Quote of the year

It's because she says things like this, that we love Miss Joseph. Over a super yummy pasta dish made by Master Chef Ransom, she told us of a conversation she'd had with a friend of hers. The subject of death came up -- when asked whether she was afraid to die, she said something to the effect of:

"Well, it would just be so sad not to be able to eat anymore."

So true. So very, very true.

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Subtle transitions

While brushing my teeth today, I thought about how when I was younger, I would stare at my reflection trying to imagine what I'd look like when I grew up. I never could imagine what I'd look like, so I figured it just wouldn't happen. But it did, and not really in a noticeable way.

It's so slow and subtle, you almost don't notice it. Even those who don't stop going out altogether tend to start going to different places, looking for quieter places to spend time -- not all at once, just slowly, over time. Spontaneity doesn't exactly die, but when everyone's so busy that plans involving more than two people must be made three weeks in advance, it doesn't have much of a chance to flourish.

And then I got to thinking that the leaves in my gutters need to be cleaned out and I'm not sure how to deal with it. I live in a two-story townhouse, so the bottom gutters are no problem; my ladder will reach. But the ones above are another story entirely. So I have to either find someone to clean out the leaves, or do it myself -- it is well to keep in mind here that while I'm probably totally capable of doing it myself, I've also proven myself to be very capable of falling off of things, not to mention breaking bones.

Anyhow, it was so much easier when the adults had to take care of these things and we could live in blissful ignorance. I mean, it's not hard, but it's one of the many logistics of every day life that adults have to deal with. It's annoying. I mean, how do you find someone to clean out your gutters? There are those ads in the paper for handymen, but how do you know you can trust the person on the other end? How do you know if they have a long enough ladder? How, for that matter, did my parents know how to deal with these things?

This lead to the realization that my parents probably didn't know either. They were probably just as confused as me (not about the gutters because my dad had a ladder and we had a one-story house, but about other stuff, like babies, which are inarguably much harder to figure out). And yet they somehow muddled through. They figured things out. Because that's what grown ups do.

Anyhow, my point is this: Mom, Dad, Paul, if you're reading this, please figure out a way to get the leaves out of my gutters. Thanks!

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Some things I've learned

I had heard that there are 32 words for snow before, but I didn't know what they were until I found this list. At first glance, I thought it was a list of Scrabble words that have a "q" with no "u" right after, but I don't think these are in the Scrabble Dictionary.

Also, I've only just been told of the masterful paintings of Brandon Bird, although the name sounds familiar, so maybe someone told me and I just forgot. It's hard to beat Bea Arthur wrasslin' a dinosaur, but I think my favorite might be Norton Defiant or Two Warriors Come Out of the Sky.

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A quick run through my head

• My co-worker had ringing in his ears for a couple of weeks, and thought it was due to the air conditioner of the sandwich shop downstairs. We work in a janky old building, so it seemed a reasonable explanation. The weather had just turned hot, so they had just started using it more. However, another thing that happened when the weather turned hot was he started jogging to work. Because jogging on pavement isn't so nice for the legs, he had also started taking lots of ibuprofen when he jogged to work. It was the ibuprofen that caused the ringing in his ears -- turns out it's a fairly common side-effect. I now fear my Advil.
• I want ice cream.
• A friend of mine wrote to warn of the nefarious business practices of 76 Stations, at least in Portland. If you pay with a credit card, they'll charge an additional $.10 per gallon. This is noted on the rate signs at the stations, but somewhere near the bottom and it's not lit up at all. Be warned. Or just don't go to 76 stations (though they just merged with Chevron, so maybe check before going to a Chevron station as well).
• I came back as a bag of groceries
  Accidentally taken off the shelf
  Before the date stamped on myself.
• Work feels very much the same after a month off. I guess I figured it would feel more different. Not that it's entirely the same -- I'm not burnt out at all, so the vacation must have worked. I think that's helped by the fact that I'm really enjoying what I'm working on. I get to re-write the image uploading and management tool (which totally sucks right now). It's interesting and fun and even rewarding, since it means I get to delete a bunch of code that is really terrible and I'm ashamed to have my name on. It was code I inherited from others that was based on an overly-complex database schema, architected in a very roundabout way, and implemented by me when I didn't really know what I was doing. So, on top of the other perks I mentioned, I also get to feel like I know what I'm doing now -- it's a neat compare and contrast exercise that makes me feel competent.
• I'm a little bit afraid of Turbonegro.

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The test of time

On a hunch that this blog used to be more interesting, I looked at approximately four archive pages today. I almost never read my archives, so this was quite an adventure. What I discovered was that I was right. I used to tell you amusing stories, like the one about the psycho nurse who wants to poison people, or the one about Jane. There was satisfaction in telling these stories -- I wonder at the shift. Maybe I've become complacent, maybe I'm not trying anymore. I'd say maybe I don't do interesting things anymore, but I just got done traveling for a month, seeing good friends, new things, places, etc. It's as if I've lost the capability to make it sound interesting.

Maybe. Or maybe it's just a phase. Or, terrifyingly, maybe the crazy people I bump into these days no longer seem so crazy. Maybe I've become one of them. Maybe that thing you're about to post on your own blog is about me, the crazy lady who was oh-my-god-can-you-believe-it, she was ______. Fill in the blank. Go on, laugh at the crazy lady. If I can dish it out, I guess I can take it.

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Theo loves his futon

I think Ralph Macchio had this same pose in a 1986 edition of Teen Beat.

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Crazy is as crazy does

I'm glad I don't live next door to Crazy Pot Head Lady. It should be noted that "pot head" is meant literally, not as in "stoner", but as in actually wearing a pot on ones head.

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The eagle has landed

Home, sweet home! I had a lovely journey, but am very happy to be home, sleeping in my own bed, hanging out with Ransom and my cat and my friends. The conveniences of home are not to be underestimated. I keep finding myself thinking things like, "I'm so lucky to have a refrigerator in my house!" And it's true. I'm very lucky.

Tomorrow I go back to work. Hopefully I'll manage to shake off the last vestiges of jet lag between now and then. I didn't wake up until 5:30 this morning, and I even managed to fall back asleep after an hour or so. I'm getting closer all the time.

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