preraphaelitepunk.com

Why can’t we have stuff like this at Hartsfield Airport? Lucky Brits. (Via GadgetCandy, which explains the concept in a bit more detail.)

Right, I’ve managed to post the couple of blog entries I did while in Vegas; to avoid disrupting the oh-so-elegant flow established, I’ve put them in separate pages: post 1, from Thursday, and post 2, from Friday.

Nigel has been ransomed from the vet, where he was boarding. Total cost (including a required bordatella booster, renewed rabies shot that was coming due anyway, and a bath) was over $200. Holy crap.

I’m pretty zonked, having gotten only about 3 hours of sleep last night and somehow having forgotten to eat all day, so I think I’ll leave it at that and go stare into the fridge. There must be something edible left in there.

I really should just go to sleep now.

Still on Vegas time, despite my best efforts. It is now nearly 2:00 in the morning, Atlanta time, and I can’t get to sleep. I also can’t open the blogging notes I took while in Vegas — at least, not using Open Office. I lose vast swaths of text. I can open it in my expired trial version of MS Word, but can’t copy it into another program. I’ll have to retype the stuff in when I have the energy. I didn’t take notes every day, but what I did I’ll put up as soon as I can, and add something coherent when/if I’m able.

In the meantime, I’ve got my pics up at my Flickr page, all in a nice set and everything. Well, most of them. There’s one of an equine statue making a very odd face, but I need to crop it and Picasa doesn’t seem to want to save the picture after cropping. . . . I probably just need sleep.

Work in approximately six hours. Woo hoo. I really should’ve taken Monday off to recuperate, but oh well.

I like dogs. I like most dogs more than most people, actually — but there are exceptions, in both species. The small poodlelike dog, whom I shall call Monsieur,* who lives next door is definitely beginning to get on my nerves.

The problem is that he’s territorial when it comes to other dogs. Other dogs are not even allowed in the hallways of Monsieur’s building, which certainly makes it difficult for Nigel and me to sneak out for a walk without setting him off like a yapping, snarling car alarm that occasionally (when his people aren’t home, and he can get away with more crap) throws itself bodily onto the door. He keeps it up until we’ve gone down both sets of stairs and the front door has closed behind us. It isn’t just Nigel that pisses him off, either; he does the same to the innocuous and pleasant terrier type who lives on the other side of my flat. I thought perhaps that letting Monsieur know who was passing would help, but talking to him or making friendly noises while we pass his door does nothing to soothe him; gentle admonishments to shut the freakin’ hell up are ignored.

This evening’s episode was particularly memorable, because Monsieur’s people had left the door unlatched and, while I was locking our own door before our walk, Monsieur was able to launch himself out of his flat and into the hallway, yelling for all he was worth. Happily, Nigel’s response in these situations is usually what I think of as his who the hell do you think you are bay, so named because it’s a kind of shrill, higher-pitched hoooo, hoooo. Nonviolent without being too submissive, which is good, but man, is it loud indoors. Nigel doesn’t bark or bay much, as a rule, but when he does, he does it to the full extent of his lung capacity, and you can tell those lungs were bred to project sound a long, long way.

Happily, Monsieur’s people realized what was happening and were able to collect him, with horrified apologies. They do try very hard to modify his behavior, and they’re nice enough people (though one must wonder what possessed them to leave their screen door unlatched with a dog in the home, and they have been known on rare rainy occasions to exercise Monsieur by playing fetch down the length of the communal hallway, which is ever so slightly disruptive, but oh well), but the territorialness does seem to be getting worse. When he first came here, maybe about a year ago, he was standoffish toward Nigel but not really pushy. Maybe it’s just that he’s settled in and feels more comfortable now, which is not entirely a good thing.

He’s only territorial, not aggressive, and isn’t big enough to do any real damage, but (a) it’s kind of annoying to be cussed out thoroughly by a small dog every time one takes one’s own dog out; (b) Nigel doesn’t seem fazed by the barking, but certainly dislikes being verbally attacked for, as he sees it, no reason at all; and (c) it’s got to be stressful for Monsieur to feel he has to defend his territory so frequently, and so vehemently.

I feel bad finding a dog so annoying, and I do sympathize with his people, who are aware of their dog’s behavior and are trying to do something about it. I just want to be able to take my dog for a walk without all the angry yapping.

***

*Not his real name.

HA! ::happy, happy dance::

Gratuitous but icky screen smoochies aside (the chemistry in that particular pairing has always eluded me), I am very pleased with tonight’s ep, and that the prophesied Big Event happened to the person it did. Also, yay to the writers, for making even those who read the spoilers (well, me, at least, though maybe no one else) squirm in their seats for just a minute or two.

It also kind of seems to me that tonight may have offered evidence supporting the more purgatorial theories — that those who learn the lessons they need to learn, or who find what they have been desperately seeking for so long, are released from the island.

*People seemed generally pleased with the pumpkin muffins on Monday, though I’ve found that people will often be delighted to get pretty much anything as an unexpected freebie, so take that with a grain of salt. Or possibly a crumb of muffin. One person did send me an e-mail proclaiming that I was “a regular Martha Steward” [sic], which I think was meant as a compliment. Possibly. He might also have been implying that I have control issues and am likely to team up with a man with bad hair to do a reality show. o.O

*Friday is the annual arts fair at work. According to the reminder sent yesterday, among the offerings are festive Xmas-themed decorated bricks. (I am not making this up.) It may be worth actually taking a look in this year to see how one would actually make a brick into something other people would recognize as a holiday ornament. Not that I have anything against bricks, mind you, but they don’t exactly leap to mind when you think “winter holidays.” Maybe they’re bricks dressed as Santa? An all-brick creche set, with brick shepherds and a brick angel and a half brick in swaddling cloths in the manger? Perhaps a very short brick advent calendar for counting down the last couple of days before the holiday? It’s most perplexing, and Google could shed little enlightenment.

*It may take me a while, but I get there eventually: after wondering for weeks[1] whether the raspberry soy yogurt in the door of the work fridge was mine and I’d just forgotten about it, I finally decided all foods o’ mine will now be embossed with my brand. I was going to use my ankh stamp, but I’m not sure how well the ink would hold up when subjected to condensation and possibly ink-resistant plastic containers, so instead I’ll just use my silver Sharpie. It makes me smile to think of the work fridge filled with little tubs of hummus with silver anarchy symbols drawn on them. But, then, I am easily amused.

And speaking of soy yogurt, I noticed Tuesday evening at Whole Foods that every single one of the first five multi-berry-flavor soy yogurts five days past its sell-by date. I then discovered that the pint of frozen ice-cream-like substance I was considering buying was in fact opened, with the top only lightly resting on the container, with no protective film or anything. Eww. The amazing thing is that I went ahead and bought the rest of my groceries, after double-checking to make sure they were all still unexpired and unopened. Sheesh. Why do I keep going to WF? They leave expired or open stuff on the shelves, probably a quarter of the not-yet-expired soy yogurt I’ve bought from them is moldy when I open it (which never happens elsewhere), they ruin their tomatoes and avocados by chilling them too much and causing flavor loss and nasty gray streaks, and they’re hardly cheap. (On the other hand, the natural foods stores and co-ops around here don’t carry wines, even organic ones, and some of them don’t carry coffee, either. When I’m in search of organically grown, free-trade-certified poisons, WF is about my only option. I’ll have to find a liquor store that carries organic, vegan[2] wines, I suppose. I should do more shopping in specialty stores, anyway, rather than one-stop markets.)

In other but equally irrelevant news, my favorite brand-new Flickr group is Lush. Sadly, I cannot offer many photos, not having a store within a 10-hour radius and only having limited numbers of products in my possession, but at least I can get vicarious Lushiness by looking at the pretty pics. Their stores–at least the ones I’ve visited–are magnificent, and their products divine. I do note that their soaps seem to disappear more quickly than the other brands I’ve bought, but I can’t tell whether that’s something inherent in Lush soap or simply because I tend to go wild and use them too liberally in a cackling, frothy madness.

It may be time to place another Lush order, actually; the only things from my previous order I’ve used up are the bath melt and bubble bar, but their holiday items are now available (for, er, gifts — yeah, that’s it, gifts, and they’ve got a deal going now on free shipping if you order $99 or more, so in a way you’re actually saving money). And, of course a life without bath melts is just not worth contemplating. I have a recipe to make my own melts, but finding food-grade cocoa butter that isn’t already incorporated into lotion or similar has thus far been an insurmountable challenge.

As a belated product update, I find the Rock Star soap and Creamy Candy melt a little too cherry-scented for my taste; it’s not objectionable, just not what I was expecting. I liked the Ceridwen’s Cauldron melt much better.

***

[1]The two fridges are supposed to be cleaned out thoroughly on alternating Friday evenings, I think, with all contents thrown out, but I swear the plucky soy yogurt lasted at least a month. Way past its expiration date, too. I was actually starting to root for its survival from one week to the next; who knew what culture and civilization might have been growing on it?

[2]Some, though not all, wines are clarified with nonvegan substances. (If you’re curious about what those might be, check here or here.) Strictly speaking, the clarifiers are no longer actually in the wine when it reaches the consumer, the same way that the isinglass is no longer physically present in beers produced using it, but it’s still rather icky.

Google Desktop is out of beta, so I finally decided to give it a try. It’s currently still indexing my computer, but the sidebar is up and running, and looking just a wee bit cluttered. I’ve taken a few pokes at customizing the feeds — switching the news from U.S. to U.K. (primarily because U.K. feeds tend to include more international news) and taking out a few things I don’t think I’d find useful, such as the photo feed (why?) — but I’m still a little overwhelmed. The Web Clips are populated automatically at the moment, which is annoying, but I haven’t taken the time yet to set up clips for just the ones I want. The whole thing is a little . . . busy for my taste, but there must be a way to pare it down to something less distracting. Plus, I’ll probably get used to it as I continue to use it. I’ll try to remember to post updates on its (and my) progress.

Incidentally, TagCloud took about two and a half days to kick in, but I rather like it. It’s somewhat startling to see some of the words out of context (e.g., hangover, which I tend to use in the sense of remnant or legacy but certainly does not carry that connotation when viewed by itself), and I find myself trying desperately to figure out, without clicking on the tags, when I might’ve used some of those words. Still, it amuses me, so that’s good.

In other news, I made a batch of pumpkin muffins this morning:

They’re a little sweet for my taste, but otherwise I’m rather pleased with them. They hold together well, and they’re not too dense, even though the flour was entirely whole wheat. I think I may even bring them to the office to share. Some of them, at least.

Nigel, as some of you know, is prone to attacks of nonspecific colitis (note that this linked page contains images of dogs and cats mid-attack, as well as an accurately nauseating picture of the end result, so please don’t follow the link if you’re squeamish), and it will hit without warning, usually two or three times a year. Last night I came home to discover it had happened again.

He was checked out thoroughly by his vet during the first attack, and it was pronounced nonspecific–no parasites, no germs, no cancer, no foreign bodies . . . just one of those weird things that happens occasionally. They told me what to do, and said that I shouldn’t bother bringing him in unless he’s not responding to home treatment. If he’s not responding, he needs emergency treatment, but thankfully that hasn’t been necessary since that first scary, baffling attack.

Sometimes it seems to be triggered by stress, but I can’t always figure out what causes an individual attack. The only thing to do is to hit it hard, and immediately, with fasting and starchy water or broth to prevent dehydration (he won’t drink plain water when he’s sick, and he doesn’t like the electrolyte drinks the vet said were worth trying), and be there to take him outside ASAP if and when the cramps hit and just generally make a fuss over him. After about half a day, he can usually handle a small amount of kibble mixed with something bland or starchy, and build back to his normal diet from there.

Happily, Nigel seems to be doing much, much better than he was this time yesterday. Still not quite fully up to snuff, but close enough that I felt okay leaving him for thirty minutes to make a run to buy food.

Not that I strictly needed to buy food, or at least starches, because last night I panicked while making up Nigel’s requisite bland pabulum and dumped the nearly the entire jar of rice (arborio, the only stuff I had on hand) into my biggest pot. I now have approximately three pints of leftover sticky, starchy, gummy rice sitting in the fridge, which is way more than Nigel could (or at least should) eat for the forseeable future. It’s more rice than I eat in a year, actually; I occasionally go on rice binges, but not very often. In addition, I have probably about a quart of starchy rice water left over, unnecessary now because he’s back to drinking plain filtered water.* I suppose I’ll freeze it for the next time, the way I did with the leftover vegetable stock last time.

***

*Yes, my dog drinks filtered water. Do you have a problem with that?