Settler words&music in S'ólh Téméxw, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming soon, Hair Sinister after that. —Restore All Indigenous Lands!
The darnedest thing happened to me last night. I was minding my own business as I walked out of Brentwood Station, and I see a young woman carrying a frozen pizza box. Then I see a young man carrying a pizza box, and another, and another, and I start getting excited. Sure enough, at the bottom of the ramp there’s a whole bunch of people giving away pizza.
Took care of dinner, anyway.
ScaryClown’s buddy Tyson, who’s battled brain cancer for many years past his best before date, died peacefully in his sleep last night, at home. I’ll post a link to his site, which has a lot of his extremely cool artwork, when I can.
I’m really glad he didn’t die in hospital, and that he was enjoying life to the fullest until the end. I had brunch with him a couple of months back….
Love each other while you can.
It was raining so hard when I got out of work that I took a cab home – I couldn’t deal with not having a brolly and it was ASS FREEZING COLD on the mountain, tks. And the cabbie hit on me. No further comments on that. The Luddite was here – we had chicken fried rice and salad, and the usual Dread Bar of Yummy Chocolate. Watched some more Earth to the Moon. The Luddite picked up the Dunnett that Keith is leaving lying around and wanted to know where the naughty bits were. “Sheesh,” says I in exasperation, “there’s like two sex scenes in that novel and if you blinked you’d miss them.” “Too many characters,” says he, and I laugh, because that’s what certain other non fans have said to me. The Luddite makes me laugh rather immoderately; his take on things is wickedly skewed.
I really don’t want to go to Jericho. It’s at times like these I wish I had a car, because I’d go more often if I did.
It is with tears in my eyes and a very happy heart that I present to you Darwin Christopher, born 2 June 2008 at 7:26 pm weighing 8lbs 5oz and measuring 21 inches long. (In this pic he’s 5 days old.)
Or as his mother drily put it, “Expire of teh cuteness!”
In honour of Bloomsday, my mother who sent the link, and to demonstrate that I’m not a complete waste of space as regards littrachoor herewith the dummies guide to Ulysses.
Spent a bit of yesterday helping Katie find a part time job. Yes, she’s living with Dax. Yes, 1/2 an hour of our time yesterday consisted of listening to the two of them bicker over the phone. (I had to say to her, “Quit calling him names!” at one point. Because, you know, somebody with an anger disorder really responds well to that. What a pair.) Anyway her resume is up to date and that was my excuse for finding out where the hell she’s living so I can quit worrying about it. And she applied to a number of places to work and I saw her do it, so that’s all good too.
Rest of the day spent hanging with Keith and Jeff, and Jeff cranked up From the Earth to the Moon (the first two episodes) and my gosh what great TV. Hanks and Howard cooked up something good.
I made chocolate rice pudding yesterday, because I can.
Don’t tell me you haven’t harboured bad bad thoughts like this.
So it was a seriously slow day yesterday. The most exciting thing that happened was Mike barbecuing oysters. And watching Shoot em Up again, this time with Keith.
Anyway, I was looking at reddit and there was a post about how I have nothing to say so here’s a pic of an ostrich skiing. I thought I’d follow the trend …OF COURSE it’s FAKE. Enjoy enniwess.
These two words mean two different things to me. Both meanings originate in Britain. One involves walking away from money. The other reminds me of Fiver, the weakling shaman of Watership Down.
When the researchers were surprised that the overwhelming majority of passersby didn’t bother to stop and collect 5 quid, I frankly was surprised. I think that if they examined the motives of the people passing up the money they’d be taking research into useful places. I myself would predict any number of reasons why someone might not stop.
1. They aren’t literate in English or any language at all, or are alexic, or dyslexic. For all we know they read “Reefs” and aren’t going to stop for that.
2. They think 5 quid isn’t enough money for the time they’d have to take to pick it up; in other words, moving towards a different destination will, in their estimation, pay better than stopping to get the money. If you knew that being more than 20 minutes late meant you didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting laid that evening, a matter of some concern to you, would you stop for anything short of a hail of gunfire?
3. They have visual impairments which prevent them from seeing the sign.
4. They think it’s an advertising con, and they are paying themselves $5 to avoid looking stupid.
5. They are fiercely independent, and the notion of taking money from any sentient creature without the express purpose of a value for value exchange is anathema to them. Not a common reason, I’ll grant you, but one not outside my own experiential milieu.
6. They think it’s a religious come-on, or that they will be subject to intrusive questioning during the handover of the money.
7. They shudder at the notion that stopping would automatically make them look poor, no matter what their exterior appearance. Or, being well off and richly tidy, hesitate to look miserly or grasping.
My cherce readers will no doubt come up with a reason or two of their own.
See the thing is, I’d stop, just to get a feel for the person wearing the sign. I wouldn’t even worry about whether I looked stupid or wouldn’t get the money or would be asked to provide oral relief thereafter. I’d want to know what could possess anyone to volunteer – or take money for – wearing that sign. I’m not unique in that view.
Keith said I had neglected one important research question. He said, “They think the guy is crazy, and they don’t wanna get any on ‘ em.”
Right now the waffles are on and I just finished turning the leftover spuds into home fries. New potato home fries are teh awesome, to descend into the newspeak of the young. Sure made Jeff’s eyes light up when he spotted them!
Last night Keith decided to throw himself at alcoholism again – and miss – again. He’s simply too smart and too fastidious to become a drunk. So what he does is buy something high end and drink slowly until just before he thinks he’s gonna maybe heave, and stops. The grownups got into the mickey of Johnny Walker Red more or less as he came in the door. Over the course of the evening I made home made cream of asparagus soup with three kinds chopped fresh herbs and home made fruit salad. And we started things off with garlic bread, of course. The food being spaced out like that was rather pleasant, like an extremely leisurely restaurant meal with cheap drinks.
Paul came by as well. We were supposed to watch something but the siren song of body work was too much so while Keith caught up on BsG we traded work for about an hour. Crap I needed that. That plus the sun coming out as soon as I got out of work and all of a sudden I am much more cheeful…. oh, and there was a phone call to my mother in there somewhere too. Damned hormones; can’t live with them, can’t live without them.
Jeff is reading a guy named Pinkwater and really enjoying it. I will try it when he’s done.
I signed up for ebay again hoping that I’d be able to find The Lost Queen of Egypt but man, it’s an expensive book. If anybody finds it in a used bookstore for like five bucks, buy it and I’ll pay for everything to get it here. Also I’m going to try Dunnett audiobooks, if I can lay my hands on one that is not too ‘spensive.
More waffles. I am still mastering Granny’s waffle-iron. Today I am going to go OUTSIDE because I know it will make me feel better. Such a fan of pathetic fallacy am I.
Finally spoke to Katie yesterday. We’re supposed to do resume things on Sunday.
Now that world appears to be back on its axis, I’m off to vanquish the rest of my day.
50 buns. I mean puns.
I’ve been trying to get hold of Katie for the best part of a week now. She’s moved in with Daxus and her last communiqué was a “Okay just need to get away from everyone”.
Part of me wants to phone Rogers to shitcan her phone. It’s costing me $50 a month to not ever get to talk to her in a meaningful way. Daxus will get her one because part of his control freakery is texting her every thirty seconds when she’s out of his sight; I can’t imagine he wouldn’t run out and get her another one, or swap out the SIM card and get her a pay as you go phone. Another part of me wants to cry, and I’ve been crying on and off since about 10:30 last night.
There’s other stuff going on that as usual I can’t talk about, and of course the thing that’s hurting worst is the thing I have to suck up the most thoroughly. I’m really sad right now. It won’t last. It must be lived through.
The weather sucks so bad, we’re breaking 50 year old suckage records.