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I lost my humanity years ago.
Err...umm...
Hi!?
(Yes, good recovery. I'm certain no one noticed.)
I lost my humanity years ago.
Err...umm...
Hi!?
(Yes, good recovery. I'm certain no one noticed.)
Calling bullhockey on that one.
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I kept my humanity on a USB drive. The drive was a free handout at the dealership when I bought a hoverscooter. For a while, I'd keep it next to my jack port, intending to plug it in one of these days. Then it migrated into a plasteel cabinet drawer, next to some sauce packets of dubious origin. In the heat wave of '76, the packets swelled up and exploded, like discarded bodies after a Corp War. Turns out rancid brown sauce and silicon don't mix. Had to toss my sticky humanity in the trashcinerator. Can't say as I miss it.
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So, on the one hand, I'm still convinced that Blacky (Meatball) is an idiot.
On the other, his abject curiosity about all things is a neverending delight. No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, he has to run over, jump to a convenient location (yes, atop the stove or inside the dishwasher or washing machine are all 'convenient' to him), and aggressively use a paw to poke at whatever it is I'm doing.
I was trying to spoon-feed them chicken baby food as a treat. He reached up and batted the spoon hard, spraying baby food everywhere. I was trying to make the bed. He attacked the sheets and my hands trying to stop me. I try to tie my shoes. He attacks the laces.
The worst is my water. I make a 1L mug of sparkling water in the morning to keep by my desktop for the day. Hearing the hissing, He started batting at the water. I put him on the floor, moved my water to a "safe" place in the dining room, and cleaned up. I walked out to the dining room and there's Meatball, elbow-deep in my water glass, trying to bat at an ice cube.
Idiot. Adorable, irresistible idiot.
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Greetings, human persons.
You take that back!
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Right? Filthy lower primates. They're not even holiday-themed. Pftt...
<telekinetically hauls Monkey Santa back to his thread-pen>
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I went into the MAC Cosmetics store today while I was out shopping with Hermione, because I needed a new pressed powder. I'd run out, but they'd changed the formulation, and for some reason also the skin tone codes, so I couldn't just order the new one online, I had to go in to get matched for my new shade.
The salesgirl helping me said, "Looks like you're a C4."
I giggled. She looked at me funny.
I asked if she was aware that C4 is a plastic explosive.
She said that actually she did know that and asked if I needed anything else or just the explosive face powder.
I said that would do nicely and paid.
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** spoiler omitted **So now I'm walking around with a makeup compact in my handbag I can justifiably pretend was designed specially for me by Q Branch, just like I've always wanted.
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Fantasy Monster: Father Quill-Legs
A spidery machine drawing a continent-scale sign...
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I swear, every "good kid" in every generation has their own Eddie Haskell; I think one of the reasons Leave It to Beaver left such an impression on generations of young people was that Eddie was done so well, and so believably, that everyone could relate to Wally's moral dilemmas.
So yeah, last night proceeded exactly as I'd expect for Impus Major's own Eddie:
Impus Major: Dad, I'm going to A's birthday party at her house from 8-midnight tonight. It's in El Cerrito.
NobodysHome: Cool deal. Have fun!
IM: It turns out she wants to go to a concert in San Francisco so we're going to BART out there. Is that OK?
NH: No problem. Just remember that BART closes at midnight so don't stay out too late.
NH: So do you have all the logistics planned out? How you're getting there, how you're getting back, and so forth?
IMF: Oh, no. Eddie Haskell is taking care of that.
Sure enough, midnight came and went and they were still in San Francisco. I got a text at 12:25: "We're at a rave by the waterfront, but everything's going OK."
I got another text at 1:52: "Were finally out and in an Uber home."
He finally got home around 2:30 am. It's the first time he's been out past midnight in years... in fact, since Eddie Haskell moved to Santa Cruz. So Eddie reappears for one night, and Impus Major's at a rave in the city and out past 2 am.
Everything went fine, so it's hard to say "bad" influence, but I'll at least say, "unsettling" influence...
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OK. Pretty stoked. Impus Major's entire reaction was, "That was garbage. That's $100 I'll never see again. And how sad must these people's lives be that they just want to stand there drugged out of their minds listening to techno beats for hours on end?"
He was not a fan. In fact, he and the other sober party member got so bored and fed up that they both said, "This sucks, let's go," and ditched the rest of the party members.
At 1:30 am, when the rave was still going strong.
And the happiest he made me? "Well, that's something I'm never doing again."
EDIT: OMG. After tirading at me for a solid 15 minutes about how terrible raves are, he went downstairs to his group meeting and now he's going off at THEM about how terrible raves are. I don't think he enjoyed himself...
I don’t think that I’ve been to a real rave, but in City of Heroes they were a great place to go if you were looking for a fight. And I was…
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My favorite bit of Millenial idiocy: Ecstasy was the drug of choice in the 1990s. Now it's "Molly" because Ecstasy is passe and "for old people".
Now Google what Molly is...
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I went to one rave in the late '90s, out in the sticks near Sheffield, powered by a generator someone had borrowed from his job on the roads, and the samosas somebody's auntie had kindly brought along for everybody. I don't like techno or pills, so decided not to do it again.
...and now Meatball has convinced himself that the microwave is where tasty food comes from so he keeps butting past us to force his way in...
...and then gets confused because the box is empty.
EDIT: GothBard describes him as "clueless but forcefully directed", which is a great descriptor. He decides he's going to go somewhere, and hell if you can stop him. He'll push past you, bat at your hands and head if you try to pick him up or pull him away, and drive with single-minded attention and force towards his goal...
...at which point he'll wonder why the heck he was going there.
GothBard really defined how horrible it is to live in a dense upscale suburb: We cannot open a window for the day without having to listen to a power tool within 3 houses of us. From March through October, 7 days a week, someone's running a power tool within 100 yards of our house. It really is oppressive. Add that we get a screaming, crying toddler at least 5 days a week, and for one of the mildest summers in the last few decades we're spending way too much time with our windows closed because of the noise pollution.
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GothBard really defined how horrible it is to live in a dense upscale suburb: We cannot open a window for the day without having to listen to a power tool within 3 houses of us.
I went to one rave in the late '90s, out in the sticks near Sheffield, powered by a generator someone had borrowed from his job on the roads, and the samosas somebody's auntie had kindly brought along for everybody. I don't like techno or pills, so decided not to do it again.
I went to a few parties out in the sticks. Some were keggers. As in someone brought a keg of beer. Handy if you happen to be underage. Usually someone would play their car stereo. There would be a bonfire. Except that one time when there were fire restrictions in place. The U.S. Forest Service showed up and doused the fire. Gave Mary a ticket even though she was not the one who started the fire. That kind of killed that party.
Drugs wise; I scored a bag of weed at one. It wasn’t a pill kind of scene though.| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Why do cats gotta be cats?
Yesterday our gardener was here so all the leads got detached and re-hung. This morning when I re-attached all the kittens it turns out that Meatball (of course) wasn't attached to anything; he was just trailing a lead through the lawn.
So, in all his time outside, he's the least exploratory. He's happy to walk over to the sunny flowerbed near the studio, curl up, and enjoy the singular pleasure of being a black cat in a flowerbed in the warm sun. But of course, since he wasn't attached, he decided to go exploring. I came out and he was just *gone*.
He didn't respond nor return for treats, so we started a neighborhood search. After 10-15 minutes of panicked searching, I found the end of his lead going through a fence. I grabbed it, and felt a satisfying tug at the other end of the line. He'd managed to find a very pleasant garden and get himself hopelessly entangled. I sent Impus Major to the house in question to get into the back yard, and of course, being Impus Major, he took the time to get a cat carrier, walk over, knock on the front door, introduce himself, explain the situation, and have them let him in. (In my day we would've just gone in.) All the while Meatball was yowling at me to turn him loose.
So, he's been rescued. But typical cat: "I'm perfectly happy in the yard until the second you take your eyes off of me, then I'm out of here!"
*SIGH*. One more grey hair.
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A really strange aspect of growing older is your realization that all of a sudden you're wishing many of your loved ones would just up and die.
As I've mentioned, my mother's mind is greatly gone, the fate she most feared of everything that could happen. And even though she's in an assisted suicide state, she has no terminal illness so she's stuck being alive for as long as her body lasts. Which, considering how well she took care of herself over the decades, might be another decade or more. And all I can wish is for her to pass peacefully away as soon as possible.
I'm not as sure about Nefret. Today she trotted out of the studio, quacking happily as she toodled over to her favorite rose bush and went to sleep under it. As long as it stays warm and sunny, she's living an idyllic existence: At night she's in the studio with GothBard for most of the evening and demands pets and brushings with great regularity. By day she naps in the warm yard, undisturbed by kittens whose leads can't quite reach her (very intentionally). But... winter is coming. The weather will get worse and she won't be able to spend the days outside. GothBard is already looking at a 3-4 week trip to Europe for work in late September/early October so if she stays in the studio she'll be dreadfully lonely, but if she comes in the house she'll have to deal with the kittens.
I'd prefer for her to adapt to the kittens and continue her slow senescence and make it to next summer. But, if she happens to pass away under her favorite rose bush on a warm September day before GothBard goes on her trip, it'd be a fantastic way for her to pass.
EDIT: For the record, since we got Lily as an adult stray we never knew her exact birth date, but the vet's best guess was April of 2006 to October 29, 2024, so she lived roughly 18 years, 6 months. We have Nefret's exact birthday, and she's now 18 years, 3 months, and 1 day. So if she makes it through the winter, she'll be the longest-lived cat we've ever owned. But I worry about how miserable she'll be come November when going outside is no longer a reasonable option.
I went to one rave in the late '90s, out in the sticks near Sheffield, powered by a generator someone had borrowed from his job on the roads, and the samosas somebody's auntie had kindly brought along for everybody. I don't like techno or pills, so decided not to do it again.I went to a few parties out in the sticks. Some were keggers. As in someone brought a keg of beer. Handy if you happen to be underage. Usually someone would play their car stereo. There would be a bonfire. Except that one time when there were fire restrictions in place. The U.S. Forest Service showed up and doused the fire. Gave Mary a ticket even though she was not the one who started the fire. That kind of killed that party.
Drugs wise; I scored a bag of weed at one. It wasn’t a pill kind of scene though.
More a Mötley Crüe blasting out of car stereos situation?
More 70s rock I’d say.
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Today marks the start of another new era: The kids both successfully transferred to CSUEB, and I managed to get them to synchronize their schedules well enough that they're driving there together MWF. So once again, the kids are at school, the kittens are out back, GothBard's working in the studio, and I have a quiet house to myself to work in.
Wonder whether I'll get any work done...
I have done a surprising amount of work today, during the day, without leaving it for evening/night...
It might have something to do with having a visit to a dentist on 19:30.
Also, I am trying to move my sleep schedule closer to mundane people because I will need to get up early on Sunday to get to suburbs and spend a day playing Twilight Imperium.
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Speaking of school and horrible decisions, I have my own reason for despising grading on a curve, but Impus Minor's computer science professor takes it to a whole new level of stupidity: In his syllabus he has, "The top 25% of students will get As, the next 25% will get Bs, the third 25% will get Cs, and the final 25% will get Ds."
So, at the college level a syllabus is a binding contract; students can and frequently do go to the dean to challenge anything you do that isn't on the syllabus. I've been on both the giving and receiving end of that. (Impus Major's infamous Thanksgiving break midterm -- I forced the prof to give him a make-up exam.)
Suppose this guy has a brilliant class. I got one every couple of years. Half of them could get over 90%. Too bad! You got a 92% but that's a B.
Even worse, it's impossible to fail. If you just need any letter grade other than an F to graduate, just sign up for the class, never show, take your D, and graduate.
So. Damn. Dumb.
I went to a few parties out in the sticks. Some were keggers.
In forestry school we did this out on the ice, with the staff. Someone drove their car out onto the lake and were doing doughnuts
The school had seen me do the polar bear challenge AND i was sober, so of course I got nominated to go get them if they fell in...
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Heard this conversation in a youtube video:
Guy 1 (from UK): "We have a tax on sugar over here. It's supposed to make us healthier or something."
Guy 2 (from USA): "You put a sugar tax on us 250 years ago, and look what happened. I guess you just never learn."
Honour'd firs, it is my Melancholie Duty to Inform you that General Cornwallis hath Surrendered at York Town, fo our Pop, or Chymically Invigourated Sirop Water, muft contain at leaft as Much Cane Refidue as it did in Previous Decades, our Nation's Teeth be d-mn'd.
Honour'd firs, it is my Melancholie Duty to Inform you that General Cornwallis hath Surrendered at York Town, fo our Pop, or Chymically Invigourated Sirop Water, muft contain at leaft as Much Cane Refidue as it did in Previous Decades, our Nation's Teeth be d-mn'd.Heard this conversation in a youtube video:
Guy 1 (from UK): "We have a tax on sugar over here. It's supposed to make us healthier or something."
Guy 2 (from USA): "You put a sugar tax on us 250 years ago, and look what happened. I guess you just never learn."
Is...is that why British people's teeth are so messed up?
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I’m doing some revisionist history. There was totally Mötley Crüe playing. From a Trans Am. Totally.
Is it a bad sign that:
(a) I fell asleep for a good 30-40 minutes during last night's session, and
(b) nobody noticed?
Lenore: I don't like it outside! Please let me into the studio.
Morrigan: Yoink!
Mephisto: Well, obviously I'm with the cows.
He doesn't particularly like being in the studio. I'm sure in 15 minutes he'll beg to go out. But because the other cats were doing it, it was obviously the thing to do so he followed them.
*SIGH*. Dim, sweet boy.
Sometimes the dumb is so bad it hurts.
We have a circular floor plan. It's actually what made us buy the house. While we were standing there talking to the realtor, Impus Major cheerfully crawled around the house, stopping to look up and giggle at us every time he completed a lap. Lenore was similar; the moment we got her home she escaped, ran the circle, figured it out, and used it to her advantage.
So, Mephisto/Meatball was beating up on Morrigan. She ran into our bedroom with him in pursuit and so I closed the door between them. Mephisto was stumped, gave up the chase, and wandered off. Morrigan came around and asked for outsies.
10 minutes later, I heard piteous meowing from our bedroom. Mephisto had gone in one door, gotten to the other, decided he was trapped, and sat there begging to be let out. Of a room with an open door. In a house with a circular floor plan.
*SIGH*
That reminds me of a video of a kitten crying its lungs out from behind bars of the cage. With open doors a literal few centimeters to the side.
The caretaker kept unsuccessfully trying to attract the kitten's attention to the open door. I think she had to physically pull the kitten and push it through the door...
That reminds me of a video of a kitten crying its lungs out from behind bars of the cage. With open doors a literal few centimeters to the side.
The caretaker kept unsuccessfully trying to attract the kitten's attention to the open door. I think she had to physically pull the kitten and push it through the door...
Now age that kitten 6 months and you have our beautiful, dim bulb.
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It took me about 3 1/2 hours to install the new pannier racks on my motorcycle. Probably about half that time was spent trying to decipher the pictographic instructions.
For those who may not know, standard practice in most hotels is that if you have a reservation for multiple nights, and don't show up on the first night, you get charged a no-show fee (usually the first night's rate, but can be otherwise) and the rest of your reservation is cancelled. Sometimes with special events or other things going on, this can be different, but that is standard practice. We had a guest this week who had a reservation to check in on Tuesday night, checking out Friday morning. They didn't show on Tuesday, and when the system tried to charge their card the no-show fee, it declined. So, the hotel is out that money, and the remainder of the stay was cancelled. They showed up about 20 minutes ago, and when I told them that they didn't have a room anymore, they got all pissed off saying that it "wasn't fair" and that I was "making all that up" and that we should have called/emailed them to tell them that we had cancelled their reservation for a no-show. Anything and everything they could think of to try and blame us, rather than taking responsibility for their f@+~-up. What makes it even better? We're sold out. So is pretty much everyone in town (it's move-in week for the university). And they said that they refuse to stay in a different brand of hotels. And the last time I checked, 4 hours ago, the nearest hotel of this chain with rooms was an hour away. So, anyway, after much whining and threatening, they finally left, and all I can say is "f$#! you and good riddance".
Interesting. Being uber-responsible, I've never had this happen. (If an emergency pops up and I can't make my stay, I call the hotel and cancel.)
I was thinking, "I'd much rather they assume I'm late, keep the room for me for the week, and just keep charging me whether or not I show up," but I'm sure that would have legal ramifications and much worse customer reactions. I can live with losing 4 nights' hotel accommodations if I flake. But I'm unusual.
And that's ignoring the whole, "Payment declined thing." The second that happens the room is gone, so I think the hotel did right here.
Justified people rant
Hey, don't send them over here. I got enough of them to deal with already.
I don't really thing that whole "people" things is really justified. The universe could really do without them.
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I've taken to referring to the kittens en masse as the "fur herd", as they tend to move in a group as a little pod of chirruping, galumphing joy.
The family is delighted.
And as for the whole, "Cats don't care whether you live or die" argument:
4:00 am. I get up. The fur herd slowly arises and gathers around me in the dining room, just to be in the same room with me.
6:30 am. I wake Elder Spawn. The fur herd tumbles into WhimseyShire and onto his bed to greet him.
7:00 am. I wake GothBard. The fur herd cavorts into our bedroom and onto the bed to wish her good morning.
8:00 am. I let the fur herd out on their leashes.
8:30 am. GothBard goes into the studio to work. The fur herd follows her.
For creatures that don't care about humans' existence, they sure do like to be with us...
I’ve known some very clingy, needful cats.
And, gran rey, you forgot to mention the raging hippopotamus that the pictograph failed to even show.