Category: general

I was on my way to lunch today when Brooke called to tell me something awesome.

Here is a conversation she had with a guy at the place where she picked up her wedding invitations:

GUY: Can I tell you something? You might think I’m weird.

BROOKE: Okay.

[Actually she probably rambled on and on about how she’s weird too and everyone’s weird and it’s totally okay.]

GUY: I think I found your blog!

BROOKE (disbelievingly): Oh really.

GUY: Well, I read this blog called pixelscribbles…

At this point, my brain went “SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”, so I can’t testify to the accuracy of my recollections. But apparently this guy reads my blog because he likes my photos and he likes that I take pictures of local places, like North Augusta. He found Brooke’s blog through my blogroll.

So wow, someone local found and reads my blog! And lately all he’s seen is my whining :> I promise, Mystery Local Photo Guy, I will get out and take more photos soon!

I got up at 6 a.m. today.

I tend to wake up a couple of hours before I normally get up, and usually when that happens I’ll go to the bathroom and go back to sleep. This morning I was headed back towards the bed when I thought, I have things I want to do today. If I just get up now, I’ll have extra time to do them. Gazing fondly at the bed, I added, There’s nothing I’d rather do more than climb back in and go back to sleep. I love sleeping. But I’ll be happier if I do this.

I don’t know when I started thinking in complete sentences, but these days my thoughts are like a novel’s narration, or a diary.

In any case, I got up–leaving the bed shockingly unmade–and picked an outfit, then headed out to the living room where Sean was still up and on his computer.

Half asleep, I sniffed the air.

“I got hungry,” Sean chuckled. “That’s what you smell.”

Ah, I thought, ramen.

Setting my chosen outfit in the bathroom, I headed back out to the kitchen and for some reason started doing the dishes. I cleaned out the sink and emptied the dishwasher, and even washed down the stove and counters. Then I went to the bedroom and started a load of whites (and while I was there, made the bed).

Finally I hopped in the shower. By the time I was finished getting dressed and putting my makeup on, Sean had gone to sleep. (These days he sleeps on the couch because less light comes in through the patio doors than does through our bedroom window.) The laundry was still going, so I grabbed my shopping list and headed to Wal-Mart.

I got there around 7 and shopped until 8:15. Not only did I stock up on some supplies so I can cook at home for a change, but I also got some Christmas presents. This year’s funds are slim, but I would hate to go home for Christmas empty-handed, and I was able to find some good deals that I think people will like. There are still four people left to find gifts for–the hardest ones, of course. We’ll see how that turns out.

The total at the register turned out to be $50 less than I was expecting, somehow, which gave me a serious reason to smile.

The sun had come up when I wheeled the cart outside, but there was fog everywhere. I had to be careful as I pulled out of the lot and headed home, but it was beautiful. The sun looked like the moon through all that fog.

Now here I am, arrived home with plenty of time to unpack everything. I put the frozen food away first, then the rest of the supplies, and finally arranged all the Christmas gifts on the bed in the office/guest bedroom. I also laid out the new cards I bought and pulled out my supplies for signing cards from last year–the ink on the gold pen is probably dry by now, but we’ll see. I’m hideously late on cards this year, and I still need to go get stamps, but if I manage to mail them tomorrow, hopefully they won’t arrive too long after Christmas.

The other day I was feeling overwhelmed and I thought, Maybe I shouldn’t even try to make cookies this year. I have so much else to do. Committing myself to making cookies will just stress me out more.

That may be the case, but I’m not going to call it quits just yet. If it happens this week that I feel up to it, I’ll bake some cookies. It would just feel strange not to.

Plus, I’ve had tins for them sitting around the office for months!

From the Augusta Chronicle, though this is hardly the only institution that does this:

Police describe one of the two suspects as a black man, 30 to 40 years old, about 6 feet tall and weighing about 190 pounds. The man also reportedly was wearing a dark blue running suit with a white stripe down the side and had a close-shaved head and was wearing an earring.

The female suspect was described as 30 to 40 years old with short bleached blond hair and acne on her face. She is 5 feet, 8 inches tall and weighs about 130 pounds.

Yes, we can assume the woman is white, but it’s not fair that she’s not tagged as such when the man was clearly labeled. It implies that white is the baseline and all other “races” are modifications.

It’s also possible, from that description, that she is any race, since her hair is dyed. So the description fails unless you operate from the white-as-baseline paradigm.

Where I work, we avoid mentioning race entirely and rely on mugshots for physical descriptions beyond height, weight, and what the suspect was last seen wearing. I don’t know if that’s an optimal solution, but it’s certainly better than this.

I have been somewhat out of sorts lately (you may have noticed). One thing that has cheered me a bit is my new copy of The Nutcracker–Dorati’s Concertegebouw Orchestra recording. A lot of the tracks are relatively new to me–while I have of course seen the ballet (and would love to go again), there are a few tracks that get the most play, while the rest are known only to the hardcore fan.

When I reached three of those oft-played tracks tonight–the Arabian, Chinese, and Russian dances–I had to smile.

And now I’m to Waltz of the Flowers!

I feel guilt for practically everything in my life. What I do, what I don’t do, things that happen to me that I can’t control but somehow feel that I should have predicted and prepared for. My guilt is a large part of the reason I gave up on religion–I didn’t need another reason to feel guilty.

I could be so much more, I think. I could be helping people. I could be learning new things. I could be making more money. I could master piano, drawing, writing.

I should have prepared for the fire, I think. I should have put important things in a safe place. I shouldn’t have borrowed things from friends, and I shouldn’t have been so selfish as to take heirloom furniture with me to Georgia.

I’m lazy and disorganized, I think, and I hate myself for it. Everyone else is doing so much more than me. I can’t accomplish anything. But I should be. With my talents, I should be doing something. So why aren’t I?

You couldn’t afford a child even if you could have one.

CBS News is reporting (though I can’t find a link yet) about a survey that found that 95% of Iraqi respondents believe security in their country is worse now than it was under Saddam Hussein.

Gee. You think?

Obviously the country was far more stable under Saddam’s tyrannical rule. I don’t see how this is even a question worth asking.

What we need to know is how they feel about their lives now.

I think Iraqis probably fear for their lives just as much now as they did under Saddam. Then, the fear of pissing off a known enemy kept them in line. Now, the fear of the unknown, of random, meaningless violence, keeps the people not so much in line, but instead prisoners of terror.

A better, more direct question would be, “Was it worth it?” Because it’s the mood of the general populace that will determine the final outcome in Iraq.

But I do. I hate it.

I hate that when I’m looking at a “set”, I can’t tell where I am–how close I am to the end.

I hate that the organization is so loose that I can’t tell how anything’s related to anything else.

I hate that there are seemingly five billion ways to view someone’s photos, and I can’t figure out why or how I got into the one I’m in, or how to get back out.

Why can’t it just have galleries with thumbnails?

I don’t know what my problem is, why I don’t grok Flickr, but I don’t, and I don’t want to. I just want to be able to look at photos without trying to figure out how to use the UI, without getting lost.

Everyone just needs to switch to SmugMug.

“You always have fast food!” my coworker said. “You must know all the places. It seems like every time I come in here you have fast food.”

That’s how we used to refer to it, anyway. “What’s going on in the game?” “Have you checked the game?”

The game was, of course, the AMRN.

Right now a few people with more patience than I are discussing the game, trying to think of ways to revitalize it. The glory days may be unattainable, but it doesn’t hurt to set them as a goal, does it?

All their talk has reminded me of the fun I used to have there.

Sometimes I miss that DIRE Wolves game I ran on Tir-na-nOg. It was funny, I named an NPC “Yowai Kaze” (weak/gentle wind) and had a character on the Etrakis with Ventdoux for a callsign (although I think it’s actually supposed to be Ventoux…so much for my French).

It wasn’t a coincidence, really. Sean named Julien “Ventdoux” after asking me for a translation of “gentle wind”. And when I went on to become an Eagle/Arcadia Q-GM, that was the best I could think of for the outcast who talked big but ultimately couldn’t hack it and was ostracized from his village. (Which explains, for anyone curious, why he preferred to be called Kahzay. “Wind” is much better by itself.)

I really enjoyed my CO NPC, too…he was no-nonsense, gruff, by-the-book, and a little sad. And of course, he died. Originally he was going to get shot in the face, and I’d planned that for so long that afterwards I sometimes forgot that I hadn’t done it. But the way it turned out, he had a heart attack when he discovered he’d been used, and the players didn’t give the backstabbers time to do him in quickly.

The Sailor Moon game really shook my confidence in my ability to GM a game, and the latter days of my command of GP4 put the final nails in the coffin. I use too many NPCs, I guide the game too much, and ultimately I can’t be objective. GMing my future husband was a mistake that has made me afraid to work with Sean on anything, other than our marriage.

I miss the more innocent days, back before I had so much power. Back when I was just a player. Now that I know what I’m capable of and all the things I don’t know, I can’t imagine myself playing ever again. And even though it’s been ages since I left, I’m still too bone-weary to even attempt to learn the things I would need to learn.

Sean said today that he’s been thinking about going back to the game and seeing if he can’t get something going.

“Good,” I said. “I won’t play, but you should. I think you’d enjoy it.”

I adore The Reveal.

Kaname finding out Sousuke is part of a military watchdog group.

Chloe seeing Clark’s super powers for the first time.

Sinclair introducing himself as Valen.

Mamoru witnessing Usagi’s henshin.

Anyone finding out anything. Oh, I love it so.

Sometimes The Reveal can be cruel, like Lana finally learning everything about Clark, only to lose it all when Clark changes time to save her. And sometimes it can just be a horrible tease, like Ran figuring out that Conan is Shinichi, and then being deceived into distrusting her deduction.

But even when The Reveal abuses me, I love it…and I need more.

Last night I dreamed that the station was taken over by my previous employer, the place where I only worked for three weeks. We all had to move into that building, which somehow instead of being in Lincolnton was now right next door to us. It wasn’t everybody, but I do remember that Lynnsey had to go, because she started talking about giving up reporting and taking up a singing career.

None of the actual people I remember from that job were there. One big guy appeared and he was retconned into my memory. “I’m back,” I said. He took it well.

But when I sat down to actually do my job, I couldn’t concentrate on it at all. I couldn’t remember what I needed to do. So I just sat there and thought, Gee, this feels familiar.

There was a subplot involving Clark from Smallville and this powerful rogue being from another dimension. That was the most interesting part of the dream, but I can only remember bits and pieces.

This Reuters piece is so interesting I’m going to do something I never do and quote the whole thing.

BELGRADE (Reuters) – James Bond fans in the Balkans seem as pleased as any by the darkness and edge of their hero in Daniel Craig’s new ‘Casino Royale’ portrayal, but some cannot suspend their disbelief when the plot gets him to Montenegro.

At one Belgrade cinema, the audience, familiar with the real Montenegro, tittered as Bond and his love interest glide through mountains in the soft-lit dining car of a 21st century express train, quaffing Chateau Angelus, Premier Grand Cru Classe Saint-Emilion.

They laughed out loud when the pair disembark at an impeccable old luxury hotel with valet parking and Bentley limousines, to be politely greeted by spotless, uniformed staff.

Newly independent Montenegro has high hopes for its tourism industry and money is pouring into much-needed infrastructure projects. But most backdrops are as much Socialist-era concrete as old Mediterranean stone, and its railways are antiquated.

Bond’s Montenegro was actually filmed at the old Kaiserbad spa in Karlovy Vary, in the Czech Republic and on the well-heeled shores of Lake Como, in Italy. None of the movie’s scenes was filmed in Montenegro.

There has got to be a good answer to this question.

(I’m afraid I know what it is, too…)

Vomit warning level 9 is in effect.

This morning I was dreaming about going to the bathroom. I often dream about that in the late morning, because I actually have to go to the bathroom, so my mind fixates on that need.

In this particular dream I was using a Japanese toilet. Not the traditional trench style, but the new-fangled heated seat ones. After I finished, I decided I wanted to try the bidet. I recently read an article about people who use it too much, but I figured once wouldn’t hurt.

(Side note: in the dream, the bidet was labeled マッサジ. This is the first time I can remember ever reading Japanese in a dream. I kind of doubt that bidets are called “massage” in real life.)

The controls were nonstandard, consisting of an odd basin sitting in front of me with a button I had to push to start the bidet. Only when I pressed it, nothing happened. So I’d keep holding down the button, and the button would sink in further…

…and then the basin would start filling with, well, waste products, probably from the toilet bowl itself. And I’d yank my hand back before those products engulfed the button (and my finger).

I actually tried this about three times, and on the third try I was too slow letting off the button, so I had to use toilet paper to clean up until I could get to a sink.