In lieu of a clarification on that last post

I’m in L.A. until tomorrow morning-ish. My productivity levels have been dropping harder than the stock market, but it’s just as well that by the time I feel motivated to better explain myself re: that ant colony video clip, the greater majority of this site traffic will have died out. In the meantime, three lacking-in-quality photos courtesy of my phone that will fail to generate much interest in any of you, but whatever, they make me happy:

This is Schroeder, the Lab/Corgi mix I hung out with last night and this morning. He’s one of the most awesome dogs ever because 1) he doesn’t bark, 2) the way his genes got divided, he has Corgi legs and Lab everything else, and 3) he lives in Sherman Oaks, and what isn’t there to love about Sherman Oaks?

"Amazing, Flexible Building Sticks". People, they are PIPE CLEANERS.

Penguins and polar bears! So that my guests will be overwhelmed with the cuteness of their shower curtain. I aim to bewilder.


My brain was too fried to write anything today, anyway

By request: pictures!

This is my dining room. It used to be an empty space, so G. and I would use the cleared floor area to dance. But I decided I didn’t want a dining table because it doesn’t really suit me or the purposes of this house. We have the huge island (which is the size of a large dining table anyway) and there just never seemed to be a need for anything else. The fact that it’s been almost eight easy months sans dining room furniture should have also been a clue.

The ottoman will eventually be replaced by a coffee table of sorts, whereupon it will be moved to the side wall of the kitchen for overflow/wallflower seating. I’m pretty excited. Do you know what this means? This means my transition time between cooking and NAPPING has been cut down to virtually nothing! Yes.

These are two organic sweet basil plants I picked up tonight on my way home (plus a bottle of wine for size comparison). Nothing like gigantic basil leaves to make a kitchen feel more prehistoric and dinosaur-friendly. And for the record, their names are Pete.

You would have liked it, Internet.

I wish you could have been there to see it, or I wish I’d had the nerve or the time to pull the car over to the side of the road and take better pictures. It was surreal. It was haunting. It was unearthly and moving and soul-shifting.

The moon had risen early and it was nearing on full; it hung just above the top of the mountains in front of us as we drove east, the sun slowly setting behind us. The scenery was washed in the gradually receding light and, as gently as a tide turns, changed from faded to blue to pink to deep purple. The sky moved through late afternoon and dusk and twilight and the air took on a sharp crispness permeated with the smell of trees and solitude. All of this while we were contained within a bowl of mixed-up landscapes: a lush valley of groves and fields surrounded by ancient, barren giants of mountains on the other side of which were only stretches of empty, empty desert. We drove through this and the moon, in all her other-worldly glory, watched over us the whole time, cradling us in her arms as we made our way home.

They’re so beautiful, they could be part-time models

Okay, look here, you. I don’t "think" that the desert has some of the best sunsets. It’s just FACT. In a recent poll of scientists and engineers on campus, both practicing and aspiring, 100% of those surveyed agreed that our desert has some of the best sunsets (and sunrises, but who’s ever really awake early enough to catch a sunrise?) in the world. Scientists and engineers! These are people who live and breathe and die by facts! Facts and hard, cold data!

From Lulda Casadaga:

From cheavyarms:

From yankee artillerst:

From epsy786:

And boy howdy, you should see the desert in a lightning storm.

Iowa, I owe ya

Internets, say hello to Maya.

Maya is named after Maya Stein, a poet whose work I only know through this online medium and who won my fanship with this poem (and then this one). The naming has less to do with poetry appreciation, however, and far more to do with fruits– which is a story that starts with a doggle named Mango, a story you don’t really feel like hearing and I don’t really feel like telling. I’ve been up for 20 hours at this point, Internets.

She is not my dog, but we will be living under the same roof for the next seven weeks, which means I get to play with her when I’m home and escape the guilt trips when I’m not. It’s pretty much the best puppy situation ever; why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? And incidentally, I’ve taken to calling her Little Moo. Little Moo Pickle Pie.

The breeder was a really considerate, caring, thoughtful and friendly
guy, and I don’t know if this is how all his puppies turn out, but ours
was unbelievably well-socialized and well-behaved and paper-trained upon arrival, which– which really rocks, as anyone who’s ever had to raise a puppy would agree.

Anyway. She’s a sweetie, she doesn’t fit inside of a teacup and never will, she’s got *brains*, and she’s not a quivering ankle-biting yappy dog. I’m like a human metal detector, except instead of buried bits of scrap metal and doubloons, I find kick-ass pets. Win!

Flickr set here.

And all the words you’re searching for don’t have a sound

For Halloween this year, I was:

a. a semi-obscure reference to a webcomic
b. from the distant future
c. Cory Doctorow
d. just really goddamned awesome

No one I encountered caught the reference, and most people just thought I was a superhero. Which, when you think about it, Cory Doctorow sort of *is*, so, whatever. I was so thoroughly amused by my costume that I didn’t care in the slightest that nobody knew what I was (though– the glasses from Night Two didn’t work the way I thought they would, but the paint on my goggles from Night One kept rubbing off).

S. wore my most favorite ever costume in the whole entire universe of costumes, I am not even kidding: he went as Three-Hole-Punch [S.]. Which should have been immediately obvious upon first glance, but nobody knew what (or whom) *he* was, either, and that just makes me sort of sad. You people have no idea what you’re missing.

It’s (finally) November and yesterday, while I was contemplating the fact that it was (finally) the last day of October, I realized that this means nothing to me, in the same way that January 1 doesn’t mean a great deal to me. But it *is* November now, and it’s almost the weekend, and already this month is starting off with good, good things: I might fly out to Chicago tomorrow night, or maybe to D.C., or else take a half-day trip to San Francisco on Saturday– Toad will be back in Vegas Saturday night– and on Tuesday, "Ratatouille" comes out on DVD!

And if nothing else, by the time this weekend is over, my most recent interest will have up and moved away. Which one would think would be a *bad* thing, but while I’m not exactly jumping for joy over this, it’ll be a little something of a relief. We were never going to be anything real, which I suppose I’ve accepted when it comes to the guys in that particular social scene, but of course I got a little attached to the way he would look at me and smile, to the way laughter came so easily into our dialogue. And I make no apologies for this– I knew, always, what the limitations were, but time with him was always nice and it was– fun– to have that little flutter in my chest again.

So of course the night it became clear that I actually, genuinely liked him was the same night I found out he was leaving. Et voila. The aforementioned relief will come from the fact that if he isn’t here, I can’t hope to see him again.


Q: What has 6 legs, 3 ears, 4 tusks and 2 trunks?

A: An elephant with spare parts.

Q: What did the cat say to the elephant?

A: Meow.

Q: Why do elephants have grey skin?

A: To keep their insides together.

Five’ll getcha ten that I can wheedle him into letting me, too

It’s one thing for someone to come home to his apartment after a long day of driving and teaching, only to find that– much like a restless dog who starts chewing up everything in sight after too many hours left to its own devices– the sassbot of a girl who’s visiting for the weekend has liberally covered all the kitchen counter surfaces with crayon drawings of flowers, citrus fruits and a game of hangman.

It is quite another thing for that someone to not only magnanimously leave it all intact for the duration of the weekend, but to indulge it as well:

To his credit, the only thing he did when he first saw what I’d done to the kitchen– and he saw it as soon as he walked in– was smile, shake his head and denounce: "You’re such a *nerd*!" Which is true, but this was coming from someone who reads chemistry and physics books for fun.

Anyway; when he told me he was going to take a shower, I suppose a funny look must have passed over my face because he was on his guard in an instant. I denied anything out of the ordinary, all wide-eyed and innocent-like, but he still shot me a glance of suspicion before disappearing down the hallway.

I sat on the couch, holding my breath and waiting.

About fifteen seconds after the bathroom door had shut, I heard him burst out laughing.

And, I mean, I guess there are weirder things that he could have to put up with, things worse than me making ridiculous certificates and posting the one with his equally-ridiculous nickname emblazoned across it in big bold lettering on the Internet for all to see, things worse than enduring my vocabulary consisting of little more than "jelly beans!" for an entire evening– not because I *wanted* jelly beans, but because "jelly beans!" is really, really fun to say– or my enthusiastic clamoring for us to walk the four miles (one way) to Studio City to go to Pinkberry (and thank god he didn’t humor me on that one). [1]

And, yeah, I could see *some* logic in Jeremy’s suggestion that all this is tolerated in the hopes of keeping me "from putting an orange peel on his head," except when you think about it, it’s ridiculous to think I would ever attempt to make an orange hat for a human. Oranges– especially this year, after the bad winter crop– are too small for even a second’s consideration.

Melons, on the other hand– that’s a different story. That’s a story of infinite possibilities. Oh, man, can’t you just see it? Cantaloupe crowns and watermelon gladiator helmets…

Oh MAN. My fingers are itching in delight already. Hooray for summer plans!

Continue reading

He knows about it now (finally)*, so I guess it’s safe to release these to the Internets

On Monday, after 72 hours of on-and-off-again inconsolable crying jags:

It's Flo!

On Thursday afternoon, after four days of almost never leaving the house and multiple raging and hysterical fits of frustration:

pixie punk rawk porcupine

I’m still not happy with it– but I wasn’t happy with it before, either, so what’s a girl to do? My appointment with the specialist has been postponed temporarily until the referral from my GP goes through; in the meantime, I’m crossing my fingers and slowly stockpiling on hats.

In the meantime, life goes on.

Me + Roger @ Railhead

*Remember this? Yeah, pretty much wrote that with him in mind. I feel like I’ve pulled a bait-and-switch on him; first the weight gain, now the near-total desecration of hair. And he is, thus far, unfazed by it all. Blows my mind.