I’ve had a wee headache since last night. Which has really nothing to do with anything, just telling you.
Here are some songs that tie into books I’ve read.
I know I read Lolita because of this song:
Loved the book before I even knew about this song. Love the song too:
Of course, everyone needs a room of one’s own (couldn’t find a good video for this one):
Any music and books ties in your life?
Our contract/grant is being sent out for a request for proposal at the beginning of December. We may or may not win our contract back (we’ve had it since 1990). The next six months should just be filled to the brim with awesome.
We’re playing a video of cats whining so our cats will come into the room to be annoyed.
But, not this annoyed.
It all started with my outstanding imitation of cats meowing. Really, I’m pretty good. It’s enough to get the boys riled up.
Mix in computers playing a duet of the above link and it is pure evvvvviiilll for the cats.
I have a group project at school. With those seven words, you can pretty much tell the story of what’s going on with the group project. We’re in hell. We have one tiny dictator and the remaining three are just tired, worn-out and just want to be finished.
Group school projects aren’t always bad and I’ve worked on one that was a joy. I’ve worked on others that were pleasant. I can’t say that I’ve worked on one like this current one. Hell. Hell. Hell. Actually, hell is a funny word since that’s the word that kicked off the rage of the tiny dictator. If you’ve ever seen the Hitler parodies on youtube, you know what I mean about tiny dictators and rage over stupid stuff. In fact, I think I may go watch one of those right now to put everything back into perspective.
My other class is nearing completion too. I had a presentation last week in which I was less than stellar. Really, I thought I sucked and that’s not one of those false modesty things. I really just phoned it in. My grade came back this week–95%. Heck, I work hard and I get strife. I phone it in and I get an A. Go figure.
For the last couple of days, something hasn’t felt right with one of my shoes. I didn’t really pay attention until today when I thought something was stuck to the side and towards the bottom. I was in a training class, observing, all day and only glanced at my shoe once. I figured I’d look at it later.
Yeah, there’s a problem and I’m not talking about the horrible state of the camera phone picture:
Sadly, these shoes aren’t sold on Zappos anymore. I know they aren’t the most stylish, but, damn, they’ve been comfortable. I got them in 2005 so I figure they’ve had a good long run. My next pair of Clarks is already on the way.
I haven’t put together a Happy Friday video post in awhile. Perhaps you are happy about that.
This song gets stuck in my head and makes me want to dance:
An oldie, but a goodie:
I bet it would be great to see him live:
Here’s some symmetry (wife of Elvis) and the man we are going to see next week:
My sister and the Nieces arrived mid-Friday afternoon at the apartment in the college town. The better-half had arrived the night before. Thankfully he happened to hit town as I was leaving class so he picked me up. I got massive blisters the night before walking to class. I was thrilled not to have to walk back to the bus stop Thursday night.
Anyway, we took a quick tour of the apartment and the Nieces and the better-half left us for about a half hour so they could go find a cave the better-half remembered from his undergraduate days. They found it but no one went in. I think it’s small or there was some doubt about losing two small girls down a hole, something. I don’t know. It was neato by all accounts.
Then we were commanded by Nut2 to get her to the park, STAT! The better-half and I found a playground not far from the apartment a month or so ago and mentioned it to the Nieces. It was the highlight of the trip, I think. The playground was pretty spectacular I have to admit. Several different zones of equipment and an actual caboose. Sweet. We actually went to the playground twice it was so much fun.
We toured the campus a bit and I showed them my School and we saw a bunch of kids playing ultimate frisbee. Then it was time to hit the t-shirt/sweat shirt shops. We tried the one nearby but it was a)packed to the gills and b)lame in child-size clothing. I knew of another spot for that sort of thing and off we went. We had success.
After shopping, Nut1 and I were waiting to get let back into my sister’s van. As we were standing there, I noticed a dirty diaper wrapped haphazardly in a piece of newspaper. We giggled like eight-year-olds (at least one of us has an excuse) and then had to tell our gross story in the car.
The car was the scene for quite a few gross things. Including–farting, burping the alphabet, taunting one Niece to throw up (alas she didn’t) and calling each other stinky or some variation on body part names.
All in all a good weekend. My sister managed to get the kids to the apartment, we did some fun things and then they hauled butt home (she said butt) in order to make it to a girl scout event late Saturday afternoon. And, after the event they went to see my brother-in-law perform with his band. She rocks. She’s also probably exhausted.
The co-worker at work who quite often shows us her belly said to me as I was lugging my desk down and out of the building this afternoon that she liked a picture I posted on Facebook. First things first, she is not my friend on Facebook so she saw the picture because someone I am friends with commented on the picture. Which made me think I need to change my settings on Facebook again so that belly-showing freak stays the hell out of my business. Second things second, I muttered something unknowable (even I don’t remember) because I was a half hour late getting out of there and I was hauling three bags of desk out with me and I DO NOT LIKE HER. So, she’s not only oblivious to choosing professional attire, but she’s also thick as brick that my complete and total lack of socializing means I DO NOT LIKE HER AND COULD CARE LESS ABOUT HER OPINION.
Now, I usually forget to do twenty kinds of anything after driving to college town. It’s three hours every Tuesday night and I have a ton of This American Life on a thumb drive so I’m content listening to compelling content and not thinking about the belly-showing freak, generally. But, what was the second thing I did after ordering dinner? I changed my security settings on Facebook. Chances of her getting a clue? Still zero, but at least she won’t talk about what I’m doing on Facebook.
I am a Facebook prude. If I can’t imagine having lunch or dinner with someone, I don’t request to be their friend and I don’t approve their requests. As you can imagine, I have a very small number of friends on that site.
Right now all three boys in my life are sleeping in the bedroom. I took these two pictures earlier.
Simon in the sunshine, naturally:
Jim had decided it’s fun to beat up the rug and then sleep on it:
WordPress. Why you vex me? Even if I’m signed into WordPress with my killer user name (really, it combines my moniker here and the world’s most important date 9/13/1999), often Blogspot kicks me to the curb when I try to comment on websites. It’s very annoying and I usually give up. So that’s how come I’m a lurker on the internet instead of a commenter.
This entry by Orangette describes, nearly perfectly, what it was like when I first tried oysters as a grown-up.
Back when we were dating, the better-half and I were in Chincoteague for a long weekend and were waiting for dinner. The place was semi-fancy or at least I thought so when I was a kid as we only went there on a rare occasion–because my parents were like that. It may or may not be fancy, but it is delicious and the sunsets are quite nice from the deck. Anyway, the wait for dinner was a long one. We were hungry and perhaps a little tipsy because we were drinking cocktails while we waited.
In addition to the cocktail drinking there was a discussion of what we wanted to eat. The better-half really wanted to order oysters and because I was in love, I agreed. Thank goodness for a couple of vodka tonics (and the love, of course). I had always thought of oysters as squishy, sort-of alive and yeck. As soon as we were seated, he ordered a dozen oysters. Let me tell you it was a revelation.
If you skipped the link to Orangette up there, please go read it. It was exactly like that–a cathedral bell going off. I love oysters here on the East Coast and we eat them often, but the best I’ve ever had were the ones we hoovered every chance we could get when we visited the Pacific Northwest a few years ago. One night while we were out that way, we went to a restaurant that wasn’t all that great. Pretty mediocre actually and the waitress spilled wine all over the better-half’s jacket, but we still talk about how good the oysters were that night.
