Thursday, July 10, 2003
Hello hello hello. I am blogging. Again. Despite the setbacks, which are numerous. The setbacks which I must endure are as follows:
a) Two very blisteringly hurtful blisters on the middle finger and thumb of my right hand. This hand is integral to writing, drawing, and also, alas, typing. The agony is unbearable, yet bravely I bear it. The blisters were conceived in an irrational fit of feverish colored pencil sharpening.
b) A Shift key which is, for reasons known only to itself, sticking into the keyboard. This means that every so often I'll accidentally hit it out of the vile force called habit, and then everything will suddenly go into caps and shift symbols. And then I'll have to waste precious time and energy prying the key up with a mechanical pencil. Which probably is very bad for the keyboard, but I'm trying not to think about it right now.
c) Archives which still are not working.
and finally d) New glasses. They are very differently shaped from my old ones, and this means that I'm still getting used to having unfocussed space around the edges of my vision. Also, the prescription is a little different, so I'm still adjusting to that, too. In other words, everything is just a wee bit off, and it's making me all disoriented-like.
here are my new glasses being worn by one of the speakers for my computer. no reason.
But on I blog! This is because I actually received requests to do so, from two or three people here in jolly old S'scott, and from that one fellow down in California who always emails me if I don't blog for more than two days. You, sir, can calm down a little. I'll make my mother post a notice if I die or something. So don't worry quite so much. Please. I beseech you.
Discovered yet another online comic in my endless scouring of the Internet. It's called Butternut Squash, and it's not anything spectacular like Return to Sender or Strings of Fate, but it's amusing enough to warrant a mention.
The Boston journey this week was a good one. On the way over my mother and I found ourselves driving by the parking lot which is the site of Corey's employment, so we stopped in to see just how he was supposed to be comporting himself. It didn't look too bad, he had been there for about five and a half hours when we stopped by and he still seemed distinctly not suicidal, which was a rather comforting thing to note.
So, in Boston, I went to the Boston Commons and wandered about for a bit, before deciding that I wanted to be in the Public Garden. No big schmeal, they're right across the street from one another. The difference, in case you're wondering, is primarily thus: the Commons is where Frog Pond is (the pond which they freeze for ice skating purposes in the winter), and the Garden is where the swan boats are and also the sculptures of the Make Way for Ducklings ducklings.
CURSE YOU< YOU STINKING SHIFT KEY!!! I HATE YOU WITH THE VILEST OF PASSIONS!!!
Hooray! The shift key got stuck again just now, so I prised at it with my trusty mechanical pencil, and the entire shift key gave a start and went flying off the keyboard into the air, scribing a graceful arc across the computer room before clattering on the floor. I uttered a very loud expletive for this advanced hour of the night, retrieved it, and attempted to reattach it. It now seems to be working perfectly. Let us all take a moment to celebrate unintendedly solved problems.
Moment over. On with the tale.
So I got into the Public Garden and spent quite a good slice of time wandering about trying to find a nice place to sit myself down. There were a number of nice places, but you must bear in mind that some of them were already occupied. I saw a woman lying the shade reading the new Harry Potter. I approve. In any event, I ended up sitting quite near the water, in the shade (hating the heat as I do).
It was almost unspeakably pleasant. The weather was very, very nice... not too hot at all when you were out of the sun and right near a little body of water. Every so often a swan boat would clatter by and that was amusing. There were also a large assortment of ducks (mallards), geese (canadian) and swans (real, not the boats) to view. And my mother (who had come in to do some shopping) got me an Italian ice, lawd bless 'er. I am a fan of Italian ices.
Yeah, so it was good. I was very comfortable. And I got out my pastels and did pastel drawing, which meant that I got pastel all over my person and clothes, but I didn't much mind. I think a couple of people stopped behind me to look at/discuss what I was doing, but I cheerfully ignored them. As is my wont.
The ducks kept on coming over to see if I had food. I guess they're so used to people feeding them that they just expect it. I told them that I didn't have anything and most would get the message pretty quickly and leave. This one male mallard just didn't leave, though. He kept on hanging around, tilting his little duck head at me, convinced that I had something to feed him. Every time I picked up a stick of pastel he would inch closer and sort of lean foward. I kept on saying to him, "No, these are pastels, you don't want to eat them, you wouldn't like it, it's not good for you," but he just wouldn't listen.
I'm pretty sure that passerby thought I was insane. I mean, I'm sitting there, covered in pastels, with this damn duck hanging around me. And I'm talking to it. Loudly. Yup, that's the crazy artist girl over there, ignore her, she's mostly harmless.
The stupid thing ended up circling me for around half an hour before he got wary of some geese moving into the vicinity and decided to high-tail it out of there. So to speak.
Woo yay for Boston!
Woo yay also for the fact that Corey now has a blog! The link is posted up on the side, under the friend links, but here it also is. It's called Corey judges things hardcore, which is funny because it's true. And funny. It's not a journal blog like this here turkey, it's got other goodness on it. Read, and ye shall be enlightened.
And we all desire enlightenment.
In other news! Robert Fick, first basemen for the Atlanta Braves (that's baseball, in case you're not sportistically inclined, or in case you're just stupid), is my new best friend. Pray tell, why? you ask. For an answer, you must read this article. It's got a kitten in it. And heartwarmingness. Robert Fick, you are a Good Person.
To end on a very Helene-like note, I give you....
Conversations in the Car with My Family:
Mother: You can't shoot a bald eagle, it's a federal offense.
Brother: Why, 'cause it's on a quarter? Someone shot Lincoln, and he's on a coin.
Father: But he wasn't then, so it was OK.