January 2006 Archives

Good heavens, this stuff is really old. But y'know, I've been busy. Seriously.

Writing in Grist, Sarah Kraybill gave us "A mistletoe primer," which starts out:

Very Important Things I Learned About Mistletoe from the U.S. Geological Survey, Which Knows All Kinds Of Things Not Only About The Earth's Crust, As Their Name Would Suggest, But Holiday Flora As Well

Somewhat entertainingly given my January posting record, my next selection is a photo essay from Fussy entitled "Good God! I've posted something!":

Gee, do you think my family subconsciously wants me to burp out another child? I have a very special message for them: Until Satan starts serving ice water in Hell we'll just keep treating our dog like a silent, fur-covered human being. Or until the dear Blue Fairy flutters through our window and makes it so.

My friend Grace managed to entertain me with a post on a topic I have zero interest in. The topic is "Celebrity gossip round-up":

How virile Tom must be, siring a man-child! Maybe they will name him Elron.

"Anybody Got Something To Say, Better Be Running Away" is another entertaining post on a topic I have zero interest in. This time it's jogging:

So - I just took up Jogging. To cut a long story short my fitness levels were 'through the floor' and an Alternative Medical Practitioner said 'Dude if you don't start Jogging, you are FUCKED. Now, give me £1,000 GBP and Jog the hell out of here before I open your Meridians.' I was a bit disappointed with the Bedside Manner of that Alternative Medical Practitioner, but didn't hesitate to fuck right off as instructed.

I have hesitated for almost a year now to post a link to Why's (Poignant) Guide To Ruby, because it's a computer manual. And I know that I am slightly to the geekier end of the spectrum among people who don't actually work with computers for a living, so my perceptions of funny in this area are probably not representative. But I will pull out three early paragraphs from the guide, and you tell me whether it's not well-written and amusing:

Pretend that you’ve opened this book (although you probably have opened this book), just to find a huge onion right in the middle crease of the book. (The manufacturer of the book has included the onion at my request.) So you’re like, “Wow, this book comes with an onion!” (Even if you don’t particularly like onions, I’m sure you can appreciate the logistics of shipping any sort of produce discreetly inside of an alleged programming manual.)

We start off the book by getting along well in the Introduction. This togetherness, this synergy, propels us through the book, with me guiding you on your way. You give me a reassuring nod or snicker to indicate your progress. I’m Peter Pan holding your hand. Come on, Wendy! Second star to the right and on till morning. One problem here. I don’t get along well with people. I don’t hold hands very well. Any of my staff will tell you.

Variables are like nicknames. Remember when everyone used to call you Stinky Pete? People would say, “Get over here, Stinky Pete!” And everyone miraculously knew that Stinky Pete was you. With variables, you give a nickname to something you use frequently. For instance, let’s say you run an orphanage. It’s a mean orphanage. And whenever Daddy Warbucks comes to buy more kids, we insist that he pay us one-hundred twenty-one dollars and eight cents for the kid’s teddy bear, which the kid has become attached to over in the darker moments of living in such nightmarish custody.

Also, there are lots of cartoons.

But if that doesn't work for you, you can try "Technology Alert" from The Reality-Based Community. Here's a teaser:

As is well, though not widely, known, babies were invented by George Eastman in 1894 to create a market for his Kodak cameras, which up to that point were selling poorly owing to the lack of any important application.

Or, look at this gorgeous picture of cinnamon rolls. Or read this post about the Scottish black bun.

It's all about having choices.

I only like the very outside coating of Freshmint Tic Tacs.

My good friend C. and I went wedding dress shopping on Thursday, since I had the day off for Confederate Heroes Day. (Yes, we have that here in Texas. I apologize on behalf of my entire state.)

We went to David's Bridal first, since my general theory about the wedding is to first look at the cheapest version of the thing I want and see if I can stand it. We were greeted cheerfully but not aggressively by a young woman seated at a table. She asked if anyone was helping us. We said no, we were just going to look around. She told us that we had to register in order to try anything on. I figured that meant they had some kind of guest book.

So we looked at a lot of very ugly dresses, found a few we actually liked and pulled them out, then went looking for someone to let us into a dressing room.

"If you'll just fill this out," the young woman said, "And there's about a 20 minute wait currently for a bridal consultant."

The form asked for not only my name, but my address, phone numbers, and email address. C. had warned me that the wedding industry's main mode of operation was to play on cultural programming in order to suck all the money you have out of your wallet (cash) and/or undermine your future financial security (credit). But I didn't realize they also wanted to keep me under surveillance.

The form giver must have seen something on my face, because she kindly explained that this allowed them to create a file for me in their central computer and store any gowns I might be interested in, so I could go to any David's Bridal and they would be able to help me.

Not reassured.

I don't know of any other retail experience that works like this. You have identified a product you might be interested in knowing more about, but you are required to reveal and allow them to store personally identifying information before you are allowed to examine it? I suppose giving your driver's license to the car dealership to take a test drive might count, but that's a product that is incredibly expensive and highly mobile. I'll be damned if I could get any of those dresses into my purse and walk out the front door.

So I did the only thing I could do. I lied. My apologies to whoever has the street address 2 digits off mine and the domain name I made up to go with my fictitious first and lat names.

It does present an interesting social situation, though, since it turns out I am potentially interested in one of those dresses. How do I phrase it when I go back to check on the dress again? I want the salesperson who helped us to get her commission, so I want to go back to her, but I don't think Emily Post has anything for that initial conversation. I think what I did was an appropriate defense of my personal privacy. But how exactly do you say "I thought your business practice was unethical and invasive, so I faked the information I gave you last time. Would you please sell me a dress?"

Dear The Dog,

I really meant to be on time in writing a post about your birthday. But then I couldn't remember if it was January 6th or 13th, so I wanted to look it up in your file, but I keep your file with your food instead of in the file box so the dogsitters know where it is, and then I got engaged, and now it's the end of the month. So I'm sorry.

That's what a lot of my relationship with you seems to boil down to: I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I don't walk you enough, I'm sorry that I don't brush your teeth enough, I'm sorry that when I do brush your teeth we have to use vanilla-mint toothpaste that you don't like because of your food allergies, I'm sorry that I'm on the computer right now typing this instead of playing with you as you would like me to. I'm sorry you're in the apartment for 10 hours a day by yourself right now. (Hey, I'm trying, but the Dog Fairy hasn't brought us another dog yet. I'm working on it.)

We've been together for nine years and I still don't feel like I have the hang of not being selfish when it comes to taking care of you. To be fair, you can be excruciatingly annoying. To be fair, I should have trained you better not to be. I often feel like we're in a war, and I lose more often than not because I'm the grownup and I just have to get over it. But you've never wanted for food, water, medical care, shelter, or toys. And I think you've gotten a decent amount of love even if you'd be better off if more of that love manifested in playtime.

Hopefully you agree with me that's not too bad.

Happy Birthday. As soon as I'm convinced you're over your latest round of trying to itch off all your skin, we'll have a little party and try out those new dog treats your Auntie C. bought for you.

Love,
your mom

It's difficult to find a bagpiper to play a wedding in Austin.

Socks made of bamboo don't last very well.

If you didn't get enough loot during the holidays, you should buy yourself some scented pencils made of recycled paper or a smart power strip that doesn't draw idle current. It's not shopping, it's SAVING THE PLANET. :)

When you forget your lunch, having a backup cup of soup in your desk is a good thing. Unless you don't have a backup spoon. Then it's less helpful.

Anyone who has used Google today has probably seen this already, but it is Louis Braille's birthday. What a wonderful tribute:

On October 30, 2004, I emailed C-Man this photograph:

He must have appreciated it, because on January 1, 2006, at approximately midnight and one minute, he asked me to marry him.

To no one's shock or amazement, I said yes.