Busy day with lots to get done. So I shall punt.
(FWIW: I don't know that I've ever seen an episode of Babylon 5)
Babylon 5 (Babylon 5)
Bebop (Cowboy Bebop)
Deep Space Nine (Star Trek)
Millennium Falcon (Star Wars)
Nebuchadnezzar (The Matrix)
FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files)
Galactica (Battlestar: Galactica)
Andromeda Ascendant (Andromeda)
Enterprise D (Star Trek)
Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? (pics)
created with QuizFarm.com
For my skirt, I found this fabric. It's a cotton in a Civil War Era pattern. Frankly, I couldn't care less about the Civil War bit. I just liked it.
And I didn't have to drive to Binghamton, which is always a plus.
I also picked up a zipper and thread, which will have to be left to the imagination. The zipper looks like a zipper. The thread looks like thread.
The machine is still in the box. I don't actually plan to start until SUCO's first spring break, which is the last week in Feb. This gives me time to finish reading Sewing for Dummies and to generally procrastinate.
But I shall make it work.
Despite the death of my Kitchen-Aid, this is what I did this weekend. The Pie Goddess and I frosted up a storm ... of cookies. Sad, but true.
I'm quite taken with the pink background marbelized ones. And, believe it or not, they taste even better than they look. Seriously. Like butter.
Of course, we let the kids have a shot at the icing as well. The results were predictable.
Yes, she could have had a V-8.
Happy V-day, y'all.
From the pile of unearthed ephemera, this comic strip:
Anyone care to guess a date? According to the back, which contains a snippet of a TV schedule, that night Elizabeth Dole was speaking at the Republican National Convention in San Diego, Talk Soup was on E! and something called the Thunder Midgets were racing in Indianapolis.
In other news, I want this quilt, which was spotted at the Tokyo Quilt Festival. Actually, I'd take any of the quilts, but that one speaks to me. It is amazing what people can do. While this one is equally jaw-droppingly cool, those who are allergic to crustaceans should step away.
Tonight is one of my favorite nights of the TV viewing season. The Westminster Kennel Club show kicks off on USA. I haven't the slightest idea why I enjoy this so much. I don't have a dog. I probably won't get a dog until the little people are big enough to walk it. And, yet, each year I *love* watching the show. I find myself cheering for the breeds of friends and for the Norwegian Elkhound, which was a dog we had when we lived in Chicago. My favorite group is the Hounds, but I will even watch the Toy group, I love the show that much. And, no, I don't watch other dog shows, just the WKC. Weird, I know.
Currently, I'm in a state of shock. I think it's dead, Jim, and it's like I lost a limb.
Check it -- I was making cookie dough in my trusty Kitchen Aid mixer this afternoon. Because I got cocky, I stuck a spoon in to scrape the sides down without turning off the motor. The paddle hit the spoon and stopped. Dead. Oh, the pain.
Now there is a horrible, horrible noise -- a metal on metal sort of noise -- whenever you can get the motor to actually engage. Mostly, though, there is nothing. Just silence. Oh, the pain.
On the plus side, I didn't release the magic blue smoke. But, still, the prognosis is rather gray. I just want to sob.
From Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys, which is so very, very good that I was sad when I finished it last night, simply because I will miss Fat Charlie and Spider and Daisy and even Rosie's mom:
"There is a theory that, in the whole world, there are only five hundred real people (the cast, as it were; all of the rest of the people in the world, the theory suggests, are extras) and what is more, they all know each other. And it's true, or true as far as it goes. In reality the world is made of thousands upon thousands of groups of about five hundred people, all of whom will spend their lives bumping into each other, trying to avoid each other, and discovering each other in the same unlikely teashop in Vancouver. There is an unavoidability to this process. It's not even coincidence. It's just the way the world works, with no regard for individuals or for propriety."
A quick post, since the children will be back soon and I will get nothing actually accomplished. Which is assuming that I'm accomplishing something now.
The date on the envelope claims that these were taken in 1996. I have no reason to not believe that. It is Austin. I am the thinest I have ever been. And my hair is all curly and short and clumpy from humidity. Yup. Must be 1996.
I offer this as further proof that I intensely dislike having my picture taken. And I wouldn't have done this, if the Hub hadn't requested an actual picture of me for his birthday.
We used this one:
Rather than this:
The pixs were shot by Walter Clark, who is currently snapping photos in the Richmond, VA area. He is very good. Don't let my discomfort color your view of his work. Fer instance, he snapped this and it has been pinned to my office bulletin board in every office I have had.
Who knows what else the pile holds? Who knew I would find such a thing exciting?
I've been wanting to improve my sorry sewing skills for the past few years. My only real lessons were in junior high, where I managed to sew my own sleeve to the quilted pillow top we were working on. My mom, a former home ec. teacher, always threatend to teach me but it just never worked out.
For years, I had my mom's ancient machine but I'd had enough of its grumpy ways and abandoned it in Knoxville. Which makes it sound like I was a big sewer. The sum total of my sewing in the last ten years was three Christmas stockings that I was driven to make for the Diva's first xmas. I cross-stitched our initials on 'em and everything. I think they are charming.
About six weeks before the most recent yuletide, I realized that we had another baby. Or, rather, I realized that the new baby would require a stocking as well, even if he's too young to care. I'd borrowed the Pie Goddess' sewing machine for the Dude's Halloween gnome hat. I borrowed it again to finish up his stocking.
Between the Hub and I, we have probably borrowed almost everything the Pie Goddess and the Grill Master own. But that's another story.
During the post-holiday sales, I bought my own machine. Since then it has sat in my closet in its box. I keep telling myself that I'll get around to really doing something one of these days.
A perfect storm of events made me get off my tush and realize one of these days is now. First, I stumbled upon the sew-along via whip-up and thought it was a neat idea. Second, the Pie Goddess pointed out the new sewing machine still in its box, which reminded me that I had one. Third, and most distressingly, my hands hurt, especially when knitting.
And so now seems like a great time to try something new.
The pattern is New Look 6433. I'll be attempting E.
In large friendly letters on the packet's front is the word "easy." I have chosen to believe the large friendly letters. There seems to be a zipper involved, however, so the whole easy thing may be crap.
Now I simply (ha!) need to find some fabric. Details TK.
First, the shameless promo, a piece that I actually am quite pleased that I was able to do. Mary Roach has long been one of my favorite writers and I got to interview her for Bookslut. Woot.
Second, I love the Pandora thingy but it just put a song by Jewel into my lovely Fiona Apple station. Jewel? Really? WTF?
Third, I am happy to report that the message on my DVR is grammatically correct now. Stil no word on the fate of UPN, however.
Fourth, that thud you're about to hear will be my husband falling over.
Fifth, I cleaned out my filing cabinet this afternoon because I couldn't fit anything else in it. I now have one whole drawer that is empty. This is a minor miracle. I have plans for my empty drawer. Details to come.
Sixth, could someone go pick Scott up off of the floor now? Thanks.
Seventh, while cleaning I found some wacky stuff that I'd been saving form years and years. Most of it will still be saved, simply because it's so much fun to stumble across it. And there really isn't that much of it -- maybe a shoebox or so, which seems reasonable. I plan to pester you with bits of it. (and there may be a letter or two from frequent commentor PL. Heh.)
Like this bit of nonesense: my GRE scores from 1992, back when I thought I was destined for grad school (I wasn't, as it turns out, but it had nothing to do with my GRE scores)...
Verbal =670 (91 percentile)
Quantitative = 580 (53)
Analytical = 630 (74)
I post these merely to point out two things: 1) I know a lot of words and 2) I now have proof that I'm not good at math. I'd also like to mention that I thought my scores really sucked ass and that I was a stupid loser. Nothing like a dozen years to change one's perspective. I mean -- I still have my stupid loserish moments, but learned that test scores really don't tell you all that much about who you are. Weird, eh?
In other news, you'll note that there's a new button in the sidebar on the left. More on the Sew? I Knit group tomorrow...
I've been listening to the radio station that Pandora set up for me while working on my Hartwick syllabus. I think I'm in love. Um, not with my syllabus, but with the "station." My syllabus and I are just friends.
On the playlist so far: "Monsoon" by Robbie Williams (who I've always adored and think is criminally underhyped in the U.S.), "Driveway to Driveway" by Superchunk and "Nineteen" by the Old 97's. My only gripe is that there is no Scott Miller.
Last night, after the team of my people was crowned kings of the big dance, I had a nightmare. In it, I was teaching at SUCO, which in and of itself wasn't the problem. What was the problem is that the powers-that-be at the college decided that students learn the best when they are listening to music at very high volumes, which they piped into every classroom. A study (remember, this is a study in my dream, not the real world so don't try this) had found that, in adddition to the music, the students also learned more effectively when dressed in Halloween costumes and in rooms floating with stage fog. The nightmare part came when I had to compete against all of this and, unsurprisingly, couldn't cut through all of it and just kept getting more and more frustrated.
Then, of course, I left campus in a right angry state. Or would have but couldn't find my car. Had I found it, the drive would have been remarkable because every last road was covered in ice.
I'm sure its all very deep and meaningful, hinting about the anxiety I have over cutting through clutter and getting my message out. And wondering if the message is really worth all of the effort and irritation anyway. Or about some deep-seated fear of college students in Halloween costumes on icy roads. Or something.