nonionay: (Default)
Just got off the bus, where I felt like I was trapped in some bizarre skit. From the back of the bus, I hear this guy who sounds like Chris Rock say, "Hey, is that knit one, purl two? Or something else?" There's a mumbled response from the knitter. "Yeah, I used to crochet when I was a kid. You know, scarves and baby blankets and shit. I got me these nice cobalt knitting needles." Eventually that guy got off and within minutes, another guy, who sounded like the epitome of flaming, started complimenting the guy on his knitting. I swear to god, that kid back there must have been SuperHipster! Surrounded by a magical field that makes anyone within its influence obsessed with knitting!! And possibly turn them into a caricature of themselves. (Actually, all that sounds like a character from Misfits.)
nonionay: (Default)
The horror starts innocently enough a little under a minute in. You're all, "aw, the butterflies want to make the turtles pretty..." Sure sucks not having eyelids.

nonionay: (Default)
On the way to Whistler today, we were at a McDonalds with a tv showing the news, and there were captions scrolling by. It was talking about a car accident, and a a doctor who was walking by who helped out. But because it was broken into lines, it just said:


PS got into Canada with my expired passport. Yay! Not looking forward to being harassed on the way back, but whatever. I'm on vacation with my parents.
nonionay: (Default)
Maggots in luggage locker delay US flight in Atlanta Check out one of the passenger's account: "felt like they were crawling all over me because it only takes one maggot to upset your world"
nonionay: (wwjd)
On my desk is a little crumb-covered plate which once held the bagel I had for breakfast. I just cleared one of my long hairs from it. Immediately afterwards, I was staring vacantly in the direction of this plate, pondering the novel I'm working on. Suddenly, I saw the hair I'd just cleared away. Then it vanished. My heart raced. WTF? Was I seeing through time? I stared again, more intently. It happened again. Just a flash. A thin, dark line looping over the edge of the plate.

A third time, and I figured it out.

Right beside the plate is a tiny plastic cup which hold the tiny elastic bands I tie my braids with. It's clear plastic, but the rim is viewed edge-on, and looks white against the dark brown of my desk. The hair I saw was an afterimage of that white line, seen as my eyes twitched naturally.

I like these moments. They give me material for when I have to write characters' "What the hell is going on?!?" moments.

Speaking of which...what the hell is that scratching outside my second story window?
nonionay: (wwjd)
I've been watching NASA TV all day, because I think being able to see stuff happening RIGHT NOW way up in space is cool. Seriously, watching the earth zip by and the day/night terminator line whoosh past is awesome. They're having a spacewalk right now to attach a new module to the ISS. So there's this boring grey view of the module, poised on the end of the robot arm, just kind of sitting there a few feet from its final installation point. They're on the dark side of the earth, so there's nothing but the station and the night. (I check back in that tab every now and then while I'm doing other stuff.) I listen to the audio over Soma's Mission Control station. I can't understand most of what's said, and it makes nice background noise. Every now and then, I hear them talking about a trashbag. I do not know the purpose of this magical space trashbag, but they speak of it often.

Then, suddenly, there's this pulsing, throbbing reddish thing on the screen.

I watch it throb abstractly for a bit, until it finally resolves into two spacesuit clad hands, a case of some sort, and the wall of the space station, all blinking in and out of focus with flashes of square shaped file compression junk.
I stare for a while longer at the guy's helmet cam, listening to the static and breathing and distant voices of Mission Control. His hands move slowly, struggling with the white case tinted yellow or red depending on how bad the compression is. Sometimes the view crunches up into the original mass of twisted warm organs I first saw. His safety tethers float in the bottom corner like loops of intestines, he gropes for his handrail, and I wonder what kind of nightmares I'll have tonight.

And then, it cuts back to the boring grey module and the bleakness of space.

EDIT: I got screenshots! Look under the cut.
Read more... )
nonionay: (sepulchrave)
Auschwitz is on Facebook.
Yes, the death camp.
Yes, it's educational and probably a good idea. But the headline...
nonionay: (sepulchrave)
From this thread on Typophile where they're discussing examples of inappropriate type usage.

"I think you are all confusing merely inappropriate usage with *the most* inappropriate usage. Using comic sans on a tombstone may be tacky, but it doesn’t compare with filling a burlap sack with 72pt Cooper Black and using it to bludgeon kittens."
nonionay: (sepulchrave)
Pictures from the walk to work today. There were hundred of googly eyes scattered in front of a door. What more can be said? After the cut are salmon in Whatcom Creek.


Read more... )
nonionay: (sepulchrave)
Dude! My roommate modded an old camera to pick up infrared.
nonionay: (sepulchrave)
The table of contents of that book I got, annotated by a previous owner. Underlines marked by _underscore_

Brain Wave, by Poul Anderson [no!]
Bullard Reflects, by Malcolm Jameson
The Lost Years, by Oscar Lewis [no! What might have happened had Lincoln lived--_poor_]
Dead Center, by Judith Merril [_Possibly_]
Lost Art, by George O. Smith [_yes_]
The Other Side of the Sky, by Arthur C. Clarke [no!]
The Man Who Sold the Moon [no!]
Magic City, by Nelson S. Bond [yes]*
The Morning of the Day They Did It, by E.B. White [_yes_]
Piggy Bank, by Henry Kuttner [Only Fair!]
Letters from Laura, by Mildred Clingerman [ok-]
The Stars My Destination, by Alfred Bester [_no_]

*This title and author were also handwritten on the inside cover.
nonionay: (Default)
I accidentally typed "liverjournal" just now, while looking for a friend's LJ. The links on this non-existent page were for Stock Photos and Russian Brides.
nonionay: (Default)
In its entirety, not counting the url it hoped I'd click:

All he does is to sit in the water. And as she thus lamented someone said to her.
nonionay: (wwjd)
Discovered this while researching cormorants:
Vampire finches.
Thank you evolution, for making the Galapagoes the most fucking weird place on earth.
nonionay: (Default)
My aunt noted that I was probably the only person at Christmas who actually needed anything. This is true, and the only thing I need is new pants. Thankfully, that's what I received--a pair of very nice, very dark blue jeans. I wore these jeans quite a bit over the weekend, and was only able to take a very perfunctory, non-soapy shower on Saturday, thanks to the unpredictability of my aunt's plumbing. Yesterday was full of travel, Cabela's and late-running trains. No showers for me.
So when I went to take a shower this evening, I was most excited to do so. Right before I got in the shower, I thought, "I have zombie legs!" Because the light was making my legs look rather pallid, and I've been writing about zombies for 72 hours straight.

Then I got in the shower, and my legs really were cold, dead, grey-blue.

And that's what happens when you wear jeans before washing them. They turn you into a zombie.

Even more fun was when I got out of the shower and Teisel was throwing himself against the door. I let him in even before I dried off, just to shut him up. He proceeded to jump up on the edge of the tub and promptly became the second living being to lick my naked thigh. When I refused to let this continue, he licked the bathtub walls--not around the drain where he could actually get a drink. That, as Tye pointed out, would require him to actually get his toes wet.

And that's what happens when you live with the weirdest cat ever.
nonionay: (human remains)
I just got a sebaceous cyst removed from under the skin on my head. I've had that thing for as long as I can remember, and now it's gone. I got to see it in it's little jar, about one and half times the size of a garbanzo bean.

In other gory news, Hikers find a body, probably from WWII, dangling in a tree.

EDIT: It was just a branch :-(
nonionay: (sepulchrave)
Eurasian nomads made containers (for holding tea, salt or women's sewing supplies) out of ram and bull scrota.
nonionay: (Default)
Since work's so slow, I decided not to go in until noon today. Fortuitously, as it turned out. [ profile] oolong called to ask if I could print something out for him. So I'm expecting him to stop by to drop off a disk. Someone knocks, and I run downstairs (in my nightgown, lazy me) expecting Mitch, but no! It's [ profile] kehrli's dad and brother, here for her car. Soon after, another knock. I run downstairs, but the outline in the leaded glass window isn't colorful enough for Mitch. In fact, it's postman-colored. It's my copy of [ profile] moschus (aka Justine Musk)'s new book, which I have long awaited. And, it's my roommate's medicine, which had to be signed for. He was in the shower, so woohoo for work being slow! Moments later, Mitch arrives, and hopefully the excitement is done for the day, because I'm sick of holding poor Teisel back from the door.


nonionay: (Default)

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