I know it's not the weekend yet for the rest of you - you'll get your turn when it's a nice Sunday morning and you're waking up for breakfast or church, and I've already been head-down in the data for hours, trying to get my people up and the long list of projects completed before the bigger bosses want them done on Monday morning.
For now, I get a morning with tea and chocolate, kicking back and relaxing. My most pressing tasks are to enjoy alpha-reading Calmer Half's novel and do another load of laundry, while stopping now then to simply enjoy the brand-new album out from the Cruxshadows.
If you don't like techno, you won't like this - but if you do, I strongly recommend As The Dark Against My Halo. It hasn't been an easy five years since their last album, including their label deciding it wasn't going to release any new records, and having all their equipment stolen. On the bright side, the lead singer married another band member and had a baby, and their band news page has been full of hope and optimism, and amazed wonder. I can hear it in the music, too - they take take a mastery of darkwave music and a powerhouse band they've built, and have gotten even more optimistic and soulful. (I didn't think they could without crossing into sappy, but they managed!)
I have another treat coming later today that more of you are likely to enjoy than the music - Mad Mike has another book out, and it looks like yet more fun and mayhem with Ripple Creek Security. When Diplomacy Fails is out in paper and ebook, and the first seven chapters are up free at Baen, right here. Mike knows his guns and his sharp pointy things, and if he's a devious, twisted mind, he's also fiercely honorable, and writes books that work as really fun action tales, as political satire so sharp it cuts the heart out of sacred cows and served them up as shish kabobs, and as hilarious send-ups of popular culture, internet memes, and blogs.
You won't get to see it for a while yet, but when you do, Calmer Half's book will be a great treat. Especially after I'm done torturing his main character and world, and making Calmer Half explain on paper all the things in his head he forgot to put in, interrogating everyone's motivations and generally having fun... right now it's a good story, with plenty of glimmers of being great. Just stand back while we get out the hammer and chisel, and all the dremel tools, because this one's gonna shine!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Scents and Sensibility
LabRat over at the Atomic Nerds has been going through the self-dosing chemical-warfare experiments - namely, trying on new perfumes. In a fit of "Hey, if all the cool kids are doing it, I can, too!", I tried two Demeter perfumes given to me by a friend with a wicked sense of humor. (How wicked? Check the names when you read that far. I love her twisty brain!)
I should have thought first about the way that I use unscented laundry detergent, clean with unscented chemicals, and use unscented shampoo and deodorant. My life isn't completely scentless: I use clove-cinnamon toothpaste, and some nice mild soaps with lovely scents from the farmer's market, but the only chemicals I tend to wear are splashes of simple green or bleach when mopping the floors or cleaning the bathroom, engine oil and avgas from the plane, and a little MPro from cleaning guns. I hold my breath when I have to enter the laundry detergent aisle in the grocery store, and I'll only touch the National Geographic magazines in waiting rooms, because the others try to punch me in the olfactory nerves with perfume samples.
The two samples I had:
Riding Crop
My review: Sprayed on my wrist from the little spray bottle - sneeze. Inhale, sneeze. Flee bedroom. Sneeze. Gather up stuff for work, moving quickly, being punched in the nose with the sharp smell of leather freshly unrolled in the craft goods tent. Breathing shallowly, get in car. Sneeze. Roll down windows. Drive to work with windows down, occasionally blowing my nose.
Once arriving at work, find it's diminished enough that I just faintly smell of leather. Wonder if it's just because my raw-feeling nose is too deadened to notice. Fortunately, I don't have to interact with people for the first half hour. Go wash my hands halfway up to the elbows. Still smell traces of leather until well after lunch, then a lingering sharp smell until I got home to shower.
Redhead in Bed
My review: Sprayed on my wrist from the little spray bottle. Sneeze violently. Inhale, sneeze. Flee bedroom. Sneeze. Gather up stuff for work, moving quickly, being smothered by the sickly smell of strawberries. Breathing shallowly, get in car. Sneeze. Roll down windows. Drive to work with windows down. Try to drink tea, gag at the taste of strawberries on my tongue as I inhale, like trying to drink a tea with rose petals that's sat so long it's akin to paint thinner. Only with strawberries instead of roses.
Get to work late from accident slowing traffic, no time to wash off wrist for the first two hours. Find myself completely uninterested in eating lunch, as my eyes feel sore and my nose and throat feels raw.
...Two points does not a comprehensive test make, but I think I'm going to wistfully read LabRat's descriptions instead of ordering any "melancholy death of Nicholas Tesla", no matter how wonderful it sounds.
Yeah, Labrat's definitely a tougher lady than I am. So is any woman who can dose themselves repeatedly to determine what scent they like. You ladies win. I'll be out at my hangar, where I have this nice respirator for working around smelly stuff, a kindle full of books, a plane, a gun, some nice new Cruxshadows music, and the sad realization that I don't think my lungs would be up to going clubbing anymore, even if I did drop enough weight to look good in clubbing gear.
I should have thought first about the way that I use unscented laundry detergent, clean with unscented chemicals, and use unscented shampoo and deodorant. My life isn't completely scentless: I use clove-cinnamon toothpaste, and some nice mild soaps with lovely scents from the farmer's market, but the only chemicals I tend to wear are splashes of simple green or bleach when mopping the floors or cleaning the bathroom, engine oil and avgas from the plane, and a little MPro from cleaning guns. I hold my breath when I have to enter the laundry detergent aisle in the grocery store, and I'll only touch the National Geographic magazines in waiting rooms, because the others try to punch me in the olfactory nerves with perfume samples.
The two samples I had:
Riding Crop
The Riding crop scent (like all of ours, in our somewhat humble opinion) is right on the barrelhead. That wonderful worn leather aroma. This was a naughty name and we couldn't resist. Heck, who knows what mischief you can get into with this one.
My review: Sprayed on my wrist from the little spray bottle - sneeze. Inhale, sneeze. Flee bedroom. Sneeze. Gather up stuff for work, moving quickly, being punched in the nose with the sharp smell of leather freshly unrolled in the craft goods tent. Breathing shallowly, get in car. Sneeze. Roll down windows. Drive to work with windows down, occasionally blowing my nose.
Once arriving at work, find it's diminished enough that I just faintly smell of leather. Wonder if it's just because my raw-feeling nose is too deadened to notice. Fortunately, I don't have to interact with people for the first half hour. Go wash my hands halfway up to the elbows. Still smell traces of leather until well after lunch, then a lingering sharp smell until I got home to shower.
Redhead in Bed
Shake together gin, lemon juice, syrup, and ice. Strain into martini glass over strawberries. Garnish with strawberry and enjoy!
My review: Sprayed on my wrist from the little spray bottle. Sneeze violently. Inhale, sneeze. Flee bedroom. Sneeze. Gather up stuff for work, moving quickly, being smothered by the sickly smell of strawberries. Breathing shallowly, get in car. Sneeze. Roll down windows. Drive to work with windows down. Try to drink tea, gag at the taste of strawberries on my tongue as I inhale, like trying to drink a tea with rose petals that's sat so long it's akin to paint thinner. Only with strawberries instead of roses.
Get to work late from accident slowing traffic, no time to wash off wrist for the first two hours. Find myself completely uninterested in eating lunch, as my eyes feel sore and my nose and throat feels raw.
...Two points does not a comprehensive test make, but I think I'm going to wistfully read LabRat's descriptions instead of ordering any "melancholy death of Nicholas Tesla", no matter how wonderful it sounds.
Yeah, Labrat's definitely a tougher lady than I am. So is any woman who can dose themselves repeatedly to determine what scent they like. You ladies win. I'll be out at my hangar, where I have this nice respirator for working around smelly stuff, a kindle full of books, a plane, a gun, some nice new Cruxshadows music, and the sad realization that I don't think my lungs would be up to going clubbing anymore, even if I did drop enough weight to look good in clubbing gear.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Jury-Rigging household skills
All right. I fully admit that, between Calmer Half and myself, if a half-disassembled carburetor appeared on the kitchen table - I'd be the culprit. Why yes, that was an oil filter cutter serving double duty as a paperweight until it could go out to the hangar. Still, I can cook, clean, and mop up with the best of housewives.
On the other hand, when it came time to repair a fraying hole in my work shorts, I had to screw up my brain and think... "What would Jeannie do?"
I may have some talents and creativity - but I have lived with a woman who can mentally design and sew a dress from scratch and fabric scraps in time to inform me "You unexpectedly got the night of the costume ball off? No backing out for lack of dress for you! Stand there for the final fitting, and put this on!"
So I pondered, and then headed to the craft store, where I found a heat-bond adhesive I've seen her use, and carefully cut scraps of denim from a ragged pair of shorts past saving to patch size. (Did you know you have to buy fabric by the yard - unlike Aircraft Spruce & Specialty, they don't seem to sell dollar patches in the fabric section.)
Everything looks like a go for assembling and repair. Except - I don't have a clothes iron to set to "medium, no steam." ...Or... wait...
One run to the hangar later, the hobby iron that shrunk my doped fabric was pressed into service. Guess I'll soon find out why the instructions kept stating "Do NOT use your wife's iron on your aircraft project!"
For now, I can wear these shorts in to work tomorrow. Yay! I'm no Jeannie, but she's taught me enough to survive in a pinch.
On the other hand, when it came time to repair a fraying hole in my work shorts, I had to screw up my brain and think... "What would Jeannie do?"
I may have some talents and creativity - but I have lived with a woman who can mentally design and sew a dress from scratch and fabric scraps in time to inform me "You unexpectedly got the night of the costume ball off? No backing out for lack of dress for you! Stand there for the final fitting, and put this on!"
So I pondered, and then headed to the craft store, where I found a heat-bond adhesive I've seen her use, and carefully cut scraps of denim from a ragged pair of shorts past saving to patch size. (Did you know you have to buy fabric by the yard - unlike Aircraft Spruce & Specialty, they don't seem to sell dollar patches in the fabric section.)
Everything looks like a go for assembling and repair. Except - I don't have a clothes iron to set to "medium, no steam." ...Or... wait...
One run to the hangar later, the hobby iron that shrunk my doped fabric was pressed into service. Guess I'll soon find out why the instructions kept stating "Do NOT use your wife's iron on your aircraft project!"
For now, I can wear these shorts in to work tomorrow. Yay! I'm no Jeannie, but she's taught me enough to survive in a pinch.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Education
Once upon a time, after the echoes of the dinosaur footsteps had faded but before the internet, the Good Idea Fairy struck my school like a ICBM with a payload of weapons-grade stupidity. I came home, rather excited, because my teacher had announced that we weren't going to have to do any of that boring and pointless memorization stuff - no multiplication tables, no periodic table of the elements, no learning to write in cursive.
No, we were learning New Math, and all I had to do was figure out how to make the teacher think I felt good about learning in order to make a grade. Emotional manipulation with a "self-esteem" jargon? I have two X chromosomes; I was born for that! School was going to go from kinda easy but boring to a fun time figuring out just how much I could shovel BS and make fun of my teacher without getting caught!
My mother and father didn't seem to think this was a great plan. That Saturday morning, my father rousted me out of bed, and hauled me off to the track. "I need to stay in shape for PT, and you need to memorize your multiplication tables. Your mission is to chant the entire multiplication table to twelve times twelve while you pace me around the track."
"But dad, teacher says they're pointless!"
"I don't care what your teacher says. I'm your father. You WILL pace me and go through the entire multiplication table before you get breakfast." Dad has this way of using a soft voice and a dead-level tone to make people with shiny bits on their collars and chevrons on their sleeves decide to obey immediately - and they weren't even under threat of getting spanked! I knew this conversation was going nowhere fast, and was likely to turn out even worse if I pushed than the time he told me "fair" was a bogus word and I was not to use it in his hearing again.
"...yes sir."
I don't even remember the teacher from that school. I do remember many mornings of thinking hard while in motion, the dew on the grass, crunch of gravel underfoot, stitch in my side trying to keep up mentally and physically. There is no such thing as fair, eleven times eleven is 121, Yttrium comes after Strontium (both of which ignite on contact with air), excuses are never an acceptable substitute for success, if you aren't killed by a depleted uranium round, a wet bandanna over the face will filter out most of the trash from getting in your lungs, never disparage your cooks, janitors, or secretaries, twelve times six is 72, the noble gasses are largely inert without a lot of work, wear tall boots in rattlesnake country, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to make your shot, never say "can't" when you mean "don't want to", and twelve times twelve is 144, which is a gross, but not the same as gross profit.
Thanks, dad. You taught me more than I'll ever be able to say.
I love you, too.
No, we were learning New Math, and all I had to do was figure out how to make the teacher think I felt good about learning in order to make a grade. Emotional manipulation with a "self-esteem" jargon? I have two X chromosomes; I was born for that! School was going to go from kinda easy but boring to a fun time figuring out just how much I could shovel BS and make fun of my teacher without getting caught!
My mother and father didn't seem to think this was a great plan. That Saturday morning, my father rousted me out of bed, and hauled me off to the track. "I need to stay in shape for PT, and you need to memorize your multiplication tables. Your mission is to chant the entire multiplication table to twelve times twelve while you pace me around the track."
"But dad, teacher says they're pointless!"
"I don't care what your teacher says. I'm your father. You WILL pace me and go through the entire multiplication table before you get breakfast." Dad has this way of using a soft voice and a dead-level tone to make people with shiny bits on their collars and chevrons on their sleeves decide to obey immediately - and they weren't even under threat of getting spanked! I knew this conversation was going nowhere fast, and was likely to turn out even worse if I pushed than the time he told me "fair" was a bogus word and I was not to use it in his hearing again.
"...yes sir."
I don't even remember the teacher from that school. I do remember many mornings of thinking hard while in motion, the dew on the grass, crunch of gravel underfoot, stitch in my side trying to keep up mentally and physically. There is no such thing as fair, eleven times eleven is 121, Yttrium comes after Strontium (both of which ignite on contact with air), excuses are never an acceptable substitute for success, if you aren't killed by a depleted uranium round, a wet bandanna over the face will filter out most of the trash from getting in your lungs, never disparage your cooks, janitors, or secretaries, twelve times six is 72, the noble gasses are largely inert without a lot of work, wear tall boots in rattlesnake country, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to make your shot, never say "can't" when you mean "don't want to", and twelve times twelve is 144, which is a gross, but not the same as gross profit.
Thanks, dad. You taught me more than I'll ever be able to say.
I love you, too.
Friday, July 6, 2012
It all works out
Went to check out a new range. Friends and Calmer Half were all busy (or napping), so I went by myself. In bending over and rustling through stuff, I didn't notice the car keys falling into a bag before I locked the door.
So, I'm locked out of my car, with several hours until Calmer Half will get my message... with a PMR-30, a brick of ammo, a handful of targets, and a gun store adjacent full of more ammo and targets, a wallet that can buy more...
I'm sure somebody would have been stressed out by this situation, but it sure wasn't me!
(Keeping track of rimfire for Matthew's project: 130 rounds, CCI .22 WMR, no misfires.)
So, I'm locked out of my car, with several hours until Calmer Half will get my message... with a PMR-30, a brick of ammo, a handful of targets, and a gun store adjacent full of more ammo and targets, a wallet that can buy more...
I'm sure somebody would have been stressed out by this situation, but it sure wasn't me!
(Keeping track of rimfire for Matthew's project: 130 rounds, CCI .22 WMR, no misfires.)
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Too much fun
While there may be no such thing as having too much fun, I've definitely been having too much fun for the past week to have time to really sit and share it. Calmer Half, Tam, Roberta, and Brigid are all masters of the thinking in blog posts (or at least close enough to make quick posts during lulls in the day), but I tend to sit and think on things a while. Unfortunately, I've been having so much fun that the store of things to post about is piling up like the not-urgent mail stack.
Mammoth Caves is definitely a place I'd want to [be more fit and] take a week to explore - it's not something you can even begin to know in a couple hours, with hundreds of hidden places, stunning sights, and adventures that are just a little further away than you can get to now. That's also a fairly apt metaphor for meeting friends in Indianapolis, too, come to think of it. Like many interesting, independent, strong and skilled people, Brigid is a friend whom I have delighted in knowing for years. However, our times actually together are so brief, vivid and intense as we try to share everything that the internet cannot covey - body language, the sparkle of eyes at a joke, the impish grin when selecting ingredients and inspiration for dinner, the teasing lilt in a voice as a jar of espresso sugar is held out to "You know you want a sniff." I could spend decades in her company and still learn new surprises and new jokes as we make new memories and share older ones.
"To see a world in a grain of sand," Blake once wrote, and indeed, out of the billions on this planet, wandering through Artisano's, brunching at Zest, or sharing fries at Brugge, is a mere speck - but it is a world I dearly enjoy. And the time we spend together, fast as those days fly by before we hug goodbye, is held precious in my mind when the same amount if time spent over weeks of getting ready for work and commuting will all run together and be forgotten. Memory is not infinite or eternal, but I do my best to hold it as such, as he said "To see eternity in an hour."
I could talk about the hippie store, and the food, but the important parts were the way that hippie store's excellent chocolate saved the mood when stuck on a closed highway on the way back, or the laughter while we all shared the fries and anecdotes. It's not the dog fur, it's the way Barkley conned a sleepy Calmer Half into a walk at 4am (better not to ask.)
I miss 'em, and look forward to the next visit. Some nice weather day when I have time enough, I need to show up in a Taylorcraft, with a "will fly for food" sign. Barkley will share the couch for the toll of a stolen shoe, I'm sure. Till then, stay safe, my friends.
Mammoth Caves is definitely a place I'd want to [be more fit and] take a week to explore - it's not something you can even begin to know in a couple hours, with hundreds of hidden places, stunning sights, and adventures that are just a little further away than you can get to now. That's also a fairly apt metaphor for meeting friends in Indianapolis, too, come to think of it. Like many interesting, independent, strong and skilled people, Brigid is a friend whom I have delighted in knowing for years. However, our times actually together are so brief, vivid and intense as we try to share everything that the internet cannot covey - body language, the sparkle of eyes at a joke, the impish grin when selecting ingredients and inspiration for dinner, the teasing lilt in a voice as a jar of espresso sugar is held out to "You know you want a sniff." I could spend decades in her company and still learn new surprises and new jokes as we make new memories and share older ones.
"To see a world in a grain of sand," Blake once wrote, and indeed, out of the billions on this planet, wandering through Artisano's, brunching at Zest, or sharing fries at Brugge, is a mere speck - but it is a world I dearly enjoy. And the time we spend together, fast as those days fly by before we hug goodbye, is held precious in my mind when the same amount if time spent over weeks of getting ready for work and commuting will all run together and be forgotten. Memory is not infinite or eternal, but I do my best to hold it as such, as he said "To see eternity in an hour."
I could talk about the hippie store, and the food, but the important parts were the way that hippie store's excellent chocolate saved the mood when stuck on a closed highway on the way back, or the laughter while we all shared the fries and anecdotes. It's not the dog fur, it's the way Barkley conned a sleepy Calmer Half into a walk at 4am (better not to ask.)
I miss 'em, and look forward to the next visit. Some nice weather day when I have time enough, I need to show up in a Taylorcraft, with a "will fly for food" sign. Barkley will share the couch for the toll of a stolen shoe, I'm sure. Till then, stay safe, my friends.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Celebrating Independence Day!
I believe in the United States of America, as a government of the people, by the people, for the people whose just powers are derived from the consent of the governed; a democracy in a republic; a sovereign Nation of many sovereign States; a perfect union, one and inseparable; established upon those principles of freedom, equality, justice, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their lives and fortunes.
I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its Constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag, and to defend it against all enemies.
--William Tyler Page, The American's Creed
Go read BlackFive, who says it far more eloquently than I can. Then go celebrate our existence in this paradise, (even with its warts) that we have created, are creating, and shall yet fight to create for all our future.
Happy Fourth of July!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)