Any TypePad lurkers out there?

For I am an idiot who cannot figure out how to map my newly purchased domain to my new TypePad account. It appears to be mapping in reverse, thereby pointing users to an annoying domain host site full of frightening cartoon people with bad haircuts.

A photographic synopsis of my life

When he's not toppling my laundry hamper in search of warmth, Marlowe is busy being sick. I've managed to adopt the world's only partially blind, hard-of-hearing (we think), broken-toothed, colitis-stricken cat. Well, we think it's colitis. Really, all I know is that it's kind of gross and probably uncomfortable for him -- although he does get to eat rice now. Want to know if your cat's been on the streets? Offer him bland, lukewarm white rice. If he gobbles it up like it's a slab of fresh mouse rump, he's probably done his share of garbage can dining in the past. Marlowe and I have many a vet appointment and food experimentation ahead of us, but at least he gets to snuggle up on a warm, fuzzy blanket at the end of the day.

When not tearing down I-5 on the way to work, Fitty is letting me know that he hates weddings. During the first summer wedding, he backed into a picnic table (I would do no such thing because I am a competent driver who knows the difference between gas and brake). This weekend, he bottomed out on the pothole-strewn excuse for a road that lead to my friend's ceremony. I think this is a sign that I should stop attending weddings, which is fine, as they only cause me to spend the rest of the weekend in a bubble bath wondering why I ever left England. I'll be taking Fitty to the repair shop, although I'm tempted to leave it alone unless my bumper is in danger of tumbling across the road during the morning commute.

When not spasming in the middle of an evening get-together, my back is...well, it's spasming at every opportunity it finds. We won't dwell on that.

Finally, when not working through the night, CB is preparing for a week home! There's really nothing more to say about that, is there? :)

So I am a bad person

Dear reader, please forgive these time lapses as of late. I had an interview today and one which requires a three-hour drive tomorrow, and I just can't put it together to write a post tonight. My multitasking skills apparently took a vacation and have no interest in returning. What about the rest of last week? you ask. I had terribly important things to do last week. Like, unwittingly wander into Flowers with some friends, where they were serving three dollar margaritas. All I know is that, six hours later, the conversation devolved into philosophical treatises on the existential behavior of ghost shrimp, and a little while after that we thought it would be brilliant to play DDR. On Expert level. I think I might have broken someone's foot. The aftereffects of that night essentially negated my week.

So, thanks to my interview, I won't be back until late tomorrow night, which means I have no excuse if I don't post Wednesday. Hence, I will. Because I am not...that...lame...yet.

Interesting tidbit to tide you over: it took me as long to fly home from Kansas as it took my best friend to fly to Italy that same day. Why is it that any respectable hotel would be drummed out of business if it double-booked its rooms, yet airlines can double-book seats and act like it's our problem when we complain?

Hitting the trails

It's mid-morning, and I am running the dirt path that loops around the city zoo's outer fence. The trail is shaded by many cedars, doug firs, and red alders; I flit from sun to shade and back again, while a herd of elk stares from the slopes of their enclosure.

The last quarter of the trail is a jagged uphill stretch, riven by exposed roots. By the time I get halfway up, I'm shattered. Suddenly, I recall the last time I ran the trail -- another jogger ahead of me ran this part backwards, and he seemed less worse for the wear when we both reached the top. Besides, isn't backwards running supposed to be en vogue, better for the shins, and all that?

I glance up the hill. No hazards in sight, no major roots coming. On rubbery legs, I spin and propel myself up the hill, keeping within a few inches of the fence. Suddenly, my legs are pumping faster and easier than ever. This is great! This is fantastic! Effortless, even! I don't know why I don't do this more--

SMACK!

Everything, from my head to my calves, hurts. I fall forward, but catch myself before I bite it in front of some sort of weird deer with a foot-long, fuzzy tail. Confused, I spin back around. The open trail I saw is not so open: I have run into a tree. A tall, very round tree with fissured bark. The deerthing looks amused. Perhaps I need new contacts.

I am back at my neighbor's house now, cat-sitting. By cat-sitting, I mean toasting my legs in front of the fire while two throw-pillows sprawl bellies-up beside me. That's the beauty of watching cats. You don't have to do a single thing, except occasionally poke your charges to make sure they're still alive. But the head, it sort of hurts, and sadly I couldn't remember why until I poked the sore spot hard and contemplated how I could have smacked the back of my head with such accuracy. Maybe the collision gave me temporary amnesia. I hope so.

Visual DNA

An interesting take...what's yours?

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So this is the New Year

Death Cab running through my head...

On the first day of the new year, my brother's futon snapped in half, the rain returned, and I spent most of the day curled in a ball on the bedspread trying not to think about how quickly Coalescent Boy's departure is approaching.

We decided that our most monstrous 2006 hadn't quite left. We realized we had failed to burn the traditional New Year's candle.

It just flickered out. Goodbye and good riddance, 2006! While it had its moments, I can't say I'll miss it. Here's hoping for brighter days to come. Regular posting to resume on January 4th.

Blogger help???

Okay, my big problem seems to have solved itself (hooray), but I still feel like I have an extra bit of padding below my header. Also, the little white margin between the header and the navbar -- does anyone know how to get rid of that? Anybody? You'd have my eternal gratitude.

Any feedback on the new layout (header too big? posts too bland?) would be appreciated, too.

...and we're back

Real posts start up tonight, so you may now recommence your daily routines.

Talk to you soon.

If I had a million dollars...

Okay, more like six million, but the very sight of this makes me shiver:


This is an honest-to-God 17th Century, complete edition of Shakespeare's First Folio. It goes up for auction at Sotheby's in July. This book is the reason we can savour plays like Macbeth today (okay, did I really just write "savour" with a u? Does it even have a "u" in American English, or am I starting to suffer from UK English syndrome?). Anyway, Macbeth, Twelfth Night, Julius Caesar...all of these only survived because a handful of the 250 copies of the First Folio made it down through the ages, harbored by literature lovers. The best thing about this copy is that there are notes -- notes!! -- from 17th Century readers in the margins, which means you actually get to see how Shakespeare's works were interpreted in his own time.

I am just drooling with envy...maybe if I showed up at Sotheby's and looked really, really pathetic, they'd let me look at it. To be in its presence...I'm serious. This is the absolute pinnacle of English major nerdiness. The very thought of its existence makes me quiver (no, I'm really not kidding). I hope the British Library buys it; I'd gladly make a pilgrimage by Tube to bask in its presence for a few happy hours.

Disgruntled chelonians

Ndugu Montoya, our resident Disgruntled Chelonian, regrets to inform you that the world's oldest foul-tempered tortoise passed away today. Addwaitya, an aldabra giant tortoise weighing in around 150 kilograms, he was kidnapped from his birthplace in the Seychelles and forced to endure life under one of those tea-drinking, "jolly good" exclaiming British colonialists in India. 130 years ago, he thought he was going to make his big escape, but unfortunately he was relocated to a holding pen in the zoo, where he finally died of rage in 2006. Here he is, looking suitably disgruntled for an old soul who's had to witness 250 years of human stupidity:


Ndugu volunteers to translate the caption for this photo:

"Oh no, not another peon coming to admire me. Look, I already informed my tenders that no one is permitted to lay eyes on my greatness unless they come bearing live, suitably stunned sacrificial offerings. Please go away before I am forced to smite you with my malevolent glare, which I have perfected over the course of two centuries."

You non-tortoise people out there may not be aware that tortoises are capable of depicting a range of emotions. Their primary moods are: disgruntled, disdainful, disinterested, dyspeptic and irate. Occasionally, flashes of disdainful curiosity occur ("What is this meager offering you've placed before me? Is it some form of paltry vegetable matter? I scoff at its presence and now proceed to tread on it in your sight.") Tortoises are particularly disdainful of furry, stupid-looking excuses for animal life forms, like these coyote bonbons trying to pass for rabbits.

Ndugu just piped in to inform me that they generally prefer to be irate, unless they are sleeping, in which case they're just annoyed.

My old man

Those of you who know me are aware that I'm a diehard horse person...one of the most ornery racehorses of all time turns 31 today -- still alive out of spite, I'm sure. He'll still charge photographers for fun if they get close enough (or so I've heard). What a beautiful picture of this dignified old man. Happy b-day, John Henry. Hope you turn up those heels a few years more.
http://www.bloodhorse.com/images/JohnHenryAt31AE.jpg

The end of term slump

You know, it's probably a good thing the trip to Spain didn't happen, because this past weekend was apparently the last time my brain intended to function. I'm going to go watch a movie and hit the hay -- four more days 'til home!!!

Writing junkie

Just spent two hours on my biosensor story, after an hour or so last night...I can't believe how happy I am. It's really fascinating to take on the challenge of writing something intelligible about an incredibly complex scientific program. I rather enjoy it, although I have to say that having a smart, scientifically savvy husband around to clarify technical terms helps.

There's a science-specific journal here that comes out each term. I'm hoping to have a piece in it, as long as I can figure out what to write! Too much going on here to keep your finger on the collective pulse...but hey, even though I just burned three hours of potential thesis time, I'm pretty content. Once again, clearly there is something wrong with me.

Time flies

Ugh. Sorry for failing to write. The week's been busy, but it also passed before I knew it was here. I will resume my normal posting tomorrow - tonight, I have to make myself sleep.

Glory be

Props to Liz for pointing this one out -- all praise the Flying Spaghetti Monster!

Details coming soon

Sorry...I'm down to three weeks in the States, and things are a little crazy right now...I promise to post tomorrow: bike adventures, Mount Rainier, and political musings galore! Until then, thanks for putting up with me. :)

Body modification, part II

Our dog just joined me as another member of the body modification family. I went home yesterday to drop off a few boxes, so naturally I had to spend the requisite amount of time showering affection over the house's king-in-residence. Labradors have incredibly thick coats, so it's easy to lose track of anything that's going on under the surface, even if you regularly brush and groom them. So, as my fingers worked their way around his massive neck, they ran into something oblong. And hard. And, well, gross.

Today's diagnosis? A severely infected hair follicle that was ready to inflict serious damage on my boy's system. Normally, they'd put the dog under for a quick removal -- but our dog is special: he goes into cardiac arrest whenever he's given anesthesia. The vets just love him! Hey, here comes that patient we've almost managed to kill in the past - yay! We usually deal with the problem by ignoring any health challenges that might require putting him under, which worked up until now. Today, however, the vets needed to do something before the infection advanced...so it was time for a little local anesthetic.

Apparently, my dog is better behaved than any of us envisioned; he remained quite calm while they made a three inch gash in his neck to drain the abcess. Now he's home, where he clearly expects to be nursed back to health with generous quantities of green beans and strawberries (yes, he's a freak). And I? I'm nervously checking my eyebrow every half hour or so...you know, just in case any of those eyebrow hairs take a turn for the worse.

The perennial guilty pleasure arrives with a boom

A sonic boom, that is.

Good god, I don't care if they are a symbol of war, if they scare my friends' cats, snarl traffic, piss off locals and create one big pointless diversion. They are the best pointless diversion I've ever seen -- I still remember my first summer solo in Seattle, when I leaned on the rail of my apartment building's rooftop deck and watched them fly over the neighborhood. Our building was the tallest in the city, so the squadron used it as a marker to make their turns; they flew so close I could see the pilots in the cockpits.

Today, they came straight over Broadway while I was driving, accompanied by a little Red Baron plane that managed to hold its own. Everyone was stopping in the middle of the road, craning their necks or pulling out camera phones to take pictures as they turned on the smoke and shot over Capitol Hill.

Trust me: I know it's anathema to all that makes me an upstanding antiwar activist -- but against my better judgement, I still get goosebumps whenever I hear that telltale roar coming closer. I feel like a little kid again, the same one who wanted to learn how she could fly a few feet from another plane going 100 miles per hour. Guilty as charged, I'm afraid.

You go, girl

Just what I like to see: a woman kicking ass in a man's world.

I don't even like golf, but Michelle Wie is amazing -- imagine finishing under par in one of the toughest qualifying rounds in the US when you're only 15 years old!

If you don't know much about Michelle, check out Wikipedia for an overview of her phenomenal start. She's already capable of driving over 300 yards...just wait until she hits her prime. I might tune into the PGA Tour this year if she makes the cut. We'll find out tomorrow...fingers crossed...

Random thought for the day

I'm wondering if I should change the title of my blog to "Celebrity Sea Slugs." The current name just sounds so self-centered, and it probably doesn't capture the interest of readers who happen to find it. Plus, I just like its completely nonsensical nature.

Ndugu is trying to scrabble up the side of his pen again...gotta go.