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According to LJ's status page, LJ's childhood trauma is a DDOS attack. Which I'd kind of figured.
*faces adversity with courage and nobility*
*composes a blog entry in Notepad*
***
Rhetorical tropes in everyday life
Terry Jones and The Observer demonstrate the reductio ad absurdum. Thanks, guys!
***
Stand in the place where you live
Found A Moveable Beast whilst webbing out from Patrick Nielsen Hayden's Electrolite. She's a member of the Rocky Top Brigade, which, while I think I'd dislike most of its members intensely, makes me happy by merely existing. (Yes, I still know all the words to "Rocky Top." No, I won't sing it. No, not even for money.) But this gal I like.
A few examples:
Like Neil Gaiman, Peggy is sticking up for "disarming".
Living with contrary-minded dogs.
Tired of the "Axis of Evil"? Here are some alternatives.
***
Here lies one whose name was writ on water
Over on CavLec, Dorothea is talking about not WANTING monuments of brass. (Scroll down past the Scarlet Pimpernel.)
She's also, as a throwaway, proposed my now-favorite solution to the problem of what the bloody hell do you call academics who study books? "Literary scholar" is my favorite grown-up term, but from now on, when I'm wearing that hat, I'm self-identifying as a "lit-critter." Word.
***
And now, for my sins which are myriad, I have to get ready for my annual checkup. I have a sinking feeling that the speculum is going to be a wee bit chilly this morning.
***
later: the speculum was indeed chilly. Why do I do these things to myself? Why do I schedule my annual checkup for freaking FEBRUARY? I blame my Puritan ancestors.
On the other hand, I also returned to the library the books which it claimed were LOST, so the Eldritch Librarian Cabal will not hunt me down and kick my ass. That definitely goes in the plus column.
And whilst running errands, I saw a Spirit of St. Louis kite, and was filled with mad crazy covetous love. I have no use for such a thing, being not by nature an outdoorsy person, detesting direct sunlight, and having only ever flown a kite once, at the age of eight, but there it was and there I was, and suddenly it all made sense.
Exhibited awe-inspiring self-restraint: did not purchase. Came home, trolled the internet, could not find SoStL kite which was in shop window (although found many many SoStL kites to choose from), but did find these people, who are insane in the best possible way. Check out their Squadron Kites. Am now filled with mad crazy covetous love not only for the Spirit of St. Louis, but for the Fokker Triplane, the Sopwith Camel, and Da Vinci's Flying Machine. I have completely flipped my lid. Just so y'all know.
***
Joss does the 100-things meme!
Interview with SFX, posted on Slayage, source of my new favorite blasphemy, Sweet muscular Jesus. Joss is the best.
***
I love actually having flashes of inspiration again, but do they have to come at 10 p.m.? My options at that point are: (a.) give into the Sirens and induce raving insomnia, or (b.) resist them and feel all the next day that I'm coming up a day late and a dollar short. Neither is exactly satisfying. I need an Option C: reschedule inspiration for 10 a.m. the next morning.
***
In which mortification is narrowly averted
Had one of those horrible moments this evening, when I saw someone who might have been a former student in the grocery store. Mercifully, they either (a.) weren't a former student, (b.) didn't recognize me, or (c.) didn't want to talk to me any more than I wanted to talk to them. So I escaped unscathed.
It's not that I dislike my former students, but I suck at chitchat and even more with someone who may still be grumpy about a grade I no longer remember giving them. It's just embarrassing--especially with the roughly 50-50 chance that I will remember their name correctly. Bad scene, dude. Don't go there.
***
LJ seems to be back up and sort of running, and I have an answer to post to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stakebait, who has called me on some seriously sloppy thinking. So lets see if this works.
*crosses fingers*
*clicks heels together three times*
*faces adversity with courage and nobility*
*composes a blog entry in Notepad*
***
Rhetorical tropes in everyday life
Terry Jones and The Observer demonstrate the reductio ad absurdum. Thanks, guys!
***
Stand in the place where you live
Found A Moveable Beast whilst webbing out from Patrick Nielsen Hayden's Electrolite. She's a member of the Rocky Top Brigade, which, while I think I'd dislike most of its members intensely, makes me happy by merely existing. (Yes, I still know all the words to "Rocky Top." No, I won't sing it. No, not even for money.) But this gal I like.
A few examples:
Like Neil Gaiman, Peggy is sticking up for "disarming".
Living with contrary-minded dogs.
Tired of the "Axis of Evil"? Here are some alternatives.
***
Here lies one whose name was writ on water
Over on CavLec, Dorothea is talking about not WANTING monuments of brass. (Scroll down past the Scarlet Pimpernel.)
She's also, as a throwaway, proposed my now-favorite solution to the problem of what the bloody hell do you call academics who study books? "Literary scholar" is my favorite grown-up term, but from now on, when I'm wearing that hat, I'm self-identifying as a "lit-critter." Word.
***
And now, for my sins which are myriad, I have to get ready for my annual checkup. I have a sinking feeling that the speculum is going to be a wee bit chilly this morning.
***
later: the speculum was indeed chilly. Why do I do these things to myself? Why do I schedule my annual checkup for freaking FEBRUARY? I blame my Puritan ancestors.
On the other hand, I also returned to the library the books which it claimed were LOST, so the Eldritch Librarian Cabal will not hunt me down and kick my ass. That definitely goes in the plus column.
And whilst running errands, I saw a Spirit of St. Louis kite, and was filled with mad crazy covetous love. I have no use for such a thing, being not by nature an outdoorsy person, detesting direct sunlight, and having only ever flown a kite once, at the age of eight, but there it was and there I was, and suddenly it all made sense.
Exhibited awe-inspiring self-restraint: did not purchase. Came home, trolled the internet, could not find SoStL kite which was in shop window (although found many many SoStL kites to choose from), but did find these people, who are insane in the best possible way. Check out their Squadron Kites. Am now filled with mad crazy covetous love not only for the Spirit of St. Louis, but for the Fokker Triplane, the Sopwith Camel, and Da Vinci's Flying Machine. I have completely flipped my lid. Just so y'all know.
***
Joss does the 100-things meme!
Interview with SFX, posted on Slayage, source of my new favorite blasphemy, Sweet muscular Jesus. Joss is the best.
***
I love actually having flashes of inspiration again, but do they have to come at 10 p.m.? My options at that point are: (a.) give into the Sirens and induce raving insomnia, or (b.) resist them and feel all the next day that I'm coming up a day late and a dollar short. Neither is exactly satisfying. I need an Option C: reschedule inspiration for 10 a.m. the next morning.
***
In which mortification is narrowly averted
Had one of those horrible moments this evening, when I saw someone who might have been a former student in the grocery store. Mercifully, they either (a.) weren't a former student, (b.) didn't recognize me, or (c.) didn't want to talk to me any more than I wanted to talk to them. So I escaped unscathed.
It's not that I dislike my former students, but I suck at chitchat and even more with someone who may still be grumpy about a grade I no longer remember giving them. It's just embarrassing--especially with the roughly 50-50 chance that I will remember their name correctly. Bad scene, dude. Don't go there.
***
LJ seems to be back up and sort of running, and I have an answer to post to
stakebait, who has called me on some seriously sloppy thinking. So lets see if this works.*crosses fingers*
*clicks heels together three times*
