or even this week. I am preparing a list of supplies and safety equipment that I'll need. I am collecting information on duct repair (which is surprisingly hard to come by; the internet mostly wants me to call a Qualified Professional). I am sketching diagrams and thinking through strategies, and I am soliciting advice. And in the meantime I'm covering my heating vents with wire mesh, so my roommate can sleep in her own bed again.
I really hope it works.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Be Mine, Internet!
I recently finished my latest submission to the CD Mix Swap, aka "The Mixchange," which is run by Ashley and which continues to be Awesome. I think it's up to like four swaps a year now? Crazy. Anyway, I always want to use the phrase "best mix yet" in describing whatever I've just finished, but really I should be more specific with my superlatives. In this case I could maybe use ones like "most unmitigatedly cheerful," "sappiest," "farthest out of character." It is a Valentine's Day mix. Not the romantic smoldery kind, but the incredulously giddy kind.
Thanks to the magic of The Internet, I can share it with all of you without burning a disc, slapping a label on it and standing in line for ages at the post office. Sure, I did all of that for my fellow swap participants, but are you sending me a mix CD? No? Well, you can just download it then.
BE MY VALENTINE please please please
1. Hello Saferide - The Quiz
2. Amit - You and Me and Love
3. Fruit Bats - When You Love Somebody
4. Herman Düne - I Wish That I Could See You Soon
5. The Weepies - Gotta Have You
6. The Silent Years - Someone to Keep Us Warm
7. Solomon Burke - Home in Your Heart
8. The Moldy Peaches - Anyone Else But You
9. Half-handed Cloud - To Love Like the Father & Son Love Each Other
10. Harvey Danger - Happiness Writes White
11. The Robot Ate Me - Apricot Tea
12. The Constantines - Soon Enough
13. Crooked Fingers - Call to Love
14. Luke Hawley - Not Me Babe
15. Victoria Williams - Love
16. Irma Thomas - Ruler of My Heart
17. Kite Flying Society - If I Could Split
18. North Atlantic Explorers - I Will Not Leave You Alone
19. Looper - Impossible Things
20. The Boy Least Likely To - Be Gentle With Me
21. José González - Heartbeats
22. Noah and the Whale - Five Years' Time
23. Daniel Johnston & Yo La Tengo - Speeding Motorcycle
PARENTS! This mix has no obscenity or profanity at all, although it does have a guy yelling "dang" really loud. Given the theme, it even has surprisingly few references to gettin' it on. However, if you would prefer the little ears around you to be sheltered from any incidental mention of the following issues, simply avoid the corresponding track numbers: sleeping/lying/sharing a bed with someone else (1, 5, 13, 17), drug/alcohol abuse (17, 22), automobile theft as courtship (18), being super excited about God (9), not really caring at all about God (10), poop jokes (8). I think most of this mix is music that kids would like a lot. They seem to know a thing or two about giddy incredulity.
For those of you who like video with your audio, here are all the ones I could find that weren't horribly filmed live performances:
1. The Quiz
4. I Wish That I Could See You Soon
6. Someone to Keep Us Warm
20. Be Gentle With Me
21. Heartbeats (that one commercial)
22. Five Years' Time
So there you go. All audio tracks are downloadable for one week. Feed them to your MP3 player, burn them to a shiny disc, ignore them. Just have a happy freakin' Valentine's Day, all right?
Thanks to the magic of The Internet, I can share it with all of you without burning a disc, slapping a label on it and standing in line for ages at the post office. Sure, I did all of that for my fellow swap participants, but are you sending me a mix CD? No? Well, you can just download it then.
BE MY VALENTINE please please please
1. Hello Saferide - The Quiz
2. Amit - You and Me and Love
3. Fruit Bats - When You Love Somebody
4. Herman Düne - I Wish That I Could See You Soon
5. The Weepies - Gotta Have You
6. The Silent Years - Someone to Keep Us Warm
7. Solomon Burke - Home in Your Heart
8. The Moldy Peaches - Anyone Else But You
9. Half-handed Cloud - To Love Like the Father & Son Love Each Other
10. Harvey Danger - Happiness Writes White
11. The Robot Ate Me - Apricot Tea
12. The Constantines - Soon Enough
13. Crooked Fingers - Call to Love
14. Luke Hawley - Not Me Babe
15. Victoria Williams - Love
16. Irma Thomas - Ruler of My Heart
17. Kite Flying Society - If I Could Split
18. North Atlantic Explorers - I Will Not Leave You Alone
19. Looper - Impossible Things
20. The Boy Least Likely To - Be Gentle With Me
21. José González - Heartbeats
22. Noah and the Whale - Five Years' Time
23. Daniel Johnston & Yo La Tengo - Speeding Motorcycle
PARENTS! This mix has no obscenity or profanity at all, although it does have a guy yelling "dang" really loud. Given the theme, it even has surprisingly few references to gettin' it on. However, if you would prefer the little ears around you to be sheltered from any incidental mention of the following issues, simply avoid the corresponding track numbers: sleeping/lying/sharing a bed with someone else (1, 5, 13, 17), drug/alcohol abuse (17, 22), automobile theft as courtship (18), being super excited about God (9), not really caring at all about God (10), poop jokes (8). I think most of this mix is music that kids would like a lot. They seem to know a thing or two about giddy incredulity.
For those of you who like video with your audio, here are all the ones I could find that weren't horribly filmed live performances:
1. The Quiz
4. I Wish That I Could See You Soon
6. Someone to Keep Us Warm
20. Be Gentle With Me
21. Heartbeats (that one commercial)
22. Five Years' Time
So there you go. All audio tracks are downloadable for one week. Feed them to your MP3 player, burn them to a shiny disc, ignore them. Just have a happy freakin' Valentine's Day, all right?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Left Brain/Right Brain.
So, about this job: I have a cousin here in town who makes gorgeous glass earrings for gauged ears. The demand for her products is growing so quickly that she has been too busy filling orders to set up the business end of things properly. That's where I come in: I research everything that's involved in setting up a small business, and then help her make it all happen. I'm a left brain for hire. What I love about this (besides getting to work with my cousin, who's really cool) is that I'm essentially getting paid to learn -- and to learn stuff that could be useful in any number of other situations.
It's very part-time, though, so I'm still in search of something that will put some life back into my sickly bank account.
Thanks for all the great feedback on my Hourly Comics. I love journal comics, and I really needed a kick in the pants like that (i.e, an artificially constructed challenge) to actually make some of my own. It was a little too much of a pants-kick to want to do that every day, or even more than once a year really. But I have been thinking about ways to incorporate comic-making into my schedule on a basis that is both more regular and doable, more of a nudge in the ankle than a kick in the pants.
The ankle-nudge I've settled on... well, I'm calling it Three on the Third. On the third day of each month, I'll make three journal comics about my day. That's it. That's the whole challenge. I think I can manage this no matter what kind of work I'm doing. I think you can manage it too, so you should definitely think about it.
It's very part-time, though, so I'm still in search of something that will put some life back into my sickly bank account.
Thanks for all the great feedback on my Hourly Comics. I love journal comics, and I really needed a kick in the pants like that (i.e, an artificially constructed challenge) to actually make some of my own. It was a little too much of a pants-kick to want to do that every day, or even more than once a year really. But I have been thinking about ways to incorporate comic-making into my schedule on a basis that is both more regular and doable, more of a nudge in the ankle than a kick in the pants.
The ankle-nudge I've settled on... well, I'm calling it Three on the Third. On the third day of each month, I'll make three journal comics about my day. That's it. That's the whole challenge. I think I can manage this no matter what kind of work I'm doing. I think you can manage it too, so you should definitely think about it.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Hourly Comics.
So the idea behind Hourly Comic Day is that once every hour, you write a journal comic. Journal comics chronicle your life pretty much as it happens.
It turns out that this is hard. It helps to be unemployed (like me) or work at home (like many comic artists). I bet it also helps to have comic artist skillz, not only because the outcome would be prettier, but (more important) it would be less time-consuming. Like, you'd have already figured out how to draw yourself quickly and consistently, so your hair length wouldn't change in every frame?
Anyway, my results are below. If you have trouble reading them, your browser is probably automatically resizing the image. Tell it not to.
Page 1 * Page 2 * Page 3 * Page 4 * Page 5 * Page 6 * Page 7 * Page 8 * Page 9
Or if you want to see them all on one screen, here is my post on the Hourly Comic Day forum. There are tons more hourly comics there to look at, mostly by people who have a better grasp of basic concepts like legibility and white space than I do.
NOTE: The times written in the comic are the time the drawing was made, not the time the event occurred.
It turns out that this is hard. It helps to be unemployed (like me) or work at home (like many comic artists). I bet it also helps to have comic artist skillz, not only because the outcome would be prettier, but (more important) it would be less time-consuming. Like, you'd have already figured out how to draw yourself quickly and consistently, so your hair length wouldn't change in every frame?
Anyway, my results are below. If you have trouble reading them, your browser is probably automatically resizing the image. Tell it not to.
Page 1 * Page 2 * Page 3 * Page 4 * Page 5 * Page 6 * Page 7 * Page 8 * Page 9
Or if you want to see them all on one screen, here is my post on the Hourly Comic Day forum. There are tons more hourly comics there to look at, mostly by people who have a better grasp of basic concepts like legibility and white space than I do.
NOTE: The times written in the comic are the time the drawing was made, not the time the event occurred.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Getting Somewhere, and Four Weeks of Photos.
You know that feeling you get when it seems like nothing is going on, and then suddenly everything happens? Like... it's like you're pedaling an exercise bike, spinning your wheels getting nowhere, and you space out for a little bit and then realize (much to your confusion) that you're rolling down the road with the wind in your face?
This week I had that feeling again. I was starting to get frustrated with how The Great Job Hunt has not yet resulted in lucrative employment, and frustrated with the inertia that results from really, really enjoying not having a job. And then BAM! something amazing popped up when I least expected it. It isn't definite, so I don't want to describe it yet, and it isn't full-time, so it doesn't resolve the whole income issue. And it won't be simple or straightforward, and it's a tiny bit risky... but today I realized that those are things I especially like about it.
So now I'm gripping the handlebars for dear life, but also grinning a huge wide bug-catching grin: wheeeee!
The photo-a-day project isn't even a month old yet, but it has already been my most successful collaboration with Ashley since People In My Neighborhood (link to the original by Baldwin and Gregory; our version isn't online, but it was kinda like that, only better).
Years of crappy cameras, together with the irritations of paying someone else to develop my film, made me a reluctant photographer. But I love to look at good photography, and I always sorta wanted to learn how to use a camera well, or at least not so clumsily.
I'm kind of a penny-pincher (when I'm not buying food), so when I got a low-end digital camera last year, that was a big deal for me. I was glad to have it to capture my sailing adventure, but I didn't want a fancy gadget like that to start collecting dust when I got back home. I didn't want to take it for granted. I wanted to learn how to use it better, and I figured the only practical way to do that was to use it more.
So now I'm taking more photos. Lots more photos. Since I got back from New Mexico, I've taken an average of 24 photos a day. And in doing so, I'm learning what my camera is good at and not-so-good at, gradually getting a grasp on what makes a shot work, learning to trust my gut and to take chances. I'm also learning how much I still have to learn.
Even better than learning to use my camera, though, has been learning to use my eyes: to see the world in a new way, to notice things I wouldn't have, to pay attention. Light means so much more to me now. And I realize almost daily now how amazing my eyes are, all the things they can deal with (low light, motion, obstructions, depth of field) without any conscious input on my part.
I'm also learning that if you go out looking for an interesting photo, sometimes interesting things happen to you. Yesterday I met Mr. Beet of Beet's Auto Body, which is kind of a landmark around here. On MLK Day a bricklayer told me the wall he was building was the last of 25 years' worth of projects in Portland. I thought for a few thrilling moments that I might get to meet a resident of The Scary House... but it was only a neighbor. Pointing a camera at stuff, I've learned, makes people want to talk to you. Sometimes all they want to say is "Can I help you?" which is of course code for "What do you think you're doing pointing your camera at my car/house/merchandise?" But even one question and one answer is still dialogue, and more than I usually share with strangers.
Friday is Hourly Comic Day. I've always been more than a little intimidated by 24 Hour Comic Day, but this I think I can maybe handle, if I'm not working (and possibly even if I am). Join me?
This week I had that feeling again. I was starting to get frustrated with how The Great Job Hunt has not yet resulted in lucrative employment, and frustrated with the inertia that results from really, really enjoying not having a job. And then BAM! something amazing popped up when I least expected it. It isn't definite, so I don't want to describe it yet, and it isn't full-time, so it doesn't resolve the whole income issue. And it won't be simple or straightforward, and it's a tiny bit risky... but today I realized that those are things I especially like about it.
So now I'm gripping the handlebars for dear life, but also grinning a huge wide bug-catching grin: wheeeee!
* * *
The photo-a-day project isn't even a month old yet, but it has already been my most successful collaboration with Ashley since People In My Neighborhood (link to the original by Baldwin and Gregory; our version isn't online, but it was kinda like that, only better).
Years of crappy cameras, together with the irritations of paying someone else to develop my film, made me a reluctant photographer. But I love to look at good photography, and I always sorta wanted to learn how to use a camera well, or at least not so clumsily.
I'm kind of a penny-pincher (when I'm not buying food), so when I got a low-end digital camera last year, that was a big deal for me. I was glad to have it to capture my sailing adventure, but I didn't want a fancy gadget like that to start collecting dust when I got back home. I didn't want to take it for granted. I wanted to learn how to use it better, and I figured the only practical way to do that was to use it more.
So now I'm taking more photos. Lots more photos. Since I got back from New Mexico, I've taken an average of 24 photos a day. And in doing so, I'm learning what my camera is good at and not-so-good at, gradually getting a grasp on what makes a shot work, learning to trust my gut and to take chances. I'm also learning how much I still have to learn.
Even better than learning to use my camera, though, has been learning to use my eyes: to see the world in a new way, to notice things I wouldn't have, to pay attention. Light means so much more to me now. And I realize almost daily now how amazing my eyes are, all the things they can deal with (low light, motion, obstructions, depth of field) without any conscious input on my part.
I'm also learning that if you go out looking for an interesting photo, sometimes interesting things happen to you. Yesterday I met Mr. Beet of Beet's Auto Body, which is kind of a landmark around here. On MLK Day a bricklayer told me the wall he was building was the last of 25 years' worth of projects in Portland. I thought for a few thrilling moments that I might get to meet a resident of The Scary House... but it was only a neighbor. Pointing a camera at stuff, I've learned, makes people want to talk to you. Sometimes all they want to say is "Can I help you?" which is of course code for "What do you think you're doing pointing your camera at my car/house/merchandise?" But even one question and one answer is still dialogue, and more than I usually share with strangers.
* * *
Friday is Hourly Comic Day. I've always been more than a little intimidated by 24 Hour Comic Day, but this I think I can maybe handle, if I'm not working (and possibly even if I am). Join me?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Mystery Solved.
The mystery bone introduced in this post has been identified by an anonymous commenter as the pelvic bone of an ostrich. All the images of skeletal ostriches I could find seem to confirm this. I compared it with an emu, and it's definitely a better match for the ostrich.
The complete, unbroken bone is actually even more fantastical than what we saw:
Check out that crazy curly bit on the lower left: it actually connects in the middle, just like your pelvis. But different. (Image from this site, where you can buy an ostrich pelvis of your very own.)
There used to be ostrich farms in the area our Mystery Bone was discovered, so this find isn't as bizarre as it may seem.
Nice work, Anonymous (you know who you are).
The complete, unbroken bone is actually even more fantastical than what we saw:
Check out that crazy curly bit on the lower left: it actually connects in the middle, just like your pelvis. But different. (Image from this site, where you can buy an ostrich pelvis of your very own.)There used to be ostrich farms in the area our Mystery Bone was discovered, so this find isn't as bizarre as it may seem.
Nice work, Anonymous (you know who you are).
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Progress Report: A Report on Progress.
Look, I changed my header! The image width still isn't right, and I may not ultimately use that image at all, and I'm still missing one of those whaddyacallems, uh, titles? But it's progress, and I'm into celebrating progress these days.
I've made a lot of progress lately, actually. I've kept up with the daily photo challenge. I found an alarm clock that I actually don't hate. I rebuilt my resume from the ground up. I installed my Shiny New Printer (thanks, Santa!) so I could print it. I am currently in the process of applying to: a bakery, a company that does something-or-other with music licensing, and a sailmaker's loft (yes, there's one in Portland!). I have a list of about 10 other jobs I still want to apply to before I start calling temp agencies. But since I already have plans to go away for the summer, temp is probably where I'll end up.
I also got rid of a lot of stuff: I recycled an old phone and printer. I found new homes for bags and bags of clothing. I whittled the feeds in my reader down to a mere 1740 unviewed posts. I dumped a lot of MP3s that I never liked anyway. (Don't worry, I still have 2283 of them!)
Now the excess stuff in my room is mostly down to Projects, about which Decisions must be made. For example:
Q: Here is a computer I built in 1998. It has a 3.5" floppy drive and a keyboard that doesn't really work anymore. It also houses some really important files. What should I do with it?
A: Obtain hardware that will allow you to eat its brains. By which I mean pull the hard drive, suck out the good stuff, and erase the rest. Then, because you love it, set it free. Let it lope unfettered on the technological veldt. That's what FreeGeek is for.
Q: What shall I do about all these papers that need to be filed, but the mere thought of filing them is incredibly painful?
A: Get yourself a decent filing cabinet, for crying out loud: one that opens and closes easily and doesn't leave your files all bendy. Look into the hanging folder thing, which is Probably Worth It.
Q: Here is a paper model of a castle which I almost finished circa 1990, but then got frustrated with and abandoned. And yet somehow it has followed me ever since, without getting crushed. What should I do with it?
A: Dust it off and inspect it. Discover that it is Awesome. Consider how your dexterity and problem-solving skills have evolved in the past umpteen years, and set it aside for completion (for reals this time).
And so on. It's amazing how much easier it is to figure this stuff out than it was seven months ago. Hooray for progress!
I've made a lot of progress lately, actually. I've kept up with the daily photo challenge. I found an alarm clock that I actually don't hate. I rebuilt my resume from the ground up. I installed my Shiny New Printer (thanks, Santa!) so I could print it. I am currently in the process of applying to: a bakery, a company that does something-or-other with music licensing, and a sailmaker's loft (yes, there's one in Portland!). I have a list of about 10 other jobs I still want to apply to before I start calling temp agencies. But since I already have plans to go away for the summer, temp is probably where I'll end up.
I also got rid of a lot of stuff: I recycled an old phone and printer. I found new homes for bags and bags of clothing. I whittled the feeds in my reader down to a mere 1740 unviewed posts. I dumped a lot of MP3s that I never liked anyway. (Don't worry, I still have 2283 of them!)
Now the excess stuff in my room is mostly down to Projects, about which Decisions must be made. For example:
Q: Here is a computer I built in 1998. It has a 3.5" floppy drive and a keyboard that doesn't really work anymore. It also houses some really important files. What should I do with it?
A: Obtain hardware that will allow you to eat its brains. By which I mean pull the hard drive, suck out the good stuff, and erase the rest. Then, because you love it, set it free. Let it lope unfettered on the technological veldt. That's what FreeGeek is for.
Q: What shall I do about all these papers that need to be filed, but the mere thought of filing them is incredibly painful?
A: Get yourself a decent filing cabinet, for crying out loud: one that opens and closes easily and doesn't leave your files all bendy. Look into the hanging folder thing, which is Probably Worth It.
Q: Here is a paper model of a castle which I almost finished circa 1990, but then got frustrated with and abandoned. And yet somehow it has followed me ever since, without getting crushed. What should I do with it?
A: Dust it off and inspect it. Discover that it is Awesome. Consider how your dexterity and problem-solving skills have evolved in the past umpteen years, and set it aside for completion (for reals this time).
And so on. It's amazing how much easier it is to figure this stuff out than it was seven months ago. Hooray for progress!
Monday, January 14, 2008
Archæology and Paelæontology.
So I haven't fixed the template yet, even though it makes me cringe. Nor have I chosen a new title, which also makes me cringe a little (I have yet to come up with one that doesn't). But other things have kept me occupied since I got home from my visit to New Mexico.
The past couple of days I've primarily been settling back into my own space. This endeavor is complicated by the disarray I left behind when I got on a boat last summer. My room is piled with abandoned projects and objects which have yet to find a home, all visibly dusty. I am not the kind of person who can just throw armloads of things in the garbage, shrug, and move on. No, I pick the debris apart and dust off each piece carefully, like an archaeologist, reconstructing the life of the room's previous tenant. I interpret the clutter as a series of messages passed through time from her to me, from past-Lindsey to present-Lindsey: "Help! I can't deal with this!" And I feel a maternal sort of compassion toward her, because I remember how it felt to be so discouraged that even simple problem-solving tasks, like figuring out where to put things, seemed impossible.
And I also kind of hate her, because she left me this freakin' mess to clean up. But I'm itching to get it under control, because as soon as I do, I get to go to Ikea. I've never been there -- was out of town when the new store opened up -- but I've been studying the catalog, and some of their stuff looks like it might be just what I need to make my home more attractive and orderly and awesome.
(Having Ikea in town is humbling, because it squashes my delusions about not being an overly materialistic person. I feel like a character in the Sims, that game in which the secret to happiness is buying new stuff. Would you like this couch or that couch, or how about a moose head? Watch me jump up and down and clap my hands and burble some pseudo-language.)
Today also marks the beginning of The Great Job Hunt. At this stage I'm very optimistic (perhaps inappropriately, given how much luck some of my friends have had finding jobs in Portland). But man, there's some interesting stuff they'll pay you to do out there. And also, there are about a bazillion temp agencies. I have spent quite a bit of time today exploring possibilities online, and am at this very moment procrastinating on my resume. Yeah, I should really finish that. But before I go, I'll leave you with a link and a riddle.
The link is to my newest Fun Internet Project, which I was hesitant to jinx by exposing too early in its infancy. It's two weeks old now, though, so here: the new photo-a-day blog, a joint project with Ashley. Props to Jason for giving me part of the idea, and to 3191 for giving Ashley the other part.
And here's the riddle: What kind of bone is this?
It was found in the New Mexico desert. Clicky-click to zoomy-zoom.
I do not know the answer to this riddle.
The past couple of days I've primarily been settling back into my own space. This endeavor is complicated by the disarray I left behind when I got on a boat last summer. My room is piled with abandoned projects and objects which have yet to find a home, all visibly dusty. I am not the kind of person who can just throw armloads of things in the garbage, shrug, and move on. No, I pick the debris apart and dust off each piece carefully, like an archaeologist, reconstructing the life of the room's previous tenant. I interpret the clutter as a series of messages passed through time from her to me, from past-Lindsey to present-Lindsey: "Help! I can't deal with this!" And I feel a maternal sort of compassion toward her, because I remember how it felt to be so discouraged that even simple problem-solving tasks, like figuring out where to put things, seemed impossible.
And I also kind of hate her, because she left me this freakin' mess to clean up. But I'm itching to get it under control, because as soon as I do, I get to go to Ikea. I've never been there -- was out of town when the new store opened up -- but I've been studying the catalog, and some of their stuff looks like it might be just what I need to make my home more attractive and orderly and awesome.
(Having Ikea in town is humbling, because it squashes my delusions about not being an overly materialistic person. I feel like a character in the Sims, that game in which the secret to happiness is buying new stuff. Would you like this couch or that couch, or how about a moose head? Watch me jump up and down and clap my hands and burble some pseudo-language.)
Today also marks the beginning of The Great Job Hunt. At this stage I'm very optimistic (perhaps inappropriately, given how much luck some of my friends have had finding jobs in Portland). But man, there's some interesting stuff they'll pay you to do out there. And also, there are about a bazillion temp agencies. I have spent quite a bit of time today exploring possibilities online, and am at this very moment procrastinating on my resume. Yeah, I should really finish that. But before I go, I'll leave you with a link and a riddle.
The link is to my newest Fun Internet Project, which I was hesitant to jinx by exposing too early in its infancy. It's two weeks old now, though, so here: the new photo-a-day blog, a joint project with Ashley. Props to Jason for giving me part of the idea, and to 3191 for giving Ashley the other part.
And here's the riddle: What kind of bone is this?
It was found in the New Mexico desert. Clicky-click to zoomy-zoom.
I do not know the answer to this riddle.Monday, December 31, 2007
Goodbye, 2007.
I was going to have a new blog template in place by now, but Blogger has made customization (real customization, not just shuffling elements) a lot harder than I expected. And also I spent the time I thought I was going to use for that on a completely different web-based project, which you'll get to see pretty soon.
[Postscript -- oops. It looks like my experimentation with my blog template was more permanent than I realized. This isn't what I want the finished product to look like, but it'll have to do for now.]
Also I thought I would have something witty and heartfelt formulated to say, here at the end of the year, but all I really have is a short list of things I wanted to remember to mention in my next blog post. A very short list. Two things, in fact, which make a lopsided sort of list.
1) My sister has a sweet etsy shop up. Check out all her cool designs and consider: do you know anyone who doesn't need a shirt with an old-school boombox on it?
2) On a more serious note: If any of my readers are wondering what the big deal is about this whole domestic partnership thing in Oregon, here is a link that explains what's at stake.
The delay in passing the law affects people I care about, and that makes me sad. Then I read news stories where people cite "Christian values" as their reason for objecting to domestic partnerships for homosexuals, and that makes me angry. For shame! Take a look at the list linked above, imagine the past and future stories each of those numbers certainly represents, and tell me: Since when was Christ in the persecution business?
I don't want my blog to get political. But this has become personal.
[deep breath]
So, yeah, that's what I wanted to cover. And here I am in Roswell, NM ringing in the new year with Meep, as has accidentally become tradition. She has a new old house that she's just moving into, and back in Portland I have a new old life that I'm moving into, and everything looks pretty achievable from here, messes to sort and stow, tasks to undertake and conquer. We are capable and eager, and life just now is full of the kind of chaos that precedes creation.
Happy New Year, all.
[Postscript -- oops. It looks like my experimentation with my blog template was more permanent than I realized. This isn't what I want the finished product to look like, but it'll have to do for now.]
Also I thought I would have something witty and heartfelt formulated to say, here at the end of the year, but all I really have is a short list of things I wanted to remember to mention in my next blog post. A very short list. Two things, in fact, which make a lopsided sort of list.
1) My sister has a sweet etsy shop up. Check out all her cool designs and consider: do you know anyone who doesn't need a shirt with an old-school boombox on it?
2) On a more serious note: If any of my readers are wondering what the big deal is about this whole domestic partnership thing in Oregon, here is a link that explains what's at stake.
The delay in passing the law affects people I care about, and that makes me sad. Then I read news stories where people cite "Christian values" as their reason for objecting to domestic partnerships for homosexuals, and that makes me angry. For shame! Take a look at the list linked above, imagine the past and future stories each of those numbers certainly represents, and tell me: Since when was Christ in the persecution business?
I don't want my blog to get political. But this has become personal.
[deep breath]
So, yeah, that's what I wanted to cover. And here I am in Roswell, NM ringing in the new year with Meep, as has accidentally become tradition. She has a new old house that she's just moving into, and back in Portland I have a new old life that I'm moving into, and everything looks pretty achievable from here, messes to sort and stow, tasks to undertake and conquer. We are capable and eager, and life just now is full of the kind of chaos that precedes creation.
Happy New Year, all.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Of Presents and the Present.
I was going to post last night, but then I got an early Christmas present from Sean, and I was no good at all for 3 hours 41 minutes 29 seconds, by which time it was really really late.
(There was an all-too-brief period in my life where I didn't have to look for new music to get excited about, when friends would regularly force me to sit down and listen to this marvel that they just uncovered, or that had been growing on them for the past two weeks like mold on an unrefrigerated pizza. And if I was really lucky they would explain, in words and gestures that a musical dilettante could understand, how it blew their skulls open to let light in; how it coiled around their hearts with a python's grip; how it hung their dreams and nightmares out to dry.
For years after I moved away from these people who were excited! about music!, I read reviews in Spin and Rolling Stone, looking for that contagious spirit of discovery. But the subtext of every review was: "I know so much about so many bands that I am too jaded to feel passionately about any of them (or too cool to admit it)." Also, they were constructed primarily of run-on sentences.
So my discovery of saidthegramophone two years ago was cause for much rejoicing. There are three guys who write for the site, but one guy whose passion carries it. That guy is Sean. Sean writes about how a song makes him feel, and oh, how he feels. He writes about the pictures a song makes in his head, and ah, what pictures he sees. Sometimes it's music that I love right away, and sometimes it's music that I wouldn't have given a second glance if he didn't sit me down in a beanbag by the stereo and explicate it for me. Either way, I'm grateful.)
Sean's Christmas gift to me -- and you, too -- is a list of his favorite fifty songs of 2007. Fifty little wrapped boxes: here, I picked this out for you. There are wonders and terrors here, tidy griefs and messy celebrations, scraps and shards of other people's hearts, each downloadable for the next week or two. If you are in the least bit interested in knowing about good music that happened this year, start at the top and download as much as your patience, or your bandwidth, will allow. And then read what he wrote about them.
You won't be sorry.
Anyway, yes, I'm back. I took the train home, which I would highly recommend to anyone who is going through a transition which deserves lengthy reflection. I was warmly welcomed by friends and family at several stops along the way. The journey was good, and the homecoming was good, and life is good in general. I've been thinking about some things that have changed in me since I left my library job, and though I hate to jinx it by making any specific claims, I'm optimistic that I've actually... well, grown.
After the holidays, I will be in Portland for several months, and I'm happy about that. I don't know where I'll be working, but it will be on a decidedly temporary basis. My taste for adventure has been whetted, not sated. I already have Big Plans for next summer (which involve boats of a different sort), and enough other ideas to fill the next couple of years at least. I tried settling down for almost a decade; now I'm going to try not settling down for a while, and I think it may suit me a lot better.
One of my many projects this week is to get all my boat photos sorted. I am gradually posting a selection of the best ones on my photo sharing site of choice. For privacy reasons, there will be no link to that here, but I'll gladly share with any friends who ask for it.
(There was an all-too-brief period in my life where I didn't have to look for new music to get excited about, when friends would regularly force me to sit down and listen to this marvel that they just uncovered, or that had been growing on them for the past two weeks like mold on an unrefrigerated pizza. And if I was really lucky they would explain, in words and gestures that a musical dilettante could understand, how it blew their skulls open to let light in; how it coiled around their hearts with a python's grip; how it hung their dreams and nightmares out to dry.
For years after I moved away from these people who were excited! about music!, I read reviews in Spin and Rolling Stone, looking for that contagious spirit of discovery. But the subtext of every review was: "I know so much about so many bands that I am too jaded to feel passionately about any of them (or too cool to admit it)." Also, they were constructed primarily of run-on sentences.
So my discovery of saidthegramophone two years ago was cause for much rejoicing. There are three guys who write for the site, but one guy whose passion carries it. That guy is Sean. Sean writes about how a song makes him feel, and oh, how he feels. He writes about the pictures a song makes in his head, and ah, what pictures he sees. Sometimes it's music that I love right away, and sometimes it's music that I wouldn't have given a second glance if he didn't sit me down in a beanbag by the stereo and explicate it for me. Either way, I'm grateful.)
Sean's Christmas gift to me -- and you, too -- is a list of his favorite fifty songs of 2007. Fifty little wrapped boxes: here, I picked this out for you. There are wonders and terrors here, tidy griefs and messy celebrations, scraps and shards of other people's hearts, each downloadable for the next week or two. If you are in the least bit interested in knowing about good music that happened this year, start at the top and download as much as your patience, or your bandwidth, will allow. And then read what he wrote about them.
You won't be sorry.
Anyway, yes, I'm back. I took the train home, which I would highly recommend to anyone who is going through a transition which deserves lengthy reflection. I was warmly welcomed by friends and family at several stops along the way. The journey was good, and the homecoming was good, and life is good in general. I've been thinking about some things that have changed in me since I left my library job, and though I hate to jinx it by making any specific claims, I'm optimistic that I've actually... well, grown.
After the holidays, I will be in Portland for several months, and I'm happy about that. I don't know where I'll be working, but it will be on a decidedly temporary basis. My taste for adventure has been whetted, not sated. I already have Big Plans for next summer (which involve boats of a different sort), and enough other ideas to fill the next couple of years at least. I tried settling down for almost a decade; now I'm going to try not settling down for a while, and I think it may suit me a lot better.
* * *
One of my many projects this week is to get all my boat photos sorted. I am gradually posting a selection of the best ones on my photo sharing site of choice. For privacy reasons, there will be no link to that here, but I'll gladly share with any friends who ask for it.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Pau Hana.
My last day was good, too. As usual, nothing went quite as expected: while setting out for the afternoon's battle sail with the Lady Washington, we saw waves crashing over the top of the breakwater, nudged one another and said "That'll be interesting." Things did indeed become interesting, in a rollercoastery kind of way, as we rounded the breakwater: lots of green choppiness, and the boat plunging up and down madly, and things tumbling around below decks (yes, we stowed for sea, but there are degrees of stowing for sea, and we hadn't expected to need quite this much). The line between scary-fun and scary-not-fun is often a fine one for me at sea; we stayed out right to the near edge of that line before turning around and telling the passengers to come back tomorrow instead.
So then we actually had time to rig the lights (yes, rope lights in the rigging) before the evening's sail, which wasn't actually a sail so much as a motor through the marina for the lighted boat parade. This was much better than having to rig them underway. The lighted boat parade was cold and rainy, and the passengers lost enthusiasm after the first two hours, so we got to come back early from that too. But in the meantime I didn't feel the cold, because I was busy helping the new gunner clean the guns (and touching off a few as well (whee!)). The lighted boat parade was an exercise in jaw-dropping tackiness, with giant glowing snowmen and blaring music of the "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" variety, and it became apparent relatively quickly that our captain's strategy was to fire on the all most obnoxious vessels. I was fine with that, personally. And so, apparently, was my loyal friend Janellie, who braved traffic and weather to join me for my last outing on the Chieftain and to take me out to Pinkberry afterward.
And then a night, and a morning, and pau hana: work is finished, time to go home.
Every time I leave that damn boat, I leave another chunk of my heart behind. I was so careful when I packed up my things, not one object forgotten to be lamented over later. But my heart, it seeped into the bilge and twined around the yards and I couldn't untangle it, had to feel it tearing (ow ow oww) as I walked away with a smile on my face and the voices of the crew in my ears:
Safe and sound at home again,
Let the waters roar, Jack.
Long we've tossed on the rolling main,
Now we're safe ashore, Jack.
Don't forget your old shipmates,
Folly-rolly-rolly-rolly-rye-oh!
So then we actually had time to rig the lights (yes, rope lights in the rigging) before the evening's sail, which wasn't actually a sail so much as a motor through the marina for the lighted boat parade. This was much better than having to rig them underway. The lighted boat parade was cold and rainy, and the passengers lost enthusiasm after the first two hours, so we got to come back early from that too. But in the meantime I didn't feel the cold, because I was busy helping the new gunner clean the guns (and touching off a few as well (whee!)). The lighted boat parade was an exercise in jaw-dropping tackiness, with giant glowing snowmen and blaring music of the "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" variety, and it became apparent relatively quickly that our captain's strategy was to fire on the all most obnoxious vessels. I was fine with that, personally. And so, apparently, was my loyal friend Janellie, who braved traffic and weather to join me for my last outing on the Chieftain and to take me out to Pinkberry afterward.* * *
And then a night, and a morning, and pau hana: work is finished, time to go home.
* * *
Every time I leave that damn boat, I leave another chunk of my heart behind. I was so careful when I packed up my things, not one object forgotten to be lamented over later. But my heart, it seeped into the bilge and twined around the yards and I couldn't untangle it, had to feel it tearing (ow ow oww) as I walked away with a smile on my face and the voices of the crew in my ears:
Safe and sound at home again,
Let the waters roar, Jack.
Long we've tossed on the rolling main,
Now we're safe ashore, Jack.
Don't forget your old shipmates,
Folly-rolly-rolly-rolly-rye-oh!
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