?

Log in

This Here Recipe is Picture Heavy, so it is behind a cut: (here)Collapse )


Hulu kept telling me I couldn't watch it because it claimed something was off about my internet connection (by the way, as of a few hours ago, I have internet at home! It's the first time since I moved in six weeks ago that I was able to get my computer online, and I'm glad of it. I may start taking turns in warfish again...), so I checked the embed code, to see if it would work. Since it did, I figured I'd leave it up. Enjoy.
From Experiments


The Oregon Trail: Online

* Lost productivity? Officially not my fault.
** And, Lia? You're actually *not* the only person here who gets it. You are still very special.


rainy monday morning perfect.

My Purse:

Let's not kid ourselves here: no one whose known me long would consider me a purse-person. I'm just not. It's simply not my style. So, it was a considerable surprise to my friends and family when I got this lovely purseCollapse )

Nice, eh? Kind of big, but you know, whatever. Now, guess what's in it. If you've seen me with it, you know it's been known to accommodate in excess of about 3000 pages of reading material. Today, it was less and more ambitious. Although I'm sure you probably don't care, there are a few people who will be amused. Thus, I give you My Purse, and Some of Its ContentsCollapse )

See, what's not clear there is that: 1) the first picture was my purse, full of all those things, and 2) the purse is not, in fact, empty in the second picture. The third picture details. the entire contents of my purseCollapse )

Finally, in case you're wondering what all was in there, a list:Collapse )

I know most people aren't purse-obsessed; indeed, I'm not. But I get frustrated with women's pants pockets appearing to assume purse-ownership. And the fact of the matter is, if I'm going to mess with the bother of purse-acquisition, and people hear about it, I don't want to lose street cred. So, that shiny red leather bag? Holds enough books to keep me through a roundtrip transatlantic flight. *And* my computer. It's so much better than I thought purses could be. (And also, this is mostly to tease Anna, who was one of the people firmly on the side of caring way too much about whether or not I owned a suitable purse, and who was dismayed when I finally caved, and demonstrated the mini-library capacities of my shiny monstrosity. Also, for reasons it's hard to explain, I'm feeling the need to... chronicle life a bit, at the moment. As far as contents of my purse go, they've been more impressive and nerdier. But, as long as Anna despairs of me, then something must be right in the world.
It's plausible I'm at least slightly insane.

See, life is going okay right now (things are, and have been, up in the air in many many ways, which makes me disinclined to post about anything personal, really), and although I'm kind of far too busy, it's the sort I've been ignoring of late. Getting normal amounts of sleep (by which I mean more than six hours a night, I think), playing computer games, and generally going to work, coming home, and relaxing a bit. I oughtn't, which stresses me out somewhat. But, I am, and it's kind of lovely. Although, I must say, I miss my friends terribly.

With that as a background, I need to tell you: I have a fear bordering on a phobia of delis. I'm thinking it's the sort of fear that only really *matters* when the rest of your life is going decently. But, the thing is... it's somehow representative of all the social interactions I just plain don't get: flirting, smalltalk, and explaining what it is you want at a sandwich counter. I don't know how people do it. I go so far as to order the sandwiches you don't get customized so that I shan't be obliged to demonstrate how sorely I am lacking in this regard. It never works. The extremely friendly person behind the deli counter smiles, nods, and then proceeds to ask me what sort of bread I want. It all goes downhill from there. I suppose, in this, that I'm kind of lucky. See, I have this way about me (I surmise, based on how I'm treated by total strangers in public places) that seems to convince people of my total naive incompetence, without even hearing me talk. I am often asked if I'm lost in places like bookstores (I couldn't get *lost* in a bookstore if I tried), and bus drivers will take me to a stop not on the usual route, bartenders have been known to give me free drinks, and people will often offer to lead me places rather than giving me directions. Don't get me wrong, I meet my fair share of jerks, and... well, normal people. But, a surprising number of people take one look at me, and just plain offer to help. Having written that, and if you'd not met me, you might think that I'm trying to say I'm somehow physically attractive in such a way that makes people want to help me; but it obviously has nothing to do with attractiveness. We're talking pure parental-type instincts. Perhaps, in an evolutionary sense, I've retained slightly more than the usual neotenous traits, but I don't think that's actually the case. I'm pretty sure it's something in my expression, which is funny, because I usually consider myself a competent, and not-too-vague person. The point though, is, it's a trait I often wonder at, and one I feel blessed for having in a situation at a deli counter. I'm not kidding. There are a million questions. Asking for a sandwich implies having made a decision of unquantifiable proportions regarding muenster or mozzarella, and the appropriateness of tapenade. I never know all the options, and I'm not entirely sure what tapenade is. Fully half the time, I can't understand what's being asked, because it's loud, or I'm nervous, or I'm having a bizarrely difficult time hearing. There are a million different variations, and at each turn you're presented with a new choice - one you're supposed to be able to make on the fly, without pausing to worry about the terrible ramifications of the unfortunate artichoke/avocado combination.

My point is: I got a sandwich today at Ralph's, and as usual, it was fairly traumatizing. Luckily, the skilled sandwich preparer (dude, that sandwich was nine kinds of precarious by the end. It was the lettuce that did me in) saw what other well-meaning grown ups have seen before, and as I thanked her with no small amount of chagrin, she flashed me a smile that was genuine and pitying. I contemplated long before ordering, and then chose a preexisting sandwhich right off of the menu. The sandwich I have, half eaten on my desk bears on the vaguest resemblance to that (although it's delicious), and I suspect the moral of the story involves me sidestepping existential quandaries at the deli counter, or manning up and making my own damn sandwiches.

... also, I think it suggests something appropriate about the correlation between my eptitude and the judgements of well-meaning adults. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll just make myself some peanut butter and jelly, instead.
Overheard:
"How can you be working on this project, and not have read Snow Crash?"


... I love my job.
You have to go check out the Literature Map. No, seriously, put down what you're doing and click on that link.

If you're still here instead of there, maybe this map will convince you.

Now, go!
Dear Perl,
Please, for the love of all that is chocolate, just cut it out. If I can fix this bug, my program is nearly done, and I can finally turn it in. Can you be bribed?
No love,
Gwen

Profile

sappho
gwenlle
gwenlle

Latest Month

August 2010
S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
293031    

Syndicate

RSS Atom
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow