On the way up the stairs:
She actually came a couple steps closer to get a better look at me while I was messing with the zoom. Craaazy deer.
But I went on my walk ANYWAY.
Things that got all wet due to general stupidity:
* my avocado
* my pants
* my cell phone (it’s fine)
* my brand-new Fruits Basket 13 (it’s not fine. Damnit.)
My back’s been bothering me for about a week, but today it’s been hurting nonstop, so I’m all cranky. Lying down hurts.
Important KoL quote:
As you wander through your mediocre trip, you hear music coming from the room next to you. Suddenly, you can see the music — it’s, like, floating through the air in front of you. And it looks pissed.
You get the jump on it. You hit for 98 damage.
I’ve been trying to write a very important post about the latest volume of Battle Angel Alita: Last Order and my feelings about Kishiro’s new gaiden project and how I think Kishiro is very worried about race, but the only way he knows to deal with it is the way he deals with everything else that worries him (religion, Nikola Tesla, the space program, terrorism, psychiatry, female sexuality), that being burning things.
(the stuff he does with female sexuality is really weird)
Which is kind of interesting to see, because there isn’t much manga that even thinks about it – but then, it’s impossible to tell what he’s trying to say. I’ve got no idea what it means that the queen of the German planet, with its rebel group called “Neo-Third Reich,” has a black woman for a bodyguard. Nor can I explain the fact that the spoiled, largely-brainwashed, obviously-intended-to-be-the-US society is divided into two floating cities on opposite ends of a pole, one of which is all black and one of which is all white. But I’m pretty sure Kishiro thinks it means something.
I think UltraJump keeps psychiatrists on call 24/7 to make sure its artists get their stuff in on time.
So here’s the plan. So as not to die immediately upon entering New Orleans to be productive in August, I am going to exercise this summer. SHUT UP. I am going to walk down the hill, all the way through town to the grocery store, and then back, every day. I will do this immediately after work on weekdays, and At Some Point I Haven’t Decided Yet on weekends. I will go up the stairs, and not the vehicular road, because the stairs are more painful and therefore presumably better for me. I will do this crap regardless of the weather.
It was raining today. Yesterday it was really, really hot. I’ve been trial-running this the past three days, and having made it through both the day it rained and the day it was really, really hot, I feel like I can make this an official declaration. I am going to do it.
My bribe will be (I have to have a bribe) that I’m going to let myself buy one food item I normally am too cheap to get at the store each day, to eat when I get back. (This will also keep me from lying down immediately and falling asleep.) Since I always want either vitamin C or raw fish after walking a lot, I’m not really worried I’m going to go after junk food. My purchases so far have been raspberries, blackberries, and a peach.
(Blackberries would be better without seeds, you know. I’m probably not going to buy fish and eat it raw, not without a licensed sushi chef approving it for me first. I just kind of feel like raw fish needs sushi chef validation before it becomes edible food.
I’m kind of tired.)
And because the camera is all sad recently because I never use it, maybe I’ll also do a thing and take one picture down there every day? I don’t know. That might make this too complicated. Today I took like, five. Here’s some roses.
Also, a picture of what I made for dinner, behind a cut so as not to COMPLETELY BLOW YOUR MINDS.
The past couple weeks, I keep noticing the piece of tape on the back of my phone, and kind of vaguely wondering what it’s doing there. Then I put the phone away and start thinking about something else. As is only right.
I figured it out today: When I first got the phone, I put the tape on there and wrote my number on the tape, but the ink’s gotten rubbed off since then. The number obviously must have disappeared from the phone the very second I finally memorized it.
Now that I think about it, I’ve figured this out about the tape at least once before, then forgotten about it. This all makes a very deep statement about the uselessness of revelation and the transience of memory inherent in modern life. I will write a Japanese short story about the experience.
I should write some Really Hard kanji on the tape, so that they’ll be permanently transferred to my brain when the last of the ink gets rubbed off.
She mostly just kept eating while I was standing there messing with the camera, but when I started to put it away, she pranced off up the hill.
The little table in front of her seems to be a deer feeder set up by whoever lives in a house that’s to the right – the deer was obviously pretty used to coming there to eat, and didn’t pay any attention to the cars going by.
There was also something else behind the tree there, which I thought at first might be a baby deer, but I don’t think it quite moved right for that. It was hard to tell how big it was – maybe it was a rabbit or a groundhog, maybe it was a dog that was for some reason okay with deer.
I am at home with my *cats*.
Having put a picture of my cat on my Livejournal, I will now sink back into the foul girly-nerd stew which birthed me. That being, in this case, reading a Lymond book.
Today, I abuse inter-library loan.
Tomorrow… my trust as President!?!?
* see battle here
I was forced to leave this note in the kitchen this morning:
“To the individual who, sometime Thursday morning, took my soup out of the fridge, spilled some on the floor, put it back without covering it properly, and left without cleaning up his spill, thus causing me to stumble barefoot into yellow liquid at 9:00 AM while nauseous:
When I find out who you are, you will suffer torments new to experience of man.
For a lesser food-crime than this, in Kentucky a man lies in a shallow grave, the fondou he did offend against smeared across his sightless eyes, his mouth still agape in an expression of faint shock. This fate and worse await you. Settle your affairs and compose your mind and spirit.
Have a nice day,
I think my handwriting sort of lends an air of legitimacy to death threats.
Today there was a most excellent thing in the dining hall. For some reason, they called it “Vegetable Panache.”
Yes, I’m sure this dish does have more panache than most served there. It also has more moxie, more poise, more élan, and probably more Kool-Aid Points. And “Veggie Moxie” would have been a much better name. So I am left wondering, “why?” Why panache? Why use that specific word they don’t understand, when out there in the wild outer reaches of the English language there are words like “agglutination” and “fandango?” Why don’t they serve this more often? What does it take to get a correctly cooked piece of broccoli around here?
My mind may never be at peace.
Maybe I could *ask* them to rename it “Veggie Moxie.”