Oh, whatever.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Re-reading the post about the Gala, I should make myself write “Two bee oar knot too bee might be spelled right, but it is still wrong.” About 50 times. Ah, well, fixed. And embarrassed. Doubtless missed something. Been that kind of day.

Ugh. And, for good measure, bah.

This morning has Officially put me in a Foul Mood, but instead of being whiney as well as grouchy, I shall be snarky. Whether it is comically snarky remains to be seen.

*****

Dear Mind:

In the future you are to limit the stories you play in my dream theater to one of the following topics:

Something nice with any of the current British Crushes. I do not watch Master and Commander so often because I forgot how it ends. Something with Richard Armitage might be nice, but James D’Arcy’s always a winner. I’ll even take the reprise of the standing behind him in line in a supermarket and trying to check out what he’s buying without looking like a dork one. It’s better than nothing.

Neil Gaiman presenting me with a Hugo award. That one never gets old. Well, ok, so I’ve not even had it yet, but really, how could any dream where one of my favorite writers hands me an award be bad?

Something, in other words, peaceful and happy. I’m not looking for much. (Well, maybe a Hugo award. Or a Stoker. Or a black current flavored candy cane. Seriously, not picky.)

You are to not give me a whole night of pain, misery, suffering, family arguments, dismemberment, blood, anger, and shame like last night. Never, ever a bloody gain.

Sincerely and optimistically,

Me.

P.S. If you don’t clean up your act, I will start drinking and destroying your brain cells, then where will you be? Eh?

****

Dear Stupid living Room Curtain Rod:

I do not appreciate you coming out of your brackets when I’m already this close to being late for work I know I screwed you properly in place. Furthermore, I do not think it’s funny that you let your end fall off, so that the curtain fell off, and I had to spend time putting the curtain back on you, then nearly killed myself when the wheeled hassock moved under my feet, causing me to fall. My jaw still hurts from making contact with the table like that, and all I can say is if I hadn’t caught the glass swan you knocked over you would be bent in half, cutting my nose off to spite my face or no.

Aggravated,

Me

****

Dear Very Nice Garbage Men:

I know that your job is lousy. But the middle of the road is no place to leave my brand new garbage can. In the middle of the narrow, practically one lane road, nice and neatly placed upside down so I know it’s no accident that the garbage can is sitting there. See? This is why we can’t have nice things.

But thank you for throwing the lid where I could find it, this week. Very nice.

Snarkily,

Me

****

I think I shall go and be out of sorts while I do something to earn my keep.

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Thursday, June 07, 2007

This is the sort of thing that delights me to no end: Plastic made from potatoes. I've used plastics made from cornstarch and did not notice any difference, except both times I thought the quality was measurably better.

I've been working on my presentation for the twenty-seventh. I've been making screen shots like crazy for the handout, and I intend to make a list of free photo editing software. I know of the Gimp and Seris, but does anyone else know of any? I would especially love to hear of any Apple-flavoured varieties, in case one of the teachers is a Mac user at home. I feel confident. Basically, I'm teaching teachers how to prepare pictures downloaded from the Library of Congress site for printing or use in their own projects. After I show them once, I'll give them time to try out what I showed them.

I finished North and South It was wonderfully like Pride and Prejudice, Armitage's cotton mill owner proud of what he's accomplished, and while he works fiercely to make the place a decent one to work at, he can't help that there are things he needs to do to keep the mill open. Denby-Ashe's prejudiced young lady who means well and wants to help the poor is strong and well portrayed.

I am reading Judith Tarr's Queen of Amazons, a wonderful historical about an Amazon warrior without a soul who finds it seeking out Alexander the Great. It is told from the point of view (mostly, thus far) of Selene, a warrior who has the Site, but does not want to pay the price she saw it demand of her Aunt.

Yes, I said I would read something else, but I started reading it sort of by accident, and it's not easy to put aside. I did manage to begin a short story. I plan to mix several versions of the Cinderella tale, and tell it from the perspective of the Fairy. My thesis for the tale is wondering why there are so many versions of this tale in particular. Is it just a universality of experience, or something more?

This is me. The caution in your tale, the one with the thousand guises. Right now my disguise is nothingness, as I follow a man, a farmer, I think, leading his donkey down the dusty path into town. The donkey is well fed, but the distance is long, yet the man had made no move to ride it, or the cart it is pulling.

Kindness, then. It is confirmed when he reaches up and scratches the donkey between it’s long, dark grey ears, and says, “Not far, now. We will rest in a few minutes.” He is heavy, and soaked with sweat, so I am not sure if he was comforting himself or the animal.

So what is your vice? That is what I ask, always, as I study the people I meet. Are you vain? Are you greedy? Do you let your resentments fester? Do you lust after what is not yours? His was not readily apparent, after all, if he abused his animal I could just switch his and the donkey’s souls and call it a day. Or just trade their heads. I’d done it before, and was bored by the thought.


And, if you like ships go here and type sailing ships" in the search box for lots o sailing ship squee!

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  And so i went to the ball
Wednesday, June 06, 2007

So, I finally went to the Gala Saturday. I put on my pretty dress, my new shoes, painted all my nails, even borrowed my mother's heavily beaded shawl, which is silver, and she made it herself but never got to really use. I think I looked really good, though the photographs, as ever, disappoint.

There was bus service into Pittsburgh for those who wanted it, so I went to campus, got on the bus, sat in the back seat. I knew people on the bus, but they didn't really know me -- they were their own crowd, most of them had at least thirty years on me -- so all of them, except a very nice man (Who I'd wanted to talk to, because my father, when he went to college here, really liked him) left me alone. Most of my journey was just me, in my own world, music in my ears from my player. (That little mp3 player ranks high as one of the best things I've ever spent money on.) The first song was "The Gambler", which I took as an omen to be careful at the tables, since I knew there would be gambling later. The next song was "I Write Sins Not Tragedies", but I couldn't think what it meant, unless it was that I should be careful what I say.

The trip was nice, the bus was a traveling type, so we were high off the road, I could look right into the eyes of the truck drivers we passed. It makes for a nice view, I have to admit, I think I saw further than usual. I saw a rose bush, wild and filled with pink roses, just stuck on a hill overlooking a busy four-lane, no houses or rhyme or reason to be there. I saw cross made out of white painted pipe that someone had duct taped flowers to. I saw a runaway truck ramp, not in itself all that exciting, except that I noted one of the lids was off the barrel, and realized that that would be a really good place to hide a body...realized that with the traffic it might be rather hard to do so, then realized how to get around that.

We went into the William Penn hotel, they have a grand ballroom on the top floor, and several different multi-purpose rooms. The place is beautiful, in some ways, grand in others. Sometimes I thought the carpet was a bit...tacky, but all and all the place was impressive. There was a reception, waiters coming around constantly to offer the hordeourves that sat on large silver trays covered with what looked like narrow palm tree fronds. By dint of milling around to several groups so I could find my department members (especially Mel, who invited me) I managed to try one of everything. They called us for dinner by turning off the lights. (Smart of them, since I couldn't see where I was going...) and by walking around, dinging sets of tubular bells. They were annoying, and I got to the point where I hurried up to leave the room before I gave into the temptation to stick the bell up one of the ringer's noses.

We all sat at out assigned tables, and watched a video of all the winners. Mel was wonderful, her speech exemplifying why she won for service. Then all the winners were called in to get their medal and etched crystal award, and when the President (of the University) gave Mel hers, she got a bit teary. It was a wonderful moment, really, and I felt so proud of her, because she does work really hard.

Then we had dinner, which was, for me, pecan encrusted halibut. It was marvelous. I did notice, however, that I just can't get used to, or rather, get to the point where I much like wine or champagne. I had both, (we had a champagne toast just before the salad was served. Oh, i should tell you about the salad in a mo.) but there is a sourness, a kick, I don't like. I love the cream wine I told you all about awhile back, but it's sweet and velvety. So I stuck to water, mostly, feeling guilty for taking the red wine, since it went to waste. Well. The trouble is, being an adult means drinking wine gracefully, in some circles, but I think I'll just pass.

The salad was weird. It came in a huge martini glass on a small plate, a huge chunk of lettuce sticking up over the glass on one side, a few spoonfuls of a Spanish looking salad of corn and onions and black olives and even some crumbled feta (I know, Greek) cheese. It was pretty, but I secretly think that salads like this are more of a conversational piece/experiment in sociology than anything. How will a group of people, dressed in fancy clothes and on their very best behaviour, eat this extremely messy and challenging salad? Will they pick at it until removal? Will they carefully cut the lettuce? Or will they, like I did, give up and dump it on the plate?

During dinner Laura encouraged me to get my picture taken. They had complimentary pictures...I have two, one of just me (Laura said it was my big chance to have a jacket cover picture done by a professional. This is one of the many reasons I love that woman.) and one of me and most of the department members that went. When I see Mel again, there should be another group picture of all of us.

The picture of me is ok, except the dress strap came out, and you can see it, clear as day. Photoshop time. I should have cut it off, but it does help keep the dress on the hanger.

After dinner, there were more videos, but these were more...I don't know. I didn't enjoy them, they made me feel restive, like a little kid wanting to go to play. I mostly managed to control it. Bad me. Especially since everyone in the video...their hearts are in the right place, and I admire them for doing it, because I certainly could not.

After that bit, we were now free. Some of us went to get the picture done (the last one I don't have yet) and I went with Laura to the place where they had a huge dessert buffet with a chocolate fountain set up. There was also all sorts of gambling games, and I had five dollars worth of complimentary chips in a gold gauze draw string pouch. There was all sorts of good things...chocolate mousse in cups made of chocolate, tarts of creme with tangerine and blueberries and blackberries, and of course, the chocolate fountain.

After, I decided to see if I was any good at gambling. I was, well, crap at craps. Seriously. The gentleman at the table, he seemed like an old timer, just an awesome character, walked me through it, and when I told him that I my career as a craps player was over, he said, "Good girl," approvingly, then suggested I try roulette.

I won...one chip. But then, you can't brag winning because you put one chip on black, can you?

And that was the end of it. I know people went and bought more chips and stuff, but I was done.

Then I went down to the bar and met with the department, and we sat around and yelled at each other over the noise. It was odd...I could, without worry, drink whatever I felt like. I had an hour bus ride to sober me up, and I don't get much affected by drink, anyway. There was a twenty in my pocket to allow me anything I'd like.

What did I order?

A coke. Maybe I'm more of a teetotaler than I thought? Though I do drink at home...

I was sitting next to two of the departmental wives, but mostly I spoke to Judy, who I know better. I had a great time, talking to her about The Tudors. She's read The Other Boleyn Girl, too. Fabulous.

And then I got on the bus. It's funny, how silent buses get at night...it's like being inside a church, no one wants to talk. On the way up, in the bright afternoon sun, people were laughing and carrying on. But once we got out of the city, we were all silent. My mp3 was singing in my ears, and I watched the city at night from my perch. Pittsburgh is a beautiful city. The direction I come from, I enter and leave through a long tunnel. When you're coming into the city, you can't see the city for the build up of the tunnel, not really. And you go through the tunnel, and just as you've gotten bored, hypnotized by the racing lights and tile you come out onto a bridge, and it just catches your breath. There is still the breadth of river to cross, so you can admire the beautiful buildings, the curve of the city, the boats on the river. It's a surprise, really, and magnificent, like going through the wall into faery, because, to me at least, Pittsburgh is a place filled with unknown dangers and delights.

The gentleman my father knew made sure I got off the bus, which was sweet, and I got into my car. It took an embarrassingly long time to start (I'm taking it to be repaired and inspected tonight...I think there's a leak in a gas line.) which was a nice introduction back to my usual plane of being.

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