Category: Whining

Good times, ow, solar science

Went dancing last night to the melodious strains of the Blue Meenies, a fabulous cover band of these parts, and they had Winter Ale on tap at the John B! Home by 12:30 thanks to one of my fellow revellers. Daughter Katie jammed, mentioning something about self-care. We had a small and lively crew there and it was lovely to see Mike and Heather.

This morning, of course, the piper has arrived with his hand out; I am interesting varieties of sore. Daughter Katie is showing up this afternoon, possibly maybe, for a meal and a visit, and then I’m off to the Luddite’s for dinner. I really wish I could crosspost his last email to me – it is a masterpiece of British humour. Reference to this video was made. NOTE: it is nothing you won’t see on TV these days, but that doesn’t mean you want your boss walking up behind you while you are thoughtfully educating yourself with its four and a half minutes of hardhitting content.

So after all this gimping about with climate change, and everything supposedly getting warmer, some bunch of solar science geeks are saying we’re heading into solar minimum and it’s going to get ass freezing cold around here. Well, why not!? It’s a planet, it’s a complex system, and I wish I hadn’t given away my ski pants. Here’s the consensus view of the timing of the event.

Here’s the International MSM take on the science.

Not so fast, said RealClimate in 2005.

Please note there’s a big difference between the solar minimum of the 11 year (actually 9 – 14 year) solar sunspot cycle and a Maunder Minimum, when there are virtually no sunspots for many decades. The last Maunder Minimum put Europe in the fridge for about 40 years. Or so some people believe…. the deep freeze can also be attributed to the stalling of the thermohaline current, which might or might not have something to do with the sun.  I am seeing the ‘problem with climate change’ as not being so much a problem with the planet as a problem with interpreting what’s going on around us.
The scientific problem (how do prove that we know what is happening by developing successful predictive models) is  aggravated by bumps in the research road.  Human beings a) live for about 80 years and we’re trying to see patterns that are godlike in duration and grandeur, b) see patterns where none may be, c) fail to see patterns because they’re too close to a problem and d) hold opinions and field arguments for reasons which may line up with their breeding rights and status rather than the facts in the case.

So is the earth getting warmer?  Well, yeah. Ice doesn’t melt without getting warmer, and 2007 was a f*cking catastrophe for glaciers and polar ice.  But in ten years of bad weather we could get every cubic inch of that ice back and then some; this winter was an interesting study for me in how very minor changes in weather patterns and temperatures can make immense differences in snowfall.  East Van got rain!  I got 1 foot of snow – twice!  (And had to clean it off the f*cking CAN car, both times, but I’m from Ontario and I am used to cleaning a foot of wet snow off cars.)

The debate goes on, but I have one plea for the boffins – please continue to work on food crop seeds which can deal with temperature and moisture extremes, because I suspect that will do more good for humanity than arguing about what kinds of spots the sun finds fashionable this year.

I am toasting almonds for biscotti.

The landpeer will be showing the apartment starting Monday, so I gotta tidy up.

If I were Al Swearengen

I did a video of this song last night. I roll my eyes like a cartoon character when I’m performing! Meep! Now I know the horrible secret, my mother didn’t give birth to a little pink wrinkled thing she GAVE BIRTH TO A CARTOON CHARACTER. No wonder I’m terrified of Dip! Alert the Media. Anyway, I’ve tried and tried and tried to post it to my website, and I can’t. I’m gonna wait until Glenn comes over and walks me through FTP again, because I’m OBVIOUSLY doing something wrong, something simple to do with the naming of it, or I’m putting it in the wrong folder. Then I will post it. It’s not good enough for Youtube (a low standard to be sure as Doc Filk would say) but it’s good enough for a giggle among friends, so ping me if you want to see it; the quicktime video is about 4 megs and it’s 3:35.

There is snow. So much f*cking snow. It’s unbelievagable.

Ack. Fast fo;ward to June 23, and I DID so post it to Youboob. Heavy sigh. But I’m commenting it, and that makes it oddly better.

Who pulled the plug…

… that was blocking my brain?

 

I wrote FOUR SONGS yesterday.  One is a love song to Al Swearengen from Deadwood – one is a blues tune about the Blue Hell, a bar from the Fred Pohl Heechee Chronicles – one is a narsty emo bytchefest between Gelis and Niccolo from Dunnett’s series which references their ongoing telepathic mindgames – and the last is a breakneck, kickass song about the current culture war between faith and reason.

The “If I were Al Swearengen” song nearly fell out of my head right after I wrote it.  When I wrote it, I thought it was all in the same time signature – silly me! Then I go to sing it back and the choruses don’t work.  What happened?  (Or as Paul remarked, “You weren’t recording it?”)  It’s in two time signatures (waltz and mildly syncopated 4/4) which is just bloody bizarre but completely fits the mood of the song.

Anyway, I suspect that somebody went to a shrine somewhere and prayed for me, because that was the most amazing thing that’s happened to me in years.  That sound you hear is a giant mental drain unclogging.

I light a candle for Patricia, who has an owie.  (Further details as authorized).

I light a candle for Katie, who will love Daxus until death or something like it.  I was that stupid at 19, but at least I loved worthier men.

snore

My wretched night’s sleep was not improved by the fax that chimed in around 1:40 in the morning.  I curse you, Imperial Data!

I am always so pumped when I get home I can’t sleep right away.  I spent a happy couple of hours downloading cheap Mac software and then cursing 12 ways from Sunday trying to get it authenticated and installed, but this morning I have much cool software, including some games.

I will sit right down, waiting for the gift of sound and vision

Yesterday I saw a Youtube video shot by Rob Sawyer of Neil Gaiman in a blue tech gown holding a panda.  This would not be in any way particular odd, except somebody put The Tubes’ Don’t Touch Me There as the soundtrack, which is screechingly hilarious.  And it reminds me of my first husband, who still doesn’t have internet access, ack, gargle.

Yesterday I ran across this incredible piece of inane bs.  I am posting the link only so I can imagine Debbie screeching, “Who does this guy think he is???? Maternal love only lasts 33 months???” The funny part is that some of it is fairly good, but the writing style makes me think that this dude’s not playing with a full emotional deck. Anyway, maternal love lasts as long as the oxytocin hit you get when you see your kid or hear their voice on the phone or get a letter or email from them lasts.  And that, as we mothers know, is a long time.  And if they crawl into bed with you for a nap or because they’ve had a nightmare, even if they’re 14, it makes for a feeling of emotional sweetness that is hard to beat.  This dude doesn’t get the oxytocin thing.  Too bad for him!!!  Oh, and I know that men can love longer than 42 months.  I’ve seen it.

Yesterday morning I was so angry that I wanted to kick every man I know down a flight of stairs, with the exception of Paul, Keith, John, Jeff, my dad and Jarmo – and maybe the guy who cleans my apartment building who’s an exceptionally nice man. Okay, maybe Parm at Renaissance Coffee.  Shoot… I forgot Glenn and Mike; Tom, Tom U., ack, Brian C, Jim E.  Okay, I was mad at one particular man and things were kind of spilling over…  Then a man walked up to me and said, “Do you need a hug?”  and I went “Aw!” Just think, that huggy guy doesn’t understand how much carnage he averted.  Either that or he broke the glass labelled “What to do in case Allegra’s pulling her crap again.”

Yesterday I phoned my dad and said, “They changed the laws.  It’s time.”  Actually, I told my mother that, she’s more tactful than I am.   pOp was working until his 70th birthday as a crossing guard (note, employment not exactly as shown), and he really misses it.

Yesterday I got Himalayan Peaks takeout and it was completely yummy.

Yesterday evening I got on the phone with the guy I’m so mad at, and we squared things away.  I should just quit getting mad.  It never lasts; it never accomplishes anything.

Soon I’m going to see some live theatre, which reminds me I should get off my keester and see if Kopper got tickets or whether I ought to or not.  And soon, singing on Monday nights.  Happy sigh.

I am still flashing on Ville dancing to Safety Dance on Dance Dance Revolution. He repeated it about 15 times so I’m having a hell of a time shaking it, and the little flash of Morris Dancers in the background keeps coming up as well.

I am looking at my stannomancy and thinking…. There’s a waterbird. And a leg. And a wedding (which I already knew about because Shannon and Jerome are getting married).

Migraine

Had a migraine – a really weird one – most of the day yesterday and now I just feel ‘distinctly odd.’ And with a day of intense work in prospect, how pleasant. There’s other stuff going on which is far from pleasant, but not suitable for exposition. Let the record show that I am continuing to plumb the depths of my ignorance, stupidity and personal weaknesses in new and cringe-making ways. Or that might just be the migraine talking. Must think of something cheerful… oh, the cafeteria at work is back in operation today! That’s always a happy thought.

I made no resolutions this year. It should be a much less disappointing January.

Victoria

Jeff come and collected me and then kidnapped me for an ninety minutes’ worth of Robot Chicken.  Scarlett Johannson as a crazy girlfriend style GPS?  Yowza.

My mom cooked us dinner.  It was tasty and nourishing too. 

 

This morning I found out about the existence of bacon brittle.

 

I’ve been told that this should be served as a side for  the next Mars Bar Cthtulhuthon… Mmmm bacon brittle.  (added later, per Kopper’s warning do not use this recipe) 

What next, haggis?  Let us preserve decorum.  Mind you I was actually thinking of renting a bagpiper for the last time, but I thought that was over the top even for me.   

Enough of that!  The meal was turkey breast and home made stuffing and yams and salad and bread and cranberry dressing and a cauliflower cheese.  AND pie.  And ice cream.  So I have to say I am very impressed with just how much slaving over a hot stove my ma did for me today, and that maybe next Christmas I should think about getting here earlier and cooking more….

I got Hep A and Hep B shots this morning and I feel weird – oh shut up, weirder than normal.  Mind you my consciousness has been a variable and vinegary brew this past few weeks, with a couple of very nice breaks….  Pause to smile and look off into the middle distance with my head tilted to one side. I did manage to make some very nice memories in the last week.

Keith is still here.  It is so good to see him.

Now know snow – must go

I am contemplating the precipitation and thinking I wish I did some form of winter sport that involved snow rather than ice.  Because, dear friends, there’s rather a lot of it.  To quote the Caleban in the Frank Herbert Jorj X McKie books, “Low temperature and much moisture”.

Unfortunately I must now pack and get out of here to go to the ferry, and first I have an appointment right downtown at 9:30.  Must… drink… coffee. And I will hope that when I get off this blessed hill, the precip is rain rather than snow, so the Vancouver drivers are just regular, rather than supercharged, idiots.

I am looking forward to seeing the folks, though, and Jeff and Granny.