So it turns out I like jazz. And blues.

Whodathunkit?

Glad I went. She was fun and funny and soulful and has an incredible voice. I bought one of her CD's from a table in the lobby one my way out, and also bought on from the act that went on ahead of her, Beaucoup Blue -- a father-and-son blues duo out of Philadelphia. Blues and jazz, two things I've never really sought out, and I liked 'em both.

Only one drawback of the evening--two people right behind me who wouldn't stop talking. Constant chatter. All. Night. Long. Argh! I wish I'd had the nerve to do what a friend of mine did after some woman sat next to him and chatted to her companion the whole way through a showing of Moulin Rouge. After the lights came up, he turned to her and said:

"You owe me four dollars."

"What?!?"

"Your yapping made me miss about half that movie. Ticket cost me $8. You owe me $4."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Well, I know what you were talking about." And then he proceeded to list all the topics she and her friend had discussed over the past two hours. She stood there, shocked and affronted.

"Hey, lady, in future? If you want to talk, go to a restaurant. If you come to see a movie? Shut up."

He's my hero.

Outside my comfort zone

Melody Gardot's coming to town. A while back, someone pointed tonight's concert out via Twitter, asked if anyone wanted to go wither her, and sent a YouTube link. After a little exploring, I decided liked what I heard and that I would go. The person who mentioned the concert isn't going. At least I don't think she is. Never heard from her again about the topic, even after I tried contacting her directly. Maybe I misunderstood.

I've been to plays by myself, but I usually attend concerts with other people. Don't know why that is, but I'd rather listen to music with someone I know. Well, tonight, I'm going by myself. To listen to jazz, which is a genre I've never really paid much attention to before.

Should be interesting.

For G

I do have an actual written post coming, if I ever finish the &@%! thing. But in the mean time, I'm posting this with G (of Postcards to Myself) in mind, 'cause he once mentioned that he liked ukuleles:



On YouTube, the caption next to the video says:

Created on June 21, 2009. London Uke Festival - For more info check londonukefestival.com We smashed the record with 851 peforming on day!

Independent confirmation...

...also known as a sop to my vanity:

I was out and about yesterday afternoon, got onto a bus, and a woman I haven't seen in months said to me,

"You've lost weight!"

So there we are. Time to find the scale and see how much. Just for curiosity's sake.

Small victories

I bought a whole bunch of new clothes from the local branch of Lane Bryant back in April. They were having a huge everything-must-go sale prior to closing the branch for good, as apparently there aren't enough fat girls to clothe in this town (yeah, right). I scored $400 worth of clothes for $44. Go me! Virtual high five!

Then a few weeks later I gave myself a stern talking to and started to take Weight Watchers more seriously. I know, I know. New clothes, then lose weight? Isn't that supposed to go the other way 'round? Well, as my brother-in-law would say, "That's how I roll."

I still haven't weighed myself, though I am following program otherwise. I'm trying to teach myself that I need to focus on how I feel and not rely on some number to tell me whether I'm doing well.

It's working. My new clothes have been getting very baggy. Yesterday I went to put on a pair of the jeans I bought in April, and just as experiment I tried to get them on without undoing the button at the top. They slipped right on! Hurray! Oh, crap. That meant I needed to find a different pair of pants, 'cause if they slip on that easily, they'll slide down that easily as well.

I found another, smaller pair of jeans I haven't worn for a while. They fit! Kind of. Little tight across the thigh, but I didn't snap myself in half when I sat down in 'em, so those jeans have been rotated back into the wardrobe.

I have a long way to go. I don't even know how far. I suppose sooner or later I need to find the scale and get on it, if only to adjust my Weight Watchers' plan. For anyone not familiar with the program, as you lose weight, you lose "points" -- every food is assigned a point value, and you get a certain amount of points to use in a day, with 35 extra to spread around through the week. As you get smaller, so does your points budget.

I need to find that scale. I think it's in one of the boxes I labeled "Odds & Ends." But my more immediate need is to get myself to a store and buy a belt. I do not want to accidentally moon someone in the library. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

I retweeted this, but I don't think that's enough

I got a tweet from Neil Gaiman (well, not to me, exactly. I follow him). He sent out the following link, and I thought it was worth putting up on the blog:



I wish I was nearer to New York City. Apparently he's performing there this weekend.

I also like his alternate title for this clip: Squandering an Expensive Music School Education on Ridiculous Youtube Videos.

Big Pixar fan over here

Was talking with some folks at work today about Up, which I'd like to see sometime soon, and how I've always liked Pixar even before I knew who they were. When Toy Story came out, it reminded me of an animated short I saw when I was in college, as part of a film of the winners of some international animation tourney (back when they used to bring things like that to campus and show 'em to us). It was called "Tin Toy." Then I saw a special on the making of Toy Story and learned that these were the same people who did "Tin Toy." I just found it on YouTube:



Another one I liked (turned out to be another one of theirs) was in a similar vein, about a snowman living in a snowglobe (a souvenir from Alaska, I think) who falls in love with another souvenir (from Miami) on the shelf. Found that one too. It's called "Knick Knack:"



Yep. Watching these has reinforced my desire to go see Up.

Lolly's paw

To anyone who's been wondering: there will be no need to biopsy the cat's paw. That thing with the definite edges? Scab. Fell off a few days after I posted about it. The next time the cat allowed me to look at her foot, it looked great. I looked yesterday, and couldn't tell there'd been a wound at all. Mind you, I was was holding the cat in mid-air, dangling her feet in front of me, so I only got a few glimpses. But everything looks good!

Yay! Crisis averted.

Veggies!

I got the first share from the Community Supported Agriculture thing I joined. According to the list, I got lettuce, spinach, radishes, mustard greens, and Asian greens.

Now. What do I do with 'em?

Advanced cat yodelling

Oreo, 1989-2009

This was Delilah's daddy.

My father called Friday evening to tell me Oreo had to be taken to the vet's. He'd stopped eating recently, and now he wouldn't even drink water. Mom saw a little bit of blood in his mouth. The vet confirmed what we already knew: tumor. He had a small one on his face that I've been editing out of pictures for years, including the picture above. Turns out there was another one in his mouth, under his tongue. He was put to sleep Friday afternoon.

Sammy (Samson, Delilah's litter mate) died last October. He had a tumor as well, only his was on his foot. Here's Sammy:



Poor sweet babies.

I'd be very happy if the booboo on Delilah's foot would go away now, please. It's round, and it has very definite edges. It probably a bite mark (pleaseohplease it's a bite mark!), but if it doesn't go away by the time we're through with the antibiotics I'm going to have to take her back to the vet and get it biopsied. Gulp.

Anti-theft

You know, it's the little things that drive you crazy. Stupid stuff like food noises you can't get away from (dealt with, thanks to my Mom's Christmas gift of headphones) or people ignoring your emails requesting more info on the next step of a project only to dump a ton and a half of work on you 2 weeks after you've given up on them and decided to work on something else. (Holy run-on sentence, Batman!)

This morning it's disappearing book carts. Friday afternoon we had two empty ones. This morning? Zero. This isn't the first time it's happened. I've lost count of how many times they go missing, actually. Whoever does it steals 'em before any of us get here, or after we leave. It's irritating.

One of my team mates and I found 'em, empty, in other parts of the room and wheeled them back home. I've made big yellow labels for them with our team's name and "DO NOT REMOVE!" in bold at the bottom. Stuck the labels all over the carts. If this doesn't work I'm gonna buy some chains and padlocks, and chain all the carts together. Ha! Try moving that, cart-thief.

Or better still, go find your own.

Quick update on the cat's paw

We went to the vet yesterday afternoon. He took a culture (a lot of white cells and some debris--probably from the litterbox), took her temperature (normal), watched her walk (the limp was a bit more pronounced by the time we got there), and prescribed an antibiotic. Half a pill once a day for two weeks. He said the limp should go away pretty fast. If this doesn't work our next option is biopsy (taking into account Samson and Oreo's medical history). Gulp.

She spent most of yesterday afternoon snuggled up with me on the couch, purring and sleeping. So I'm forgiven for messing with her foot and than dragging her back to the place where she has to suffer all sorts of indignities from That Man in the White Coat.

I gave her the first dose last night, and already she's walking better. Huzzah!

Please send good thoughts this way

I noticed last night that the cat seemed to be favoring her right front paw. A very, very, slight limp, so slight in fact that I thought I was imagining it. When I finally got her to let me see the paw, it turns out there an area that's swollen and slightly pink. It looks like she's been chewing on it. It's the same paw the vet used last week to take her blood pressure, and he shaved it a little before he did that. I'm thinking maybe the hair growing in was making her itch, so she started chewing.

At least, that's what I hope it is. Last October her litter mate Samson was put down because of a huge tumor on one of his feet. Oreo, Delilah and Sammy's daddy, has a small tumor on his face (has for a while. Every time I take a picture of him, I edit it out with the "spot-healing" brush in Adobe), and I'm pretty sure he's on his way out. He drools constantly, has stopped grooming, and spends a lot of time yowling and looking a little confused. My mom's sure if she takes him to the vet he'll get put down, and she doesn't want to do that. She says he doesn't look like he's in pain.

So anyway, there's a family history of growths. This thing on Delilah's paw doesn't look like the tumors I've seen on Sam and Oreo, but I'm worrried. It's probably a chewed area that got infected. I figure with this whatever-it-is going on with her kidneys, her immune system might not be optimal and I don't want some infection raging through her system.

The vet's office opens in 20 minutes. I hope I can get an appointment. And I hope it's nothing serious. I tend to catastrophize.

If you could send some good thoughts towards Central Pennsylvania, I'd really appreciate it.

Another little anniversary

Two years ago today I officially started working for the department I'm in now. Yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of the move--when the tech support people took my equipment from my old cubicle and put it in my new one, and I had to follow it down 'cause how else would I do my work? It took every ounce of self-control I had not to skip merrily down the hall behind the tech folks, singing out "See ya! Bub-bye now!" as I left.

Last year I really wanted to send the Dean flowers as a thank-you for getting me the heck outta there. I thought news of that would get around, though, and I didn't want to make things difficult for myself with the people I left. But oh! what a nice bouquet I made in my head.

Hey look! Another meme!

I got this one from Antonia, over at Whooppee The original instructions on this were to find song names from your favorite band and make them the answers to the questions. Antonia decided to she'd rather answer the questions head-on, and I agree. It was a consider-yourself-tagged-if-you-want sort of thing, so I tagged me. Here we go:

1. Are you a male or female: Female, but I do possess some version of the "I don't need to ask directions, I'm not lost" gene. Most of the time I can control it, the rest of the time I just pretend I'm exploring.

2. Describe yourself: Large. Bookish. Whimsical. Covered in cat hair. Boisterous. Sarcastic. Like to dance, now that I know how. Generous. Shy. Friendly. Goofy, with a slight smattering of silly. Musical. Easy to amuse. Eager to please. Generally tolerant except for certain noises like slurps or constant sniffling.

3. How do you feel about yourself: I'm comfortable by myself, I amuse myself. I feel a lot more confident than I did a few years ago.

4. Describe your parents: My mom is a little shorter than me, red-headed, articulate, fun and funny. She has an amazing soprano voice. She could have been an opera singer. My dad is tall, thin, quiet, with a very dry wit. He's from Iowa. Keeps most of his feelings to himself. They're an odd pairing, but they've been married for 42 years, so I guess that theory about opposites attracting has some validity. I not only love them, I like them.

5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriends: The first one was dark-haired and blue-eyed, with a lovely singing voice (tenor) and an ego the size of a small planet. He's down south somewhere, has been married and divorced twice. A friend told me recently that he'd like to get in touch with me again, "just as pen pals" or something. Not just no, but hell no.

The second one was my height exactly, had light brown hair and hazel eyes, a lovely singing voice (see a pattern developing? This one was a bass) and a wounded soul. For 3 and 1/2 years he sucked the life out of me, dragged me down to his level of sorrow (misery loves company and all that). Then he graduated, told me he wasn't in love with me, and disappeared. It didn't take long for me to see how much happier I was after he left, and that I didn't miss him. I do miss the 3 & 1/2 years, though.

The third one was a very brief relationship that ended suddenly when an emotional hand-grenade got tossed into my private life. He got hit with shrapnel. I don't think I ever explained the situation, and he's never asked. He's married now, lives in this town, is a bus driver. I see him once in a while, usually when he's driving my bus. Of the three, he's the only one who I wouldn't cross the street to avoid speaking to. And no, he can't sing. Couldn't carry a tune if it had handles on it.

6. Describe your current boy/girl situation: It took a long time for me to figure it out, but I'm really happiest on my own.

7. Describe your current location: In a computer lab on a college campus, in a chair that's too low for me, three terminals down from someone who really needs a tissue (see #2)

8. Describe where you want to be: At home, in PJs, sitting on the sofa with the cat in my lap and a book in my hand. In Lancaster County, visiting my sister. In San Francisco, wandering around staring at everything in an attitude that screams "tourist!" In Stratford, Ontario, watching a performance from their theater festival. Whale-watching. Beach-combing.

9. Your best friend(s) is/are: quick-witted, fast-talking, big-hearted, intelligent, talented (each in his or her own way), and fun to be around. They're also generally a long way off. Some are out of town, out of state, one is on another plane of existence altogether (buried in Kansas. I miss her, and some day when I am able, I'll write about her).

10. Your favourite colour is: anything but orange. I like to wear red, brown, black, pink. I like to look at blue, green, yellow, purple.

11. You know that: I didn't answer #9 very well, so I went back and added some more. Edits are in green.

12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: Running the Asylum

13. What is life to you: Whatever I'm doing at the moment.

14. What is the best advice you have to give: Don't take free advice.

Edited to add: Tag! You're it! But only if you want to play.

Easter

I went home for Easter. It was relaxing, pleasant, and quiet. TV stayed off most of the weekend. Ah. Nice.

I have some pictures. Wanna see?



That grass in the basket is real, and live. It's a Martha Stewart trick. I was going to link to it but I can't find the link. Basically you take a plastic bag, put potting soil in it, spread the seeds on it, and put it in the basket. Water it once in a while, and it'll keep growing.



The duck is a toy Mom got at a drug store. It comes as an egg. There are holes drilled top and bottom. You soak the egg for a while, and then after you take it out, the shell cracks and the little duck emerges. He's a very dense sponge. He was still wet at the bottom on Sunday afternoon. He's in there partly for cuteness and partly to water the grass.

After Easter the grass will get planted outside somewhere.



This grouse was sitting outside Saturday morning. Saw him through the bathroom window, grabbed the camera, and hoped for the best. I tried to get another shot of him from the porch, but as soon as he saw me he flew away. Oh, well.



And here's another shot of that basket with loot left by the Easter bunny. Mom didn't want to stain the grass, so most of the candy went into a separate basket. The bag in the back and the two flowered eggs are presents from me. The candy eggs are from a chocolatier here in town. The bag has roots for 10 strawberry plants in it.

And that's pretty much my weekend. I took vacation on Monday -- I'd originally planned to be upstate longer, but that's when I thought the cat was coming with me. M'colleague agreed to give the cat her meds (in wet cat food. Lilah likes her a lot now) over Easter weekend, but I thought asking her to do Monday as well would be an imposition. She said (my colleague, not my cat. I'm not that far gone yet!) that Lilah was very friendly, all purring and lovey-dovey, no trouble at all with eating her doctored food. Aha! My sneaky little plan worked.

The "puppies" who used to live upstairs

The following is a memory jog, courtesy of yesterday's post by Antonia.

Just after I graduated college, I lived in a two bedroom apartment with three other girls (one in her third year at school, the other two just like me -- recent graduates with crappy jobs). Our upstairs neighbors were four college boys. I don't think they had furniture, because they seemed to use every square inch of that floor. Sometimes they'd practice goosestepping in heavy work boots. Or maybe it was tap-dancing. Stamping out ants?

They also liked to hold impromptu wrestling matches in the middle of their living room. I used to imagine them as a litter of puppies all rolling around on the floor together. We often expected to see the whole lot of them come crashing through our ceiling during these little romps, and I am sure that if this happened the boys would've been completely unfazed. They probably would have looked up briefly, shrugged, and then gone back to their scuffle. Same match, different floor.

Their favorite game (when they weren't playing Pig Pile on the Living Room Floor, that is) was to toss a(n American) football back and forth from the back bedroom down the hall to the living room, then from living room out onto the adjoining deck -- all the while holding shouted conversations about sports, school, girls, and who had been the most drunk the previous evening. One of the guys in the living room constantly overshot (or maybe one of the ones on the deck was trying to catch while wearing greased oven mitts), so every few minutes someone would gallop downstairs, fling open the door, slam it shut, find the football, fling open the door again, slam it shut, and pound back up the steps.

I wonder where they are now. I wonder if they think back fondly on their college days, or if they spare a thought for the four young women who lived beneath them and whose collective fervent wish was that they all go straight to hell.

Oh, hey, look what I grew!

Results from my evaluation

I got the supervisor-written part of my evaluation this morning. I'll get the final one after the dean has signed off on it, but nothing that's already been written will change. Our supervisor figured we wanted to know where we stood as soon as possible, so she handed us "unofficial" versions this morning.

The word "exceptionally" was used a lot. I got complimented for my energy, flexibility, cheerfulness, willingness to take on more work, and for getting projects done in "record time."

Okay, so there are no raises this year (the budget for the state is a mess, and this university gets a chunk of our budget from the state), but I don't really care. Sometimes the praise is good enough all on its own.

Modeling my new backbone

I went down to pick up the next piece of a project I'm working on for my old boss. Waiting on the cart for me were way more items than what I agreed that I would take at one time (and I've emphasized that to them quite a few times already). They do this all the time. They're supposed to pull between 40 and 60 reels of microfilm (I've told them repeatedly to try aiming for 50), and for the third time in as many weeks they had over 60 waiting for me to take away. A couple of weeks ago is was 115. Today it was 88.

I used to just take the reels, reiterate that I wanted between 40 and 60, and think ugly thoughts at them as I dragged stuff back to my cubicle to work on it. Part of me wanted to do it again today, but I stifled that impulse. If I kept letting them get away with this, pretty soon there would be over 100 reels on that cart again. I should know that, having worked with them so long. They push. You offer one of something, they ask for two. Give 'em an inch, they think they're rulers.

Dammit, I set a limit for a reason. I do have other things to do.

I asked my old boss what she wanted me to take, the 63-reel long title (three over my limit, but that's okay because it's an entire title), or the 25-reel long title and the first 35 reels of the 63-reel long one. She looked surprised.

"Well we don't like splitting runs up if we can help it..."

"Okay, so the 63-reel one."

"Well, but we have a list we're going by and we don't want to confuse the students doing the pulling."

They're already confused, I thought. They can't even count to sixty.

I went to the folder with the list in it and flipped a few pages.

"Next title is 37 reels long. I'll take the 63 reels today, and then Thursday I'll take these 25 and that 37-reel title."

She agreed, but I don't think she was happy. I used to have "Welcome" written on my back in 15 languages. I think she expected me to roll over and play dead. I'd said something to my supervisor and the head of my department at my annual review a few weeks ago along the lines of needing to grow a spine where these people were concerned.

Looks like it's starting to happen.