Shopping, cooking

I promise, there will at some point be an actual post with trip type details. Like, the planes and overviews and everything.

But for now: Shopping and cooking.

Went to store to get stuff. Wound up getting a Yule gift for Little Fayoumis (beanbag chair, which he's always wanted after seeing mine, of a fabric that the cats won't shred) as well as groceries of the sort that I know we needed.

The air outside is nice and cool. I have opened up the windows.

I was hungry, and noticed the rice left over in the refrigerator. The only way to get people to eat rice around here is to have something to go on top of it, or put it in soup or something. Little Fayoumis's teacher has this thing with giving the class poems for the month, and the poems seem to feature chicken soup with rice. So, that's what I'm making.

I've put rice, chicken pieces, broccoli, carrots, garlic salt, dried onion bits, dill, and curry powder in, so far. I'll probably add a few more spices/herbs tomorrow.

The "Anybody But Bush" Party (ramble)

First, a poll, to start things off...

[Poll #197428]

Very unscientific, but the larger the sample size on that, the better. [Edit: Also, the more diverse the sample, the better. This isn't one I want to throw by having only those who are known to dislike Bush voting in. I made it viewable to none for a reason. I'm not going to come to your house at midnight and put you to the question if you vote for him.]


At any rate, I'm seeing a large number of people remarking, saying, declaring, and even ranting that they'll be voting for anyone but Bush. It seems that as more of his activities are drawn out into the light of day, fewer and fewer people actually support him. Even the things that he's done right have been done haphazardly and for the wrong reasons. vidicon is better at preparing well-researched rants than I am. Go ask him about it.

(Yes, Saddam Hussein and his gang were and are awful, awful people. Bush still did not handle the situation at all well. Osama bin Laden can suck my nuts too.)

I'm wondering what is going to happen to Bush's support at this rate. His administration, from what I've been reading around (here, there, and especially in sos_usa) depends on smoke and mirrors, dark corners and the undersides of rocks, to keep itself alive. When opponents and concerned citizens come in with ventilation fans, spotlights, levers, and big smashy objects to uncover the truths and reasons behind some of the actions, Bush is going to be looking worse and worse.

But, supposing at the nadir of his popularity, Bush found Saddam or bin Laden? Wouldn't everyone want to vote for the man who brought those great evildoers to justice? Wouldn't anyone want to know how he'd managed to pull them out of his ass just in time to get himself re-elected?

I'm telling you this: if Bush produces any notable Bad Guy at the 11th hour before the vote, I'm not voting for him. I feel he's a cheap-labor conservative who's bungled this administration enough so that any accidental successes he has in worthy areas are more than balanced out by all his previous errors. The man has managed to sink the country deeper into debt with what should have been a booming wartime economy. He is a religious fanatic without the wisdom to appreciate the viewpoints of religions other than his. He has managed to erase the sympathy of other nations that was caused by the terrorist attacks, by being the very picture of the bully-boy American. With all that against him, I don't care if he manages to get the endorsement of the Christ Himself (note lack of in-vain here; I'm saying this as someone who's had distinct religious experiences involving that particular deity), I'm still not voting for the fellow!


Smoke, mirrors, dark corners, and the undersides of rocks. Those are places that no honest politician has a place being. With that in mind, consider: Could we possibly elect someone worse than Bush?

sithjawa and I discussed it. I proposed Donald Duck as a worse president. "No," she said. "We've had a figurehead President before." It just matters what interests are controlling the figurehead President, and more importantly, what their methods are.

Any President, party, or special interest that depends on the concealment, spin-doctoring, obfuscation, manipulation, et cetera, of information, is not one to be trusted. Let loose the papers and tapes! Share the dirty laundry with the world! The only exception I could see fit to make for concealing information would be things such as not revealing the identities of covert operatives. And gee, what did the Bush administration just have happen? (Ideally, of course, one would not need anonymous observers about, but that's not going to happen any time soon.)

[Edit: After I wrote this, I rambled about the various types of concealing information that people could do, and which forms were acceptable.]


Read sos_usa. Read metaphorge. Read vidicon. And never trust anything that thinks for itself unless you can see where it keeps its brain.



[Edit: from a comment to elysianmusings, who kindly pimped this: See, what I'm doing here is comparable to the sort of sermon one would give to the converted. Most of us have seen or heard news articles to back my points, so one's brain can fill in the backing to my points, and you'll be nodding knowledgeably at what I have to say, and not notice that I'm never actually supporting what I say.

If this were to be an article intended to sway someone who's sitting on the fence, or convince a supporter of his to defect to at least a more neutral camp, I would have to include properly cited sources to back up everything I say. Which metaphorge and vidicon are much, much better at. ]

Mmm, peach jellybeans are among my very favorite.

( Read more... )

Hidden things, former friends

(Spurred by three different things that went well together)


Why are hidden things bad? Well, there are different kinds of hidden things. Some are bad and some are good.

There are things that are hidden to prevent damage from being done to innocents. Potentially dangerous things are concealed from those who would misuse them through lack of knowledge and skill, or those who would deliberately misuse them. Those include hiding dangerous things away from small children, and hiding information that could be used to harm people who have done no wrong away from those who would do wrong (say, hiding personal and confidential information secure from crackers and marketing goons).

There are the things that are hidden to prevent damage from being done to guilty parties. Who killed JFK. Who left the slugs in the hall. These are largely hidings of deeds and evidence, evasions of responsibility. There are some instances, surely, where this might be the only humane thing to do (such as the literary Cordelia Naismith's defence of the mad and loyal Constantine Bothari's version of justice), but by and large, I don't approve of it.

( Poetic footnote )

There are good things that are hidden to be revealed with proper timing. Holiday presents. Happy surprises. Good information that has hierarchial issues (one tends to tell the immediate family and friends first of an engagement). Some good things wouldn't have half as much impact, or be half as delightful, without concealment to aid in the effect.

There are good things that are hidden away, not to be revealed. This is often wasteful of the good thing in question. However, much of the stuff that's treated this way is treated so to keep harm from being done to it by those who would unknowingly or deliberately misuse it.

Finally, there are those things that are not deliberately hidden, just overlooked, or not discovered yet. The usual reasons are overfamiliarity, not seeing that which is hidden in plain sight, and underfamiliarity, the "Oh, I didn't know it was possible...!". Reasons for not looking further into things include lack of resources, lack of interest, the thought that it might uncover danger/unpleasantness. Probably more.


Friendship is an interesting thing. Everyone meets people, and gets to know them a little. Some people are asshats, some people are saints, and most people are somewhere in the middle.

One person's approaching-asshat may be another's approaching-saint, of course. That's just the way it works. Different values, different tastes, different styles, different priorities, and lots of miscommunications.

Thing is, when someone's discovering themself, and what their values and priorities are, they're going to find that around them, perhaps in some of the people they thought they treasured the most, are conflicting values, opposing priorities. The other parties may be perfectly OK people, just not suited to the newly-defined priorities of the one. Should the one have children, and the one's friends wind up to be toxically rabid childfree advocates or even college students uninterested in the whole domesticity thing, there will likely be some parting of ways, amicable or not.

The first acquaintances to go if the one is uncovering the hidden areas of oneself are typically the ones least open to change, the ones only attached shallowly.

As one becomes more familiar with the self, and with others, the nature of friendship becomes more clear. Are the friends really the sort of friend who would come over at midnight with cause? If not, is that OK? Are the friends the sort that one would not wish to come over at all? Are those friends OK with that?


Unequal loyalty is betrayal in the egg. (Thank you, cantankerous Ista.)

...

Addendum:

It is sometimes difficult to distinguish "hidden against misuse" from "hidden to protect those who wish to evade responsibility". Those who wish to evade responsibility take full advantage of this.

Woohoo!

Called Darkside. Got Darkside. Asked him how his schedule was. He teased me for a while before finally relenting and letting me know that yes, he'd gotten it off.

WOOHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whee! (again)

According to grifyn, I am "...an endless source of unsettling information..."

...which sounds about right.

Dust

...

And just when I fool myself into thinking I'm capable, something like this happens.

I don't want to touch other people's fragile stuff. I can't reach high things.

I never grew up dusting.

It's still my fault. Or it feels that way.

Bullshitfuck!

Well, I've narrowed the network flakiness down to Tigereye and/or the switch. It's the switch or the card-and-dongle or both the motherfucking ports or some non-hardware flakiness.

*snif* I'm never playing with any of you guys ever again!

Stuff, things

What I want to do: Call Dell, attempt to figure out whether they can help me figure out what is going on with my computer.

What I need: To look up in my memories section of the journal where I put that locked entry containing the stuff I needed to communicate with Dell.

What is not happening: stuff loading.

What is also not happening: Lunatic feeling able to do anything useful.

(no subject)

premiersupport.dell.com

Party

OK. I need to know:

a) Who's coming (or not)
b) When you're coming (or not)
c) What you're bringing


This is a potluck kind of party, y0. We will have some stuff in the way of drinks and eats, but my energy level is way the heck down, and I may not have quite as much in the way of stuff like chocolate covered cherries as I did last time around. (Though they are very Sithly.)

Peevish whining

Computer issue fixed, kinda. The support guy had me take it down to 10Mbps and half-duplex. I'm glad I'm a geek.

The issue seems to be the thing's driver. Grr, argh, reinstall driver. Need to do that.

Also, cleaning up room.

Did I mention that my luggage got searched by hand?

Boy. I'm glad I'm home.

I may continue to cough for up to six weeks.

Trip Report, full (Friday)

I left Phoenix for California on the 24th; I got up at the ass-crack of dawn with votania, and she drove me to the airport.

votania was nervous, but I decided that it was just one of the things that was going to happen, and went up to the desk. I presented name and ID, and got confirmation that yes, I was going places, and here is the baggage tag on your (ugly-ass purple) suitcase, and just take that over there to the screeners, and have a nice day!

So I trekked over to the screeners and handed over votania's ugly-ass old purple suitcase. (It's not a bad suitcase, but it does deserve at least a small amount of mocking, because it is not particularly in good repair or attractive, in addition to being very not-sturdy.)

We went upstairs to the level with all the gates. votania went to the Starbucks in her zone to get us breakfast; I requested coffee inna jar, and a cheese Danish. I departed to get through security. Happily, it was a short line, and I wandered off to find my gate. votania caught up with me, and we BSed until she decided it was time to leave for home. (She can do that because she works there.) Security did not comment on the contents of my backpack to me. I was preemtively amused, because votania assured me that the contents of my backpack, particularly my little bag of toys (containing Mr. Wiggles, the Clue Stick, and the two new toys), would be the gossip of the airport for some days to come. (I have yet to find if that was in fact the case.)

I got on the plane to find that I was seated in the aisle seat, with no one between me and the guy at the window seat. This was happiness.

There was a lady at the back of the plane talking to a flight attendant. The lady was the sort of older middle-aged referred to as "well-preserved", much as a mummy is well-preserved: far too blonde, with far too much jewelry, and far too much whine. No one had evidently shared with her the basics of travel in the US: two or fewer suitcases, and two or fewer carry-on items. She was peevish about this, at great volume, at great length, in the manner of someone complaining about the world to an old and trusted friend. Evidently she'd either had to pay an extra hundred dollars to ship her third suitcase, or throw it out. She'd thrown it out. She'd also had to throw out her makeup kit. This was evidently the end of the world.

The guy next to me offered, in an undertone, to the flight attendant so beset, that he would be happy to spring for a drink for her if only to shut her up. The flight attendant returned that she thought that they could get her a complimentary bit of booze.

Other than that, the flight proceeded without incident. I wrote in my paper journal. I oriented myself with the sun, and found myself not motion sick at all.

sithjawa was waiting for me upon landing, by the escalator down. Ontario is a small airport. I picked up the dreadful suitcase and we went outside for a taxi.

The taxi dispatcher made conversation. He asked if I was in town to see a boyfriend. I glanced at sithjawa and said, "Kind of." There was discussion, in which I refused to share the identity of the Red Book. There was also nasty ash falling from the sky.

We eventually got back to her apartment, after stopping for quite some time at a train crossing that was dinging merrily with no train in sight. We were both tired and fell over, and then she made lunch and I met Meridian and we walked to Mudd. I hung out in the hybrid lab, and met ywalme.

After going back to the apartment to get the ticket for the concert, I hung out in the quad at eastdorm. I found myself utterly at home. These people were my kind of people -- people playing Go, people with duct tape swords, bizarre injokes, whiteboards on doors with even more bizarre injokes -- even those who might have been obnoxious fundies in other places had a sense of humor about it there -- I cracked up laughing at the sight of the sign saying "Suite Jesus".

Then there was supper in ... Grove House? ... with people. There was much with the CS injoking. Being geek myself, I contributed some.

Then there was the concert. Yay, the concert! It was long. I have missed hearing a full orchestra live so very much. The things we take for granted... I did nod off during the long part, though.

After the concert, people gathered together. My brain had just been blown from MUSIC! and PEOPLE! and EMOTION! and I was not up to crowd.

We went back to the apartment and crashed.

Trip Report, full (Saturday)

25th

sithjawa came to. We had brunch at Platt. I called and checked in with people, and Dawn and I agreed meet up on Sunday.

sithjawa went back to her apartment for some much-needed R&R. It was good. Sacrificed a Kleenex to Eris, for lack of anything more convenient. We established that the filmy scarves I had brought for tying things up with were called "goddamn veils" at somewhat after this point.

Saturday is barbecue day at Mudd. We went back for supper, and I curled up on a couch with Steph's laptop and played with LJ. I met people and had fun. "No two people are not on fire" is evidently a common phrase. (sithjawa has a cunning plan for a Halloween costume.)

The concert let out. There was red in the sky. We ran about trying to figure out what was up. It was fire. People were nervous.

I learned that there was, in fact, a bathroom at eastdorm: it was behind the door with "OFFICE" on it in a very official-looking label.

sithjawa and other people and I wound up going to find some late supper at a nice Thai place. I had the pad Thai. It was good. I tried the soup that was heavy on the ginger and cream and mushroom. I was not thrilled with it.

After that, we went on a booze supplying trip, as the people were planning for a royal booze-up, and supplies were low.

We had chocolate and Irish cream slushies in the lounge at eastdorm while watching Noir. sithjawa went to retrieve the Irish cream for the booze-up. People got very rightfully upset about the fire. I learned that a hardware supply store had been going under, and eastdorm got a lot of door signage and stuck things on things. Bathroom is office, laundry room is private, push side of door is pull, and pull side of door is push. I'm also suspecting the "Warning: This area is monitored by remote cameras" signs as well.

sithjawa and I did wind up spending the night back at her apartment rather than in eastdorm's lounge.

Trip Report, full (Sunday)

26th

sithjawa grabbed her own emergency kit.

sithjawa grabbed "goddamn veils" and made our way towards Platt. It turned out that the student center place was giving out particulate masks; we stopped in and grabbed a pair, then had breakfast.

Dawn apologized profusely, but could not make it out through the fire detours to pick me up to spend time together. As the fire had come within four miles of us, I was very much not surprised, and spent a comfortable several hours with the laptop in the lounge, looking nervously at maps of the fire, wondering if we'd have to grab everything and go. sithjawa was at her concert.

After she returned from the concert, she went and packed up the snakes and put them in Melissa's room, and also got the rest of my stuff.

Steve (unknown LJ name) and his girlfriend (unknown LJ name) and origamist (I think) and sithjawa and I had the regularly-scheduled Sunday-evening supper thing at an Indian resturant. Good food, delightful company.

There was debate as to whether the airport was closed or not. A red dot on the map was not reassuring; it was eventually figured out to mean "Big evil delays"; blue dot meant closed.


There was a "study break" event. I went. There was cheese. Evidently cheese is this weird Mudd fixation. Or at least an eastdorm fixation. There were people. I finished off Kushiel's Chosen, and chatted with people. sithjawa worked on essays.

Most of the rest of the evening was passed in the lounge. Someone had on some Rammstein when I got in, and I grabbed a duct tape sword and worked out with it. I kicked sithjawa's ass with the swords, as I have more practice than she does.

I got to snuggle with sithjawa. It is very fun to pet her. We spent the night in the lounge; I eventually had to leave off the snuggling and find a nice empty chair. It was difficult for me to get to sleep.

Trip Report, full (Monday)

27th

( Monday )

*sigh*

Glad to be home.

More of the silly & wrongish

http://www.peesack.com/cartoons/smurfette/Smurfette.html

Not work-safe, not kid-safe. Not safe for anyone who remembers the Smurfs, evidently...

New happy song: You Would Fit Into The Microwave

"You Would Fit into the Microwave", a lullabye by Seanan McGuire, aged 5-ish...