One Thousand and One Nights

working

2012-05-11T08:34:00.000-06:00

Picture of me working:

A younger, thinner me, with better posture, obv. The words, which are probably unreadable in this picture, are just typical words which might flow from my mouth during the course of any given day.

What amuses me about this picture is that I did it entirely at work.

Cause there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew
All the things that you'd say, they were never true, never true
And the games that you'd play, you would always win, always win.

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Well, it burned while I cried
Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name.

--Adele, Set Fire to the Rain

peach and teal

2012-05-04T16:59:00.000-06:00

"The scans don't do your pictures justice," she said.

They certainly don't reproduce holographic orange paper very well.

Well maybe nothin' lasts forever
Even when you stay together
I don't need forever after
It's your laughter won't let me go
So I'm holding on this way

--Sheryl Crow, My Favorite Mistake

in places, small faces

2012-04-24T09:50:00.001-06:00

I drew a picture of my niece from a picture of herself that she blogged a while ago and at the risk of being accused of stalking her, I'ma posting it.

It didn't turn out especially well and I am reluctant to link to the picture, because then you can see just how far off it is. The shape of the head is wrong, too elongated, and I didn't get her skin colour right. (Mind you, I defy anyone to capture that porcelain English rose skin colour on a book with pages yellowed by time. Perhaps if I start with a white underlay next time.) It does seem to me that the picture captures a little of the spirit of the Divine Miss M, though, in the intensity of the gaze at least.

As I say, the book's leaves are very yellowed with age, better suited to drawing people with skin colour other than my own. (Which is fine, as that is mostly what I want to draw these days, it turns out.)

This particular picture turned out better, in my opinion, although the head shape and skin colour are still off. This is an actual real woman – a cop in Ontario who was involved in bringing down a human trafficking ring. (The story was in the paper, but I don't feel like linking to it.) Anyway as soon as I saw her picture in the paper I wanted to try drawing her; she has such a wonderful face. I came closer to capturing her spirit with this one; tough and straightforward and a little wryly amused by the world.

Nowhere is there warmth to be found
Among those afraid of losing their ground
Rain grey town, known for its sound
In places, small faces unbound.

--The Byrds, Eight Miles High

i was shown another me

2012-04-11T10:07:00.007-06:00

I was posting some old family pictures to FB the other day, including this one. When I posted it, I estimated my age in the picture as 11-12, but when I look at it a little more closely, I think I was a little older. My memory of this picture being taken is mostly theoretical; I think that I was being annoyed by one of my brothers, which accounts for the thoroughly unimpressed expression. But I don't remember the specific occasion of its taking. It was summer -- we were living north of Lloyd -- spent much of our picnic time at a lake even norther of there which I remember as being called Sandy Beach, but Google Maps doesn't show any Sandy Beaches in that area. So, I have to be older than 12, I think -- we moved to 'Back West' when I was 11, in grade 6. I got my period the December I was 13. I genuinely don't remember when I got boobs, but would assume that it was around the time I got my period, so I think this is probably from the summer I was 13. Maybe. I look older, I think, than Paprika does right now, and she's going on 10.

I remember the swim suit clearly though -- not a swim suit at all, a romper of some kind, picked up at an auction sale. It was made of some kind of knit material in faded white and orange check, too big for me, but "Debbie can wear it for a swimsuit". I hated that thing. You can see the safety pins used to shorten the shoulder straps, so they wouldn't slip off me. It would get wet and stretch in odd ways. Didn't keep me out of the water, though.

When I was that age I had the fantasy of living by a lake when I grew up. Still do. In fact, whenever I see a large body of water, I still have the sense that if I could just remember where I had hidden my seal skin, I could slip it on, and go back to living in the water.

nowhere in the corridors of pale green and grey

nowhere in the suburbs

in the cold light of day

there in midst of it so alive and alone

words support like bone

--Peter Gabriel, Mercy Street

leaving milan

2012-03-31T22:02:00.007-06:00

When I was taking that art class, during a review of my portfolio, the prof made some disparaging remark about how my art tended to look like story illustrations (rather than like real art, I assume he meant). At the time the comment irked me, but I have since concluded that I may as well embrace the fact rather than run from it.

Except that I draw the picture first, then fashion the story to fit it. That would make the words an illustration of the picture, I guess.

So I tried to warn her

I turned to see her weep

Forty days and forty nights

And it's still coming down on me.

--Eddie Vedder, Hard Sun

artist's rendition

2012-03-24T15:25:00.008-06:00

So, I have this house I'm reno-ing, right? You all remember that.

We've been working on the upstairs bedroom for so so long. (On a related, and exciting, note, the bathroom is close - so close! It has all its major appliances in there, and quite a bit of the plumbing done.) Drywalling is a bit of a slog for two amateurs. But, the drywall is largely up, and mudded and even sanded in places.

This is the front window of the bedroom. The bottom bit isn't drywalled yet because that's the wall between the bathroom and the bedroom which has been undergoing some rebuilding. To the left of the photo is the edge of the alcove which now juts from the bathroom into the bedroom. It's storage space on the bathroom side, to hold towels, toilet paper, etc. It is roughly, maybe, two feet wide and a foot deep. And so anyway, on the bedroom side, I want bookshelves from the alcove to the window wall. Of course.

But then I see images like this on Pinterest and I'm like, well, we need a window seat in that corner.

So I made a drawing the other day at work of what I want. Now to put my concept into action.

I know that things can really get rough,

When you go it alone.

Don't go thinking you gotta be tough,

And play like a stone

Could be there's nothing else in our lives so critical

As this little home.

--The Shins, Simple Song

frost and sunshine

2012-03-11T15:25:00.006-06:00

I sat out on the back steps with a beer for a bit today. The sun was positively hot. If the weather keeps this up, there won't be any snow by this time next week, I shouldn't think.

Renos are proceeding apace. It's possible that the bathroom will be done in a week or so; apparently Mr. Reno Guy told Novel that we should have a working toilet in a couple of days. That will make it easier to work over there; I invested in one of those camping porta potties, but they're annoying to use.

I was going to go over to the house this morning to do some sanding of drywall plaster, but I have a cold, and my lungs cringed at the thought. So I swapped with Novel; I sent him over to sand the walls, and I changed the cat boxes, which is usually his job. Litter dust, it turns out, is just as bad for lungs as plaster dust, so I didn't come out ahead at all. Then I did the laundry and washed the dishes. And now I'm interneting.

I took this picture a couple of weeks ago when we still had winter. I was trying to get the frost on the trees outside along with the lace inside -- without entirely satisfactory results. Still, it's kinda pretty.

I still want the kitchen floor swept and washed and the living room floor vacuumed, not necessarily all by me. But I think that first I need to put supper on, then have a nap. It feels as though someone filled up my nasal cavities with drywall plaster and let it harden.

You are the hole in my head

You are the space in my bed

You are the silence in between

What I thought and what I said

You are the nighttime fear

You are the morning when it's clear

When it's over, you're the start

You're my head and you're my heart

--Florence and the Machine, No Light, No Light

her rusty nipples

2012-03-03T21:46:00.007-06:00

My sister posted an amusing tale of a dream she had in which I -- apparently -- insinuated my poetry into someone else's book, circa 1933. Or was it my own novel which I was managing (via a rift in the space time continuum) to have retroactively published?

I found it doubly amusing because in actuality I have been doing something similar IRL.

This is a book I picked up from the thrift store, Quartets for Men. I think it cost me 25 cents. It's mostly full of gospel songs. It's old and yellowed and charming.

The other day I picked it up and started drawing in it. These are the two pictures I've done so far.

This dude is not as pretty as the dude I was using as a model, (Brandon Jennings of the Milwaukee Bucks), but I admit to being quite pleased with the result.

I think the Rusty Nipple would make a great name for a dude ranch. Or maybe a bar.

Early in the morningWhen the church bells tollThe choir's gonna singAnd the hearse will rollOn down to the graveyardWhere it's cold and grayAnd then the sun's gonna shineThrough the shadowsWhen I go away
--Levon Helm, When I Go Away

right brain

2012-02-27T08:17:00.004-06:00

The thing about Pinterest is, it makes my right brain so very, very happy. There's this sense of, 'Ah, finally a piece of the internet that I can appreciate.' The internet has been a very left brained place up till now (with the exception of the pxrnxgrxphy quadrant, I guess).

It also inspires me to do creative things sometimes.

You made my heart melt, yet I'm cold to the core,

But rumour has it I'm the one you're leaving her for.

--Adele, Rumour Has It

yoga journal

2012-02-23T20:54:00.004-06:00

I drew this picture from Yoga Journal magazine a while ago.

I liked how she turned out, but all in all found the picture to be rather bland.

Then I picked up a blank book from Staples -- lined white paper with a brown cardboard cover. I'm sorry I forgot to photo it before I modified it; the blurb inside the front cover says it is made from 80% waste sugarcane, leftovers after the sugar has been harvested. It was a very basic looking book.

On an impulse I mod-podged her to the front of the book.

I kind of really like the result. I'm going to buy those books by the dozens and add stuff to their covers.

I just hope the book is dry by morning, as I have my current story that I'm working on in it.

Daylight again, memories fall like rain
Remind you to take it slow
One step at a time, baby
Till you find your way
Back to the big show
Places you've been
Things that you done
Somehow, you're still on the run

--Gregg Allman, Just Another Rider

what're the odds?

2012-02-11T14:23:00.007-06:00

I went thrifting today. I didn't find much, but in one store I did find this dish:

So I bought it. You know, I wasn't going to just leave it there for $3. Besides, I knew I had a similar lid at home. I couldn't remember exactly what the lid was like, and I didn't think they would really match, but no, apparently they were made for each other:

So pleased with myself. Now I just have to find some place to display it.

You with your dietary restrictions

Said you loved me with a lot of conviction

I was waiting to be struck by lightning

Waiting for somebody exciting

Like you.

--Camera Obscura, French Navy

who needs a groundhog?

2012-02-03T08:31:00.006-06:00

the house finches are back. I've heard their songs a couple of times in the past few days.

I've also seen ravens flying around with some big-ass twigs in their beaks. According to a post here, they breed sometime in January? We have a plethora of ravens in Saskatoon now; 20 years ago they were never seen. Ravens are pretty much the most fun of any birds to watch fly (same goes for any corvid, really).

Any of my blog-reading relatives who like birds should take a look at the pictures on that Saskatchewan birder blog I just linked to.

People are weird department: Last week I was at work, and this woman drove up in a truck to pay her parking ticket. She had a little bead pouch hanging from her mirror, which was very pretty, so I said something like, my that's pretty. Did you make it? For answer, she unhooked it from the mirror and handed it to me. I tried to demur, but she drove away.

So say you love me like a hoboWorn and grubby but you know thoughThere's no one above meAnd you love me inside out

--The Imelda May Band, Inside Out

bugger all this for a lark

2012-02-01T10:18:00.007-06:00

Things I've learned in the last while that I already knew:

When renovating, every thing takes twice as long and costs twice as much as you estimated it would. At the least.

If you happen to be renovating in one house and living in another, any tools you need in one house will be in the other. Also, if you are working on something downstairs, any tools you need will be upstairs and vice versa.

If you go out especially to buy some wrenches because all your wrenches are elsewhere and anyway wrenches are useful things that you could own more of, even if by some fluke you manage to get one that will fit the particular bolt you want to loosen (or tighten) you will not have purchased one that will fit the next bolt you need to tighten (or loosen). And you will forget the level that you also needed to purchase.

I hadn't been over to t'other house much lately, because renovations dude is working on the bathroom over there (see previous post) and has ripped out all appliances from the bathroom, in other words, no toilet. And I don't hang around places where there is no toilet. But I went over there after I got off work last night because Reno Dude needed input as to what he was doing. So I haven't seen the place for a bit, and although Novel had told me what was had been done, it didn't really prepare me. Too bad I haven't had a time lapse camera trained on the renos.

It's like my living room has developed a sad and debilitating condition, sort of like gangrene. First there was a little hole in the ceiling under the bathroom, which quite rapidly got bigger, encompassing the arch under the stairs and upstairs landing. This spread to the dividing pillar between the living room-kitchen doorway and the living room-basement doorway and ate it away entirely. Then the condition metastasized and a hole appeared on the opposite wall, between the living room and the front porch and ate away a lot of the membrane there, leaving the underlying tissue exposed... On the up side, I guess, there was quite a bit of new tissue, muscle and bone in the holes, in the form of solid looking joists and beams, holding up the ceiling, stairs and landing. And there is a new floor in the bathroom. Reno Dude is confident in his work and even jumped up and down on the bathroom floor to demonstrate his level of confidence. (Doesn't matter; I'm sure I shall spend the rest of my life being paranoid about the damn thing falling down.)

So I need to go out tomorrow and buy some lino for the floor. I debated putting in tile, but that would be more expensive, more of a pain to install, and I don't particularly like walking on tile in the bathroom. While I am out, perhaps I shall remember to buy a level, and a bigger wrench.

I spent the morning trying to set up the new washing machine, which we had delivered over here because god knows when it will be convenient to install them at the other house and the washing machine and dryer here were almost totally kaput and we need to get the washing done. I have it pretty much done except I have reached the point of adjusting the feet to make the machine level and I can't budge them even though the instruction sheet shows that they can be adjusted by hand. And I don't have any wrenches big enough to fit them.

Conundrum that has exercised my mind this morning: If we had sold that house instead of deciding to live in it, and had therefore only performed minor cosmetic repairs on it, thereby not finding out how precarious the bathroom floor was, and if, after we had sold it, it had collapsed, just how guilty would I feel about any resultant loss of life and/or limb?

The answer of course is 'quite guilty'.

(Not a picture of my renovations.)

When you're lucid you're the sweetest thing

I would trade my mother just to hear you sing

When you're lucid you're the sweetest thing

I would trade my mother.

--Camera Obscura, Sweetest Thing

the bathroom reno post

2012-01-23T21:22:00.006-06:00

So we found this guy who does home renos, and contracted him to fix our bathroom, install the new bathtub, move the toilet & sink. Finding someone who does this kind of work, knows what he's doing, and then does it -- well they're very rare, as I'm sure you all know. This guy is competent, knows what's what -- that's the good part of this post.

Then we bought that bathtub, which costs a ton, and weighs a ton, too. That was the first bit of pain. To get it in the house, and up the stairs took four guys. I was at work that day, thank heavens.

But we figured that the floor in the bathroom should be reinforced before the new tub was installed -- makes sense, right? And Charlie (the reno guy) agreed. So he began ripping up floor boards.

Meh. The rest of the week went something like: Charlie rips out more of the walls, finds more stuff that wasn't done properly in the first place and needs fixing. In the pictures, you can see the new joists he's added, plus a support that he has holding things up right now. He has to put a new beam across the doorways which lead from the living room to the kitchen & basement. This beam will be right under the head of the stairs; a place where you would particularly think that good solid support was crucial.

"How it's stayed up there all this time I don't know," he said.

Not that I'm complaining about the work getting done, you understand. Just depressed about the necessity for it.

Do what they say, say what you mean
One thing leads to another
You told me something wrong, I know I listen too long
But then one thing leads to another.

--The Fixx, One Thing Leads to Another

organize

2012-01-17T09:25:00.005-06:00

I need a bigger house -- much bigger -- then I wouldn't have so much trouble fitting all my stuff in it, and it would be easier to get organized.

Time to buy lottery tickets.

I remember one of my periodic attempts to get a handle on the junk in my life. We were living in that apartment on Spadina, and I was trying to find places for everything in the kitchen, and develop the habit of putting things in their predestined places. The Empress would have been 6 or 7ish, I think.

"We're really trying to keep everything in the right place, right, Mum?" she asked in that way kids do when they've spotted a pattern in life, and are trying to understand why it's there.

"Right," I agreed, and I may or may not have muttered under my breath, "We'll see how long I can keep it up this time."

This past Sunday, I was visiting over at the Empress' s and remarked that I had too much to do (probably said in a whiny voice.) The Empress, something of an organizational ninja these days said I should try the Household Scrum method. (I have a feeling there should be a TM after that.) I said something about being more the sort of person who makes a To Do list, then rewards myself with a nap. What I meant was that for me, there is such a thing as too much organizing -- all too often, the organizing becomes a means for putting off the doing.

There are two areas where I fall down in the getting things done category: 1) stick-to-itiveness and 2) just taking that first step. If you have those two steps mistressed, then a method like Household Scrum will make you more productive. If one cannot reliably perform those two steps, then anything more complex is a waste of time.

***

In the next few days I hope to have a post about the continuing Reno Saga -- Bathroom Edition. (As an aside, we finally got all the drywall up in the master bedroom -- still has to be mudded and sanded and painted, but still. Good on us.) I've always had a bit of a phobia about bathtubs falling through floors when I'm in them. Turns out that when I was living in that house, that fear wasn't so far fetched. And by that I mean, we need a new floor in our bathroom.

Novel gave me a Kobo Vox for Christmas. Yesterday I discovered that Indigo has most of Georgette Heyer's novels as ebooks. Last night at work I ignored the biography of Catherine the Great that I had bought, and instead read The Quiet Gentleman.

Tuesday afternoon is never ending
Wednesday morning papers didn't come
Thursday night your stocking needed mending
See how they run

Lady Madonna, children at your feet
Wonder how you manage to make ends meet.

--The Beatles, Lady Madonna

the proof of the pudding

2012-01-12T14:56:00.004-06:00

She drove a white hummer.

She was in her late 30s to early 40s; she wore expensive looking clothes, although her taste was uninspired, had applied her make up with a heavy hand that morning. She leaned in confidentially and said, "I want to ask a question. Do you have parking security?"

Um hm, I admitted, noncommittally.

"Well, you might want to let them know -- there's a guy over there -- a native guy, and he's looking in the windows of cars."

I thanked her for her concern, assured her I would take care of it, and sent her on her way.

What I wanted to say was: "I don't mean to sound racist, Ma'am, but I can't help but notice that you're white and well off. Why would I take your word about anything, much less about what a person of aboriginal descent was doing? You people are such liars."

'Race' is such a strange concept when you think about it.

Later, waiting for a bus home, I made change for a young man who wanted to take the bus, but only had a fiver and didn't want to walk to the nearest store (two blocks away on a blustery day) for change. It will get you good karma, he murmured as I dug in my purse. Well, I needed some of that, so I found him two toonies and a loonie. It got me pondering exactly what good karma would look like in this day and age? What kind of good karma would $5 of change buy me? I think we can assume that anyone born in North America in the 20th or 21st centuries starts off with a shit load of good karma.

Saskatoon isn't a convenient place to be racist these days. The boom has made us an extremely multi-racial city, people from all over the world. I personally love it, but I imagine that it doesn't sit so well with some people.

What really annoyed me about the Lady in the Hummer was that she was such a fockin' stereotype. Middle class and well meaning and probably if you asked her she would deny that she was racist. No, no, I'm not racist, it's just that--

I try not to be a bigot, but I will admit to a strong antipathy toward people driving Hummers.

I made chocolate cookies last night. When I was little, my mother used to make something called chocolate drop cookies which were my ideal cookie. When I was leaving home I asked her for the recipe, but she said it was in her head and she didn't think she could reproduce it. Or some such nonsense.

Years later, I happened upon a recipe by that name in one of her old cook books, so I made it. I don't think it's the exact recipe that she made; my cookies are dryer than I remember hers being, and not as rich. Maybe she added some oil, or something. Even so, I quite like them (although at least one of my granddaughters turned up her nose at them. Pretty sure the middle grandkid thinks I'm a terrible cook). This time I made them with stevia, which is a sugar substitute. It's supposed to have no effect on the blood sugar, it's grown naturally, (one can even grow it oneself, apparently). I don't dislike it, although it sure isn't sugar. It starts with a bitter taste, and has a long aftertaste which is sort of flat and unexciting, like one of the fake sugars.

As it turns out, a good dose of chocolate (fair trade, these cookies are good for body and soul) more or less disguises the bitter preliminary taste, so the cookies are ok, if a little undynamic. I cheated a bit on the icing, it's a chocolate cream cheese icing sweetened with honey. I'll have to try making it with the stevia, see how that goes.

Feel the naked dust beneath my toes
while the future sun calls winds to blow
and the past and present black-eyed crow
flies hunting high and circling low
between dream mountains of our Eden.

--Jethro Tull, Mountain Men

technology

2012-01-06T07:15:00.006-06:00

I have a scanner.

More accurately, by 'scanner', I mean a printer which also scans and copies. And by 'I', I mean, Novel has a printer which I gave him for Christmas.

I call the above picture, "What the hell is happening with my hair extensions?" Those grey smudges are really glitter. Sadly, the scanner doesn't pick up the sparkle.

O, Fortune is never a lady,

But the cursedest quean alive

Tricksie, mincing and jadey --

Kittle to lead or drive

Meet her, she's hailing a stranger!

Greet her, she's busking to leave!

Leave her alone, for a shrew to the bone

And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!

Largesse, largesse, O, Fortune!

Give or withhold at thy will

For if I've no care for Fortune,

Then Fortune must follow me still.

--Rudyard Kipling, Kim, Ch IV header, 'the Wishing Caps'

bollocks

2012-01-01T10:50:00.000-06:00

I seem to be starting 2012 in a bit of funk.

no YOU shut up

2011-12-16T17:20:00.002-06:00

I'm in a bummed out, hating on the world kind of mood these days.

I imagine that swearing off the internet for a while would help with these symptoms. That won't happen, of course.

The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

--Pink Floyd, Time

(Also, where the eff are all my blogger buttons/options??)

the black hole that swallowed time

2011-12-05T08:37:00.005-06:00

(title lifted from my sister.)

So renos are... plodding along. I was hoping we could be moved by Christmas, but now it looks more like spring.

However, I think I've come up with a solution to one of the problems to living in that house that has been exercising my mind. The house has only one bathroom and that isn't a full one. It is set under the slope of the roof, so in only half the room can one stand up. The bathtub is (was, actually, we've already taken it out) tucked at the back of the room under the roof, and there was no room for a shower.

Our first plan was to build an addition onto the back of the house so there could be a full bathroom on the main floor, but that seemed likely to be too pricey for our slender means. Then we thought of putting a bathroom in the basement, but walking down two flights of stairs every morning to shower seemed like it would get old quite fast.

Then we thought we might build an alcove out from the bathroom, cutting into the master bedroom and install a shower in that. That had several problems for me, one being that the master bedroom is the only room in the house with the original hardwood flooring, and I didn't fancy installing a shower on top of that. Plus the plumbing would have to be moved around quite a bit, plus the master bedroom is nice and roomy, and I don't really want to reduce it by much.

But I was looking through a brochure for showers, and found one of those bathtubs with doors that they make for people who have a hard time getting into normal bathtubs. It's taller than a normal tub, with a seat so you can sit down and it has a smaller footprint than a normal tub. And I'm all like, hey, that would fit in the bathroom, all we would have to do is turn the toilet a 45 degree angle, and change to a smaller sink. The tub is, of course, mega-expensive, but much cheaper than building an addition would be. We probably still will put another bathroom in the basement eventually, but that can wait till after we move.

The other big job, which we have been working on for several weeks now, is drywalling the master bedroom, which still had the original lathe and plaster walls and ceiling (and original insulation, which has turned black with age and is beyond gross). Neither Novel nor I knew how to drywall, but one of his soccer playing buddies worked in construction for a while, and volunteered to help us, so we've been ripping out the walls and putting in new insulation, and then drywalling. It's hard bloody work, especially after one has put in a full shift at one's regular job. Also there are a lot of odd angles and awkward shapes in the room, which are a challenge to cut the drywall to fit.

We have two walls done, plus the sloping part of the ceiling. The main part of the ceiling has yet to be done, which will be a pain, because rather than gross black ancient insulation, it appears to be insulated with wood chips and shavings which fall out all over when you rip out the lathe-and-plaster. And there has been something living up there, so in places you get showers of animal droppings falling out on your head. I thought it was mice, since that's what the droppings look like, but both Novel and our helpful drywalling friend contend that the droppings are too big. Maybe squirrels. Or rats, said our helpful friend, helpfully.

There are no rats in Saskatchewan, sez I.

Why are people so convinced that there aren't any rats in Saskatchewan? he demanded, scornfully. Of course there are rats in Saskatchewan.

Because that's what I learned in school, I said plaintively (although come to think of it, it was an Alberta school and they were talking about Alberta). And that's what the media tells me. It made big headlines when rats were found in Swift Current a couple of years ago.

If you google "are there rats in Saskatchewan" you get a couple of self-congratulatory pages on how there are no rats in Alberta because they fight them off at the Sask-Alta border.

Oh, well, who knows. I remember when we had a rat infestation in the haystacks -- I was probably five or six at the time, we were living south of Lloydminster, and the old man was still trying to be a farmer. He set fire to the haystacks, then he and my two brothers chased down the rat refugees with pitchforks. It was a strange and creepy night.

Oh, what a night.
Late December back in '63.
What a very special time for me,
'Cause I remember what a night.

--Frankie Valli, What a Night

overwhelmed

2011-11-25T09:31:00.003-06:00

I want to be the sort of person who just throws money at problems for a while.

And if they stare
Just let them burn their eyes on you moving
And if they shout
Don't let them change a thing what you're doing

--Argent, Hold Your Head Up

parmi veder li lagrime

2011-11-24T08:06:00.002-06:00

Dear iTunes:

It might be too early in the morning for Eminem. But Eminem followed by Tito Schipa is sheer genius.

Sincerely, etc.

The clock strikes midnight, one, two, then half past three

This half ass rhyme with this half ass piece of paper

I'm desperate at my task, if I could just get the rest of this shit off my chest again.

--Eminem, Run Rabbit Run

Parmi veder li lagrime

Scorrenti da quel ciglio

quando fa il duolo e l'ansia

del subito priglio

dell'amor nostra memore

--Verdi, Rigoletto

stuffmas

2011-11-20T07:46:00.005-06:00

I haven't done a lot of Christmas shopping yet, but I have bought one present that, every time I look at it, my mind says, Really? You're going to give that away? Reeaally?

Too bad there weren't five of it, because I'm pretty sure that everyone on my (adult, thrift) gift list would love it.

I guess I'm an unnatural grandmother, but I find it easier to shop for the adults on my list than for the grandkids.

We walked the loneliest mile

We smiled without any style

We kiss altogether wrong

No intention

--The Motels, Only the Lonely

steadily depressing low down mind messing renovation blues

2011-11-16T15:44:00.004-06:00

It occurs to me that I need to blog in pithy one liners if I still want to blog, since that's about all I have time for these days. It should be fine, since the internet is notoriously short of attention span.

It occurs to me that I use the phrase 'it occurs to me' too much. Remind me never to use it again.

Since I last talked to y'all on here, I have learned to install drywall. In retrospect, I would have preferred not to learn this. Renos are hard on the carpal tunnels, not to mention fingertips plagued by psoriasis. Also, why do I have this rash on my wrist?

Watching them come and go
The templars and the saracens
They're traveling the holy land
Opening telegrams

--David Bowie, Loving The Alien

cat blogging

2011-10-12T07:33:00.019-06:00

The other day in a moment of weakness I might have blurted out to my family that I felt the need for another orange polydactyl kitten. So last night the Empress phoned me about these guys:

Mr. Mitts

"They're not orange," says she, "but look at the size of their paws."

So cute. Although I'm not sure if you can tell anything about the size of a kitten's paws from a photo. Their paws look always too big for their bodies.

But that got me looking through the list of adoptable kittens at the local SPCA (you know, the one Gene Simmons and Shannon Tweed donate to) and I think maybe orange is a more important trait to me in cats than polydactyl. Orange domestic short hairs seem to have the best personalities; as evidenced by Doorstop, Tybalt (the Duchess' cat), the orange tom whose name I am blanking on that lives with tKOS & tQOS, and of course, Cissy.

Just look at this baby:

Or Lilac:

What a pouty baby she is.

Roscoe's pretty adorable:

Look at him. He's a baby Doorstop, just waiting to get fat.

The adult male orange domestic short hair is pretty lovable too. For example, Pumpkin:

Look at that world weary face.

Or Leonard:

"Human. Why have you not yet fetched me my sardines on ice?"

This one reminds me of Cissy. Look at her, just lurking, ready to shred ankles.

Precious:

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullabye

--The Beatles, Golden Slumber