Cookie is in the hospital with a pretty bad tummy ache of, as I understand it, not quite known origin. Could be gall stones. Jaimie, did you give Cookie your gall stones? So pray for her. Pray that she gets a good doctor and good nurses to care for her. We have a severe shortage of those.
But she gets drugs every four hours, so don't feel too sorry for her. Heehee.
In other news, I'm beginning to suspect that our vagabond kitty cat has moved on. I haven't seen her in 36 hours, and her schedule was pretty clockwork before yesterday. I kind of suspected this would happen. We knew she was living somewhere before she moved in with us, and we knew it was somewhere that she was probably being cared for, seeing as how she was well-fed, people-friendly, and proud of her new flea collar. I guess she's just a rambler. So Nibbler, if you don't come back, take care of yourself. Remember the couple at the Dreamplex and how gullible they were, and know that there's still half a bag of cat food waiting for you, should you happen to pass this way again.
2.25.2005
2.24.2005
Wherein Liz conveys her intent to croon like a 70-year-old black woman
Actually it's more of a Rosemary Clooney vibe.
I'll be trying something new tomorrow. I'll be fronting a jazz band. Yeah, well I said new. I meant new. I'm not sure how I get myself into these things, to be honest. I don't have stage fright, but I do have stage distaste. Also, I've never sung jazz before. Never in my life. So it should be interesting.
Tomorrow night, I'll be singing at a bar downtown. That should be low stress, I'm thinking. But the next night, we'll be entertaining a large, hoity-toity crowd at the city's convention center as the headlining band. Now, is this a job for a rookie? Someone who's not only been sitting the bench for the last four years, but also has never played this particular sport? C'est la vie. And I suppose there's the off-chance it could be fun.
I'll be trying something new tomorrow. I'll be fronting a jazz band. Yeah, well I said new. I meant new. I'm not sure how I get myself into these things, to be honest. I don't have stage fright, but I do have stage distaste. Also, I've never sung jazz before. Never in my life. So it should be interesting.
Tomorrow night, I'll be singing at a bar downtown. That should be low stress, I'm thinking. But the next night, we'll be entertaining a large, hoity-toity crowd at the city's convention center as the headlining band. Now, is this a job for a rookie? Someone who's not only been sitting the bench for the last four years, but also has never played this particular sport? C'est la vie. And I suppose there's the off-chance it could be fun.
2.22.2005
Around the world on a whim
Happy birthday, West!
West went on a school-sponsored cruise with his choir group and their horrid garden gnome of a director last weekend. So Mom and Dad took the opportunity to get away themselves and went to Panama City Beach.
I got a call Sunday night from Mom, wanting me to look up how long it would take them to drive to from the beach to New Orleans, where West's cruise was docking. He and his girlfriend, Danika (am I spelling that right?), wanted to spend the day in the French Quarter instead of going back with everyone else. How daring! How impromptu! It'll never happen.
But it totally did happen. My parents drove from Panama City Beach to New Orleans, seven hours, in the middle of the night, so they could meet the boat in the morning and loaf with West and Danika in New Orleans for half a day. How cool is that?
Sadly, that makes me the only member of my nuclear family who was not in New Orleans yesterday. But I did score a Cafe du Monde apron, a Mardi Gras/jazz themed stovetop spoon rest, and a New Orleans bartending guide. I'm totally making a Voodoo Sunrise when I get home.
West went on a school-sponsored cruise with his choir group and their horrid garden gnome of a director last weekend. So Mom and Dad took the opportunity to get away themselves and went to Panama City Beach.
I got a call Sunday night from Mom, wanting me to look up how long it would take them to drive to from the beach to New Orleans, where West's cruise was docking. He and his girlfriend, Danika (am I spelling that right?), wanted to spend the day in the French Quarter instead of going back with everyone else. How daring! How impromptu! It'll never happen.
But it totally did happen. My parents drove from Panama City Beach to New Orleans, seven hours, in the middle of the night, so they could meet the boat in the morning and loaf with West and Danika in New Orleans for half a day. How cool is that?
Sadly, that makes me the only member of my nuclear family who was not in New Orleans yesterday. But I did score a Cafe du Monde apron, a Mardi Gras/jazz themed stovetop spoon rest, and a New Orleans bartending guide. I'm totally making a Voodoo Sunrise when I get home.
2.21.2005
Woodlayson's Word of the Week
androgynous: adj. having characteristics of both male and female; suitable for either sex
Most of you probably already know this word, but if you don't, I highly recommend you learn it. It has some amusing applications.
I didn't give you a word last week, did I? See what I mean? Fuh-lake.
Most of you probably already know this word, but if you don't, I highly recommend you learn it. It has some amusing applications.
I didn't give you a word last week, did I? See what I mean? Fuh-lake.
Me, moron.
I would tell you all about the pizza debacle last night, but Jaimie beat me to it. And her version of the story has the added benefit of being posted last night, while the story was still fresh and she was still buzzed. I love it when she doesn't use the backspace key.
Instead, I will immortalize my flakiness here on the 'net. If any of you didn't already know this (and if you don't, I'd have to question the sincerity of our relationship), flakiness is a natural element of my genetic make-up. I think my FQ (flakiness quota) test ranked me just above the level required for reasonable functionality in society. But with lots of dedication and lots of therapy, I can manage to lead a pretty normal life.
I'm using a bit of comically intentioned hyperbole here, of course, but seriously, there is an epic battle of Nature versus Nurture going on in my brain every day as I strive to be the kind of person who remembers appointments, birthdays, promises, obligations, and garbage day.
My memory seems the obvious culprit, but that's not quite accurate. I hardly ever forget these things. I just don't recall the information at the proper time.
I carry a calendar, I write things on my hands and arms, I start my day by scribbling notes and to-do lists. But every now and then (read: once a week at least), something falls through the cracks. Yesterday, it was the fact that I was supposed to be on the worship team at church. I had known this since the week before. I wrote it down in my calendar, which I neglected to check. Kristie sent me a reminder e-mail, to an address I check pretty frequently but did not check on Friday or Saturday.
I got a voice message at 10:05 a.m (pre-service practice started at 9:15). It was Kristie in her sweet, sweet, non-judgmental voice saying, "Hey Liz, we're at the church. Just wondering if you forgot about playing this morning or decided not to."
The string of curses that began violently spewing from my mouth at that moment would make a sailor blush. I think it really did make Chris blush. Somewhere in the back of my head, my subconscious was chuckling at the fact that here I was, grabbing my guitar and my purse, cursing like you'd need a tape recorder to believe, on my way to church. To lead worship. Yeah. Irony? I don't know. But damn funny.
So I fly to church, taking out my frustrations on the steering wheel and driver's side door. And I run inside and drop everything and prostrate myself before Zach screaming, "I'm sorry I'm retarded!" And he laughs and laughs. And everyone is in such a good mood and all is forgiven and Zach, sometimes I wonder if you ask me to do things like this because you find it so damn funny. YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LAUGH AT HANDICAPPED PEOPLE! DIDN'T ANYONE EVER TEACH YOU THAT?!?
I kid. I'm glad there was laughing. I'm glad I didn't massacre the mood. I'm glad we all had an awesome time up there and that my tardiness seemed to fit with the overall theme of the service. In fact, absenteeism and flying-by-the-seat-of-the-pants was the theme of the whole day.
Maybe someday, when I'm feeling like sharing with you just how insanely flaky I am, I'll tell you the story about the time I kidnapped the stage.
Instead, I will immortalize my flakiness here on the 'net. If any of you didn't already know this (and if you don't, I'd have to question the sincerity of our relationship), flakiness is a natural element of my genetic make-up. I think my FQ (flakiness quota) test ranked me just above the level required for reasonable functionality in society. But with lots of dedication and lots of therapy, I can manage to lead a pretty normal life.
I'm using a bit of comically intentioned hyperbole here, of course, but seriously, there is an epic battle of Nature versus Nurture going on in my brain every day as I strive to be the kind of person who remembers appointments, birthdays, promises, obligations, and garbage day.
My memory seems the obvious culprit, but that's not quite accurate. I hardly ever forget these things. I just don't recall the information at the proper time.
I carry a calendar, I write things on my hands and arms, I start my day by scribbling notes and to-do lists. But every now and then (read: once a week at least), something falls through the cracks. Yesterday, it was the fact that I was supposed to be on the worship team at church. I had known this since the week before. I wrote it down in my calendar, which I neglected to check. Kristie sent me a reminder e-mail, to an address I check pretty frequently but did not check on Friday or Saturday.
I got a voice message at 10:05 a.m (pre-service practice started at 9:15). It was Kristie in her sweet, sweet, non-judgmental voice saying, "Hey Liz, we're at the church. Just wondering if you forgot about playing this morning or decided not to."
The string of curses that began violently spewing from my mouth at that moment would make a sailor blush. I think it really did make Chris blush. Somewhere in the back of my head, my subconscious was chuckling at the fact that here I was, grabbing my guitar and my purse, cursing like you'd need a tape recorder to believe, on my way to church. To lead worship. Yeah. Irony? I don't know. But damn funny.
So I fly to church, taking out my frustrations on the steering wheel and driver's side door. And I run inside and drop everything and prostrate myself before Zach screaming, "I'm sorry I'm retarded!" And he laughs and laughs. And everyone is in such a good mood and all is forgiven and Zach, sometimes I wonder if you ask me to do things like this because you find it so damn funny. YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LAUGH AT HANDICAPPED PEOPLE! DIDN'T ANYONE EVER TEACH YOU THAT?!?
I kid. I'm glad there was laughing. I'm glad I didn't massacre the mood. I'm glad we all had an awesome time up there and that my tardiness seemed to fit with the overall theme of the service. In fact, absenteeism and flying-by-the-seat-of-the-pants was the theme of the whole day.
Maybe someday, when I'm feeling like sharing with you just how insanely flaky I am, I'll tell you the story about the time I kidnapped the stage.
2.19.2005
The Beast
I swear Chris must smell like catnip. He's like the pied piper. He befriends a neighborhood cat and within days it's having slumber parties at our house.
Chris met a kitty and dubbed her Nibbler after her tendency to gnaw on fingertips. I met Nibbler a couple of days later, toting a brand new flea collar. This said to me that she had another home. But if that's the case, she doesn't seem to care. She's cheating on her other family, and I can only assume it has something to do with the fact that my husband is kitty crack.
I would throw her out, but I don't throw out any of the other cats that stop in. It doesn't seem fair. Besides, there's that animal rights activist that lives in my head and tells me that if Nibbler wants to move, it's her prerogative. I have no objection to her habitation per se.
I think she wants to stay. She told me, in the way which is customary in her tribe, that she wishes us to be her shelterers and that she will, in turn, provide for our needs as she is able. She slaughtered a small finch and brought it to the front door as a symbolic gesture that she can contribute to the household. I told her I appreciated the thought, but the bird is not allowed into the house. She was very upset and, I think, somewhat offended by this rejection of her offering. She must've offered it to Jaimie in her disgust and been similarly rebuffed, because the poor bird was shredded, defeathered, and strewn out over the entirity of Jaimie's porch when I came back out to check on her.
Nibbler has since forgiven me. I guess she got hungry. But she still refuses to clean up her mess.
Chris met a kitty and dubbed her Nibbler after her tendency to gnaw on fingertips. I met Nibbler a couple of days later, toting a brand new flea collar. This said to me that she had another home. But if that's the case, she doesn't seem to care. She's cheating on her other family, and I can only assume it has something to do with the fact that my husband is kitty crack.
I would throw her out, but I don't throw out any of the other cats that stop in. It doesn't seem fair. Besides, there's that animal rights activist that lives in my head and tells me that if Nibbler wants to move, it's her prerogative. I have no objection to her habitation per se.
I think she wants to stay. She told me, in the way which is customary in her tribe, that she wishes us to be her shelterers and that she will, in turn, provide for our needs as she is able. She slaughtered a small finch and brought it to the front door as a symbolic gesture that she can contribute to the household. I told her I appreciated the thought, but the bird is not allowed into the house. She was very upset and, I think, somewhat offended by this rejection of her offering. She must've offered it to Jaimie in her disgust and been similarly rebuffed, because the poor bird was shredded, defeathered, and strewn out over the entirity of Jaimie's porch when I came back out to check on her.
Nibbler has since forgiven me. I guess she got hungry. But she still refuses to clean up her mess.
2.18.2005
An Overabundance of Literary Metaphor
The plumbing is fixed. I think the plumbers had to redo the fittings. I hope it didn't cost too much.
It seems kind of silly at the moment to be talking about mundane things like plumbing. Have you ever experienced that heady feeling, like the air is electric? Ever have those moments where you can feel a page turning?
Have you ever heard someone say they were starting a new chapter in their lives? That strikes me as a slight overstatement. I think about the most a person can muster from sheer will-power or life choice is a new paragraph. Yes, the setting has changed. Hit "Enter", and be sure to indent. Not that I'm belittling those kinds of changes in life. But I think that chapters change all by themselves. We don't control the beginnings and end of chapters, and they don't just affect us. They affect the whole story, the whole book, everyone.
Nothing really happened that evoked this sense of shift. It's just that there's something new. You know it's coming, because you can see the new heading. But you haven't yet read far enough to know what it is, what it means. And conventional wisdom tells you that it's okay to be excited, as long as you know it's going to be scary and involve conflict, and there's always the chance that the hero might fail. Maybe that's where the paragraphs come in.
Some chapters are all exposition or characterization or dialogue. Then you turn to a new one and you've got fair warning that everything may change completely, for better or worse or both. That's the deal. Keep reading if you want to know. Shut your eyes if you don't, but it won't stop the story from being played out. On the days that I remember to make a conscious choice, I choose to read. This last chapter was all set-up. The new one promises to be dynamic: exciting and sad, wonderful and horrible. Stuff that makes you want to sing and stuff that makes you want to vomit. Probably not a good time to shut your eyes.
It seems kind of silly at the moment to be talking about mundane things like plumbing. Have you ever experienced that heady feeling, like the air is electric? Ever have those moments where you can feel a page turning?
Have you ever heard someone say they were starting a new chapter in their lives? That strikes me as a slight overstatement. I think about the most a person can muster from sheer will-power or life choice is a new paragraph. Yes, the setting has changed. Hit "Enter", and be sure to indent. Not that I'm belittling those kinds of changes in life. But I think that chapters change all by themselves. We don't control the beginnings and end of chapters, and they don't just affect us. They affect the whole story, the whole book, everyone.
Nothing really happened that evoked this sense of shift. It's just that there's something new. You know it's coming, because you can see the new heading. But you haven't yet read far enough to know what it is, what it means. And conventional wisdom tells you that it's okay to be excited, as long as you know it's going to be scary and involve conflict, and there's always the chance that the hero might fail. Maybe that's where the paragraphs come in.
Some chapters are all exposition or characterization or dialogue. Then you turn to a new one and you've got fair warning that everything may change completely, for better or worse or both. That's the deal. Keep reading if you want to know. Shut your eyes if you don't, but it won't stop the story from being played out. On the days that I remember to make a conscious choice, I choose to read. This last chapter was all set-up. The new one promises to be dynamic: exciting and sad, wonderful and horrible. Stuff that makes you want to sing and stuff that makes you want to vomit. Probably not a good time to shut your eyes.
2.16.2005
why?
Life doesn't make sense. We all know this. But occasionally it hits you like a blunt object to the back of the head. And it hurts.
Friends, pray for my family. They're dealing with something no one should ever have to deal with. And pray for someone very, very special who is suffering what no one should ever, ever have to suffer.
Sister, you are a jewel. It's not something you own, it's something you are. No one can ever take that from you. Not ever.
Friends, pray for my family. They're dealing with something no one should ever have to deal with. And pray for someone very, very special who is suffering what no one should ever, ever have to suffer.
Sister, you are a jewel. It's not something you own, it's something you are. No one can ever take that from you. Not ever.
2.15.2005
Update
Well, maybe we didn't fix the pipes for good. But we fixed them for, like, two hours. That's something, right?
I kinda suspected. The fittings were too easy to tighten. The first time we did it, we wrestled with the damn thing for hours, and it still, obviously, wasn't tight enough. Kris has called a plumber, who doesn't know if he can make it today. So Chris and I may be borrowing water from the neighbors so we can brush our teeth and force-flush the toilet. It'll be just like camping indoors.
I kinda suspected. The fittings were too easy to tighten. The first time we did it, we wrestled with the damn thing for hours, and it still, obviously, wasn't tight enough. Kris has called a plumber, who doesn't know if he can make it today. So Chris and I may be borrowing water from the neighbors so we can brush our teeth and force-flush the toilet. It'll be just like camping indoors.
Today's a hair-puller
It's days like this that make me wonder why it is, after almost a year of working for my current employer, I'm still learning how to do my job. Then again, that probably has a great deal to do with why I still like my job.
In case you're curious, Valentine's Day went well. I framed one of our favorite wedding pictures (the one where Chris is standing behind me while I'm hanging off the monkey bars of the playground behind the church in my flowing white dress). I rented a movie that holds a place in the history book of our relationship, and I got us each a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream (Phish Food for him and Cookie Dough for me). This is a nod to our "friend ritual", which we practiced in the comparatively short time after we discovered one another's coolness and before we were officially dating -- a small slice of the "us" pie, but it may very well be impossible for me to overstate the importance of it.
Anyway, today, the real fun happened before I even got to work. I kicked off the morning right, boy howdy, with a fun little spelunking adventure under the house. It all started when I woke up at about 5 a.m. and had two thoughts:
1) "Ooh, too early. Closing my eyes again."
2) "Is it raining? It wasn't supposed to rain today."
Then I went back to sleep. Then I woke up again at 6:30 a.m.
1) "I could get up...or I could sleep for 30 more minutes. Yeah, I'll do that."
2) "I hope it quits raining so we can get some work done today."
Sleep. 7 a.m.
1) "All right, get up you lazy slob. Time to shower."
2) "I don't see any rain."
It was at this point that the alarms should have sounded in my head. But they didn't. It was morning, okay? I was half-a-bloody-sleep. So I stumble to the bathroom, sit next to the tub, and turn on the hot water. Believe me, I've seen low water pressure before, but this? Was low.
It was at this point that a mysterious floating iron skillet labeled "OBVIOUS" should have bludgeoned me atop the head. But it didn't. It was still sleeping soundly in its own plane of existence, oblivious to the call of duty summoning it to its hovering position over my unsuspecting cranium.
You see, sometimes, I'll turn on the water in the tub and nothing will come out. We don't know why this happens, just that if you try it a few more times, water will eventually begin to flow. So I just thought the tub was being weird. I turned it off and back on, off and back on. Then, somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the soothing background noise that had been lulling me from true consciousness all morning: the gentle, comforting sound of water falling from the heavens. Or was it coming from the floor?
Finally, people, 2 + 2 equaled 4. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh CHRIS! GET UP GET UP GETUPANDTURNOFFTHEWATERMAIN!!!
"Wha? Huh? Did you say...? Is it raining?"
As soon as I realized water was spewing from pipes beneath the house, I knew exactly where to look. So I summoned the landlord and informed him that the ingeneous galvanized compression fitting my father and I had installed to accomodate the dishwasher had finally let go. And it was ingeneous, guys. It's just that it relied on the Strength of Man to be adequately tightened, and I was there when the strength of man failed.
So Kris, the Tightener, and I, the Bringer of Light to Dark Places (i.e. flashlight holder), crawled through the depths of muddy, muddy, gross, muddy grossness and shut that bitch up for good. It was 8:30 a.m. That, ladies and gentlemen, is far better than a cup of coffee.
In case you're curious, Valentine's Day went well. I framed one of our favorite wedding pictures (the one where Chris is standing behind me while I'm hanging off the monkey bars of the playground behind the church in my flowing white dress). I rented a movie that holds a place in the history book of our relationship, and I got us each a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream (Phish Food for him and Cookie Dough for me). This is a nod to our "friend ritual", which we practiced in the comparatively short time after we discovered one another's coolness and before we were officially dating -- a small slice of the "us" pie, but it may very well be impossible for me to overstate the importance of it.
Anyway, today, the real fun happened before I even got to work. I kicked off the morning right, boy howdy, with a fun little spelunking adventure under the house. It all started when I woke up at about 5 a.m. and had two thoughts:
1) "Ooh, too early. Closing my eyes again."
2) "Is it raining? It wasn't supposed to rain today."
Then I went back to sleep. Then I woke up again at 6:30 a.m.
1) "I could get up...or I could sleep for 30 more minutes. Yeah, I'll do that."
2) "I hope it quits raining so we can get some work done today."
Sleep. 7 a.m.
1) "All right, get up you lazy slob. Time to shower."
2) "I don't see any rain."
It was at this point that the alarms should have sounded in my head. But they didn't. It was morning, okay? I was half-a-bloody-sleep. So I stumble to the bathroom, sit next to the tub, and turn on the hot water. Believe me, I've seen low water pressure before, but this? Was low.
It was at this point that a mysterious floating iron skillet labeled "OBVIOUS" should have bludgeoned me atop the head. But it didn't. It was still sleeping soundly in its own plane of existence, oblivious to the call of duty summoning it to its hovering position over my unsuspecting cranium.
You see, sometimes, I'll turn on the water in the tub and nothing will come out. We don't know why this happens, just that if you try it a few more times, water will eventually begin to flow. So I just thought the tub was being weird. I turned it off and back on, off and back on. Then, somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the soothing background noise that had been lulling me from true consciousness all morning: the gentle, comforting sound of water falling from the heavens. Or was it coming from the floor?
Finally, people, 2 + 2 equaled 4. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh CHRIS! GET UP GET UP GETUPANDTURNOFFTHEWATERMAIN!!!
"Wha? Huh? Did you say...? Is it raining?"
As soon as I realized water was spewing from pipes beneath the house, I knew exactly where to look. So I summoned the landlord and informed him that the ingeneous galvanized compression fitting my father and I had installed to accomodate the dishwasher had finally let go. And it was ingeneous, guys. It's just that it relied on the Strength of Man to be adequately tightened, and I was there when the strength of man failed.
So Kris, the Tightener, and I, the Bringer of Light to Dark Places (i.e. flashlight holder), crawled through the depths of muddy, muddy, gross, muddy grossness and shut that bitch up for good. It was 8:30 a.m. That, ladies and gentlemen, is far better than a cup of coffee.
2.11.2005
It is almost upon us
I've never really been good at holidays. I've gotten way better at Christmas over the last couple of years. But Valentine's Day. Oy.
I've come to the conclusion that being thoughtful doesn't come naturally to me. Well, I can be thoughtful. I can think and think and think and think and think. I can't come up with anything.
For the record, let all men know that Chris has got you ALL beat for holidays, especially romantic holidays. He really knows how to make a girl feel like she didn't do anything nearly that cool for him. And Valentine's Day is all the worse because, hard as I try, I can't take it seriously. It's just not a real holiday.
This year I resolved to have a plan, be it cheesy, slipshod, or cliche. I have three days to make good.
Shout out to FA, who is a netizen once more! Now with more mullet!
I've come to the conclusion that being thoughtful doesn't come naturally to me. Well, I can be thoughtful. I can think and think and think and think and think. I can't come up with anything.
For the record, let all men know that Chris has got you ALL beat for holidays, especially romantic holidays. He really knows how to make a girl feel like she didn't do anything nearly that cool for him. And Valentine's Day is all the worse because, hard as I try, I can't take it seriously. It's just not a real holiday.
This year I resolved to have a plan, be it cheesy, slipshod, or cliche. I have three days to make good.
Shout out to FA, who is a netizen once more! Now with more mullet!
2.09.2005
If you were a tree
http://organichtml.com/flash/
Type a url into the appropriate field and this page shows you what the site would look like as a houseplant. CZ got a picture of his onto his blog. This, I cannot do. CZ, how did you do that?
Dooce.com's plant is gorgeous. Dooce, why is yours so pretty? I seethe with jealousy. Anyone who isn't already reading her blog should be, by the by.
I am intrigued by this site, which offers no explanation (or any other dialogue) whatsoever as to how it arrives at its leafy conclusions. But after inputing any and all url's I could think of, I can tell it incorporates the following factors:
Type a url into the appropriate field and this page shows you what the site would look like as a houseplant. CZ got a picture of his onto his blog. This, I cannot do. CZ, how did you do that?
Dooce.com's plant is gorgeous. Dooce, why is yours so pretty? I seethe with jealousy. Anyone who isn't already reading her blog should be, by the by.
I am intrigued by this site, which offers no explanation (or any other dialogue) whatsoever as to how it arrives at its leafy conclusions. But after inputing any and all url's I could think of, I can tell it incorporates the following factors:
- how long the site has been in operation
- how often it is updated
- site organization
- site appearance
- traffic patterns
These factors seem to influence the size, color, shape, and fruit content of the plant. Sites with a strong color scheme, for example, appear to have those colors incorporated into their plants. Sites with high traffic and frequent updates bear more fruit. The size of the plant seems to be influenced by the size of the site, but not as directly as one might think. I think the plant also shrinks or flourishes based on site activity. And the shape of the plant, while always seeming to grow leftish (why is it doing that?), seems to branch and wind in some relation to the organization of the site.
Sorry, I'm mesmerized. Now I'm trying to decide what varieties of vegetation influenced the conceptualization of this web-breed. I'll stop now.
2.07.2005
Can you say "adobe"?
No, but I can say "vacation".
I was insanely jealous that the Cakeholes were getting away from it all, seeing as I'm having trouble these days remembering what Chris looks like. So I called him up at work and told him to check out his schedule. He actually had an entire weekend off in March. That...never happens. That also happens to coincide with his school break. This...was meant to be. And? Both of our birthdays are in March. Perfection.
I'm casting my vote in favor of camping, and much as I love Horsepens 40, I think I'd rather go somewhere I've never been before.
I just love an excuse to pack an axe and play with fire.
I was insanely jealous that the Cakeholes were getting away from it all, seeing as I'm having trouble these days remembering what Chris looks like. So I called him up at work and told him to check out his schedule. He actually had an entire weekend off in March. That...never happens. That also happens to coincide with his school break. This...was meant to be. And? Both of our birthdays are in March. Perfection.
I'm casting my vote in favor of camping, and much as I love Horsepens 40, I think I'd rather go somewhere I've never been before.
I just love an excuse to pack an axe and play with fire.
2.04.2005
Guess where I'm posting from...
A phone. I am posting from a phone. Aren't we living in exciting times. I wonder if the fact that keypads arwe getting smaller and smaller will cause an evolutionary shift in the size of human fingers.
I miss my kitty
Sometimes, I have to wonder if I was a card-carrying PETA member in a past life.
Case #1: Mom has this cockatoo named Casper. It occurs to me fairly often to be bothered by the fact that the poor thing has to live in a cage. It's not Mom's fault; Casper has lived in captivity his whole life. He doesn't even understand how to fly, even though his wings haven't been clipped since he's lived at my parents' house. He wouldn't last a day in the wild, so he's sentenced to a life in prison just for being born an exotic bird. This peeves me.
Case #2: I have a slight problem with spaying/neutering. Chris and I were discussing it today. It's not that I disagree with the practice. It's a social necessity. But when you think about it, doesn't it seem sort of archaic and cruel? Sure, us humans can choose to be infertile if we want, but the operative word is choose. Why should any other living thing with an instinctive desire to procreate be denied the option? Yeah, I know why. Because we'd be overrun with cats and dogs and the quality of life of their entire species would decline by virtue of their overpopulation. It's the same reason we have doe season, which, oddly enough, I don't have a problem with. That seems more...fair? Giving them a fighting chance and all? I actually think it's a little silly to adopt a cavalier attitude about not shooting girl deers. It's a population control measure, people, not chivalry. I digress. But oh, the thing some deer hunters do where they get up in their tree stands and drop corn on the ground below them...nah ah. I'll find my own tree stand and put a burger under it, you ass.
Case #3: As the title suggests, I miss my kitty. My kitty lives with my parents, where she stayed after I moved out. Why? Because her kitty sister is my brother's cat, and they've never been separated. I refuse to tear what they have left of a family life apart. Roll your eyes if you want, but the way I see it, two things could happen. One, my kitty's heart could be broken forever over the loss of her only lifelong companion. Two, Sushi will eventually forget all about her sister Ninja, and one day Chris and I will bring Sushi over for a visit, and they'll look at each other like, "Who the hell are you?". Either way, part of me would die inside.
Guys, I promise, I have similar sympathy pains for my fellow man. So see, PETA? You can't have me!
Case #1: Mom has this cockatoo named Casper. It occurs to me fairly often to be bothered by the fact that the poor thing has to live in a cage. It's not Mom's fault; Casper has lived in captivity his whole life. He doesn't even understand how to fly, even though his wings haven't been clipped since he's lived at my parents' house. He wouldn't last a day in the wild, so he's sentenced to a life in prison just for being born an exotic bird. This peeves me.
Case #2: I have a slight problem with spaying/neutering. Chris and I were discussing it today. It's not that I disagree with the practice. It's a social necessity. But when you think about it, doesn't it seem sort of archaic and cruel? Sure, us humans can choose to be infertile if we want, but the operative word is choose. Why should any other living thing with an instinctive desire to procreate be denied the option? Yeah, I know why. Because we'd be overrun with cats and dogs and the quality of life of their entire species would decline by virtue of their overpopulation. It's the same reason we have doe season, which, oddly enough, I don't have a problem with. That seems more...fair? Giving them a fighting chance and all? I actually think it's a little silly to adopt a cavalier attitude about not shooting girl deers. It's a population control measure, people, not chivalry. I digress. But oh, the thing some deer hunters do where they get up in their tree stands and drop corn on the ground below them...nah ah. I'll find my own tree stand and put a burger under it, you ass.
Case #3: As the title suggests, I miss my kitty. My kitty lives with my parents, where she stayed after I moved out. Why? Because her kitty sister is my brother's cat, and they've never been separated. I refuse to tear what they have left of a family life apart. Roll your eyes if you want, but the way I see it, two things could happen. One, my kitty's heart could be broken forever over the loss of her only lifelong companion. Two, Sushi will eventually forget all about her sister Ninja, and one day Chris and I will bring Sushi over for a visit, and they'll look at each other like, "Who the hell are you?". Either way, part of me would die inside.
Guys, I promise, I have similar sympathy pains for my fellow man. So see, PETA? You can't have me!
2.03.2005
Renovations? Get in line.
Wow, I miss Saturday. I mean, I knew I would before I agreed (nay, came up with the idea) to add another day to my work week. But I had no idea how important it was, how much I got done on that day that could not be done on any other day. Do you realize, do you have any idea how much stuff there is to do that requires an entire day to accomplish? I want so badly to be finished renovating our house. I'm sure Kris and Laura do, too. Well, I know it'll never be "finished", but I'd settle for having doors on our kitchen cabinets and to finally, finally be able to clean our paintbrushes once and for all.
Oh woooooooudn't it be lovely.
Oh woooooooudn't it be lovely.
Groundhog Day!
...was yesterday.
Rumor has it, the forecast is grim. Maybe I shouldn't give up on winter yet.
Hear ye, hear ye! Get the scoop from Punxsutawney Phil.
Rumor has it, the forecast is grim. Maybe I shouldn't give up on winter yet.
Hear ye, hear ye! Get the scoop from Punxsutawney Phil.
2.01.2005
Woodlayson's Word of the Week
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