So busy, as usual, and being washed out... as usual. All it does is rain and rain and rain. After several years of drought, we're waaaay above average for rainfall. Every time I put a seed in dirt, the deluge comes. Herb garden, gone, washed downhill. Many of the containers were flooded over the rims. So I planted herb garden 2.0 yesterday... which, of course, means that it's raining today. Le sigh. P put up the laundry line and I managed to wash and dry exactly two loads of laundry before the rain came back. On the upside, the cucumbers did sprout.
Though, sadly, some birds have taken a shine to the watermelon sprouts and have eaten all but a couple of them :(
The cukes don't look too bad.... so far.
When not dealing with the rain, we have the neighbor beasts to contend with. They haven't jumped the fence or anything, but they bark and bark and bark. At everything. That moves. Squirrels. Rabbits. Birds. Us. It is soooooo annoying. Worst of all, whenever a fire truck goes by (and we live not too far, and certainly within hearing distance of, a major thoroughfare, so this is a regular, every night, sort of occurrence), they hooooowl and howl and howl.
And they are NEVER brought inside. Rain or shine, cold or heat. You can't really see it here, but they are both dreadlocked.
Busy? Yes, ridiculously busy. So busy I haven't been blogging or, you know, anything really very fun. Although I've been able to do a liiiiiitle gardening. Only to watch my efforts wash away. Again. For the fourth time. Fifth, this morning, when I jumped out of bed at 4 am to try to save my plants for the latest deluge. SIGH. The few bits that sprouted in the herb garden after the big wash have sprouted and.... nothing. They're the same little sprouts they were when the sprouted two weeks ago. In the meantime, it's been pretty much non-stop fighting with my new computer... it was supposed to make things faster, and the processor is definitely faster, but it has vista on it and vista plays with NOTHING.... so many many many hours have been dedicated to trying to find work arounds that will make the computer more than a place to set down my coffee.
In the middle of that I went and hung my stuff at Artomatic!. It opens tonight, so come on down! I'll be there next Friday, May 16th, for Artists' Night.
So, the 411 on AOM 2008 is:
Opening night is Friday, May 9 and the show closes on Sunday, June 15, 2008
Capitol Plaza I
1200 First Street, NE
Washington, DC
Wednesday | 5 pm – 10 pm | |
Thursday | 5 pm – 10 pm | |
Friday | noon – 2 am | |
Saturday | noon – 2 am | |
Sunday | noon – 10 pm | |
| Closed on Mondays and Tuesdays | ||
My space is on the 12th Floor, SE Quadrant, Space C7. I will be there on Friday, May 16th from 7:30 on for Artists' Night. So come say hey, take a look at the pieces I have up, and come for the view:
And not so sure about it. I mean, where I grew up, things like this did not happen. (Not one at a time, not in groups of seven.) And just 25 miles away. There was a tornado warning in the county where our house is yesterday (it didn't get to the county, but hung a right further south and headed for the water). Still, we've been dealing with the deluge for the last few weeks, and I'm now up to multiple washing away everything I planted incidents, including yesterday when there was such heavy rain it flooded out all of my pots and washed the seeds away.
SIGH.
Meanwhile, we have tax assessments that defy logic to look forward to here in lovely Virginia. Though there are, occasionally, things that one might find endearing about this place. Maybe not enough to counterbalance the illogical tax assessments, but enough to making hanging on for a few possible....
The biggest excitement of late is that I finally broke down and got a new computer. It was way past time, and doing anything-- anything, including turning it on-- had become a nightmare on the old one. The new one is muuuuuuch faster, and has more storage space, but moving computers it almost as traumatic as moving house... I can't get the contents of my iTunes to move over except for the things that I'd burned from CDs. I can't afford to buy a computer and upgrade to CS3, so I'm still working with Photoshop two versions ago, which is now refusing to open RAW files. I've downloaded the plug in. Twice. No luck. I can't get my website pages to open up in the application I'd been using to make and modify it, and I have things to add to it. And I don't like Vista. All of which is knocking the excitement of a new machine down about fifty notches.
I was on travel for work this week, which isn't so bad, except that I had to go out to the Eastern Shore (also not so bad-- though, am I wrong in thinking that name redundant? Does VA had a Western shore?), which required driving through Norfolk and VA Beach. Which ended up being a six hour traffic back up odyssey. It took almost three hours to go three miles and made me very glad that we don't live in Norfolk.
Eastern Shore was neat. The work part went fine, and I got up early one morning in search of a place to take a jog on the beach, failed miserably at that, and shot some pictures instead. Sadly, the trip ended with a four hour, traffic-laden return. On the upside, while I was gone a few seeds in an herb container I'd planted sprouted. Yeay! Not that this makes up for having lost my entire herb garden in the deluge last weekend, but it's good none the less.
In the meantime, I got an email from a friend at old job, two jobs back, who said my dissertation had arrived. Pardon? I had no idea what he was talking about. He sent them on to me, and while they were en route, I remembered that when I'd initially completed, had signed off, and submitted my diss manuscript to the library at erstwhile uni, there had been a form where you could request (at an outrageous price for what it is) photocopies of your dissertation from UMI, which is the org that does all the copying and microfiching/microfilming of dissertations in the U.S., if you wanted extra copies. I ordered three-- one for my parents, one for my beloved adviser/second committee member, Prof. DKW, and one for my third committee member. They arrived from two jobs ago old job the other day:
And yeah. It has been two and a half years. It has been so long that dear Prof. DKW has passed away since I ordered the frigging things (making me feel sad that he may have thought I'd forgotten him). His widow was deaccessioning his library (which was enormous and amazing), as was he in the last bit of his life, so there is nowhere to send the thing. It's been so long that it's kind of uncomfortable sending it to third committee member-- sort of highlighting that we haven't spoken since the paperwork was finally signed, as well as the oogie-ness of getting all of it done, which was not an easy process, even by doctoral dissertation insanity norms. Obviously, my parents will get their copy. But two and a half years? jeeeeeeez. And I opened it up to find that it is not the print out with nice pictures that the copy I got from my Uni library is-- it's a photocopy. No, really, a photocopy. Two and a half yeas for a photocopy? It's bound in hideous plastic covered cardboard in a shade of blue I can only think if institutional elementary school bathroom tile. Perhaps UMI stands for Unbelievably, Mindbogglingly, Inefficient.
Other than that, I read this article, and was depressed and sad, missing my erstwhile home in PP, and just disgusted to see the way these things fall out....
God, I miss New York. I used to live right by Eastern District High School (which one assumes overlaps with the lawyer's district). I love that he transcribed it, completely, later.
That said, I am not feeling very generous about the gluttony of this country, generally... the other day I saw, in the top ten stories on CNN, this story, followed by this one. I saw a lot of serious poverty while living in Asia (and knew someone in Vietnam who was researching children who scavenged at garbage dumps to supplement their family's income when I was living in Danang)... and there are parts of this country that start to edge into similar territory, and I just don't even know what to say to the idea of a $10,000 birthday party for anyone, never mind a child. If I ever have kids they're getting the lopsided homemade cake and paper hats (I *loved* that stuff!). None of this iPod for a four year old crap.... that's just insanity.
Finally planted something in the garden yesterday. I don't have super high hopes, as I usually am the angel of death when it comes to plants, but I have my fingers crossed that something will sprout. Of course, if anything sprouts, it may then get eaten by one of the bazillions of squirrels or the wild rabbits (including the giant one that I believe is a feral Flemmish Giant), but I'm trying to take one step at a time.
I seem to have gotten the stuff in the ground just in time-- we've got thunder, lightening, and a whole lotta rain going on out there this morning. Guess that's it for the gardening this weekend. On the, ahem, "upside," there is enough stuff to do indoors to keep me busy for ten years, so whatevs. I hope it's sunny next weekend, though, cause I gots to plant the rest of the seeds if they're going to have enough growing season to grow. In the meantime, I'm going to watch the rain falling on the purdy dogwood that is in full bloom on the side of the house. It's about the only thing looking nice that was here when we arrived (our predecessor was not, it appears, much of a green thumb).
While the transition from city livin' to suburban life is a bit of a transition (try as I might, I can't find a way to ride my bicycle to work... everything involves highways and major roads... these Richmonders are not so bicycle-friendly.... there aren't any bike paths to be seen :( which is kind of depressing), it's good to know that there are some familiar practices in place. Mayoring style, for example. I give you the style of Richmond's Mayor Wilder. Should be an easy transition from life in the District.
Overworked, mostly. I think I put that in the description of this blog. Or maybe of my flickr account. Or whatever. I say this now, but the sad fact is that the word could have easily been used to describe me when I was sixteen, had three jobs and was, you know, in high school "full time." I used to laugh uproariously at the skit on In Living Color where the West Indian dude would go off on someone for only have "tree jobs" when he, West Indian fellow, had seven jobs. Briefly, I wondered if I were West Indian (you know, until I caught site of myself and remembered that I'm so pale I glow in the dark).
With age comes maturity. Which mainly means that rather than picking up hourly wage labor, I now have, ahem, "projects." I have one official job, and about three hundred "projects," some of which are sometimes referred to as "gigs."
I had a gig last weekend, in fact, so that instead of planting that garden (which is probably okay as it's meant to frost here tonight) or unpacking something useful (or, you know, paying my bills), I was in Arlington shooting pictures. Which, in most ways, is just fine, since I like to shoot pictures, and I like the people who asked me to shoot the pictures. I like the shooting (despite the bad weather that has made for flat lighting). It's the no-time-must-post-process
thing that is currently wrecking havoc. Most of the havoc is caused by my old, slow, and full computer. That combination means that I am still adjusting curves on files at 10 pm when I'd hoped to be done hours ago. Days ago. I've ordered a new computer in the hopes of fixing this problem...I sure hope it works!
In the meantime, I have a couple of pictures from the weekend:
I'm not sure that the leap made me think of it, but she did have pretty awesome hair.
In other news, I went out to jump in the car (not mine, mind you, as poor P has to drive faaaaar to work, and has been taking my better mileage getting leeeetle car to work... which means I'm driving his jeep, which just isn't my size, to work), and saw one of the few tulips our predecessors had planted, lying, perfect, yellow and beautiful, on the ground.... and couldn't figure out what the hell. A similar fate befell another tulip two days ago. Yesterday, P spotted the culprit:
One day, I will have a weekend that involves no driving anywhere, no packing, no unpacking, no painting of ceilings or otherwise. Perhaps, if I was good enough in a past life, it won't even involve cleaning. I'm pretty ready for that weekend to arrive (having spent the last five months in a row doing some combination of all of those things). Last weekend was not, however, that weekend.
On the upside, I got to see my dear friend the Fabulous Miss A become the Fabulous Mrs. A as she married the worthy Mr. A. (Congratulations!!) And I got to see my parents, my brother, niece, aunt, uncle, cousin, Mrs. A's family, including her sisters, who are also dear friends, and other friends of hers that I quite like, but haven't seen since the last Yule Glog in Philly... which I think was in 2004. So it was well worth it... though I now feel like I've been run down repeatedly. Mostly because it all involved a whoooooole lot of driving in a very short period of time:
I made this trip, by car, in 60 hours. Of course, it wasn't the only thing I did in the sixty hours... I also 1) went to a work program in West Point; 2) visited with my family in South Hadley; 3) slept a few hours; 4) visited with my family in Boston; 5) attended the Fabulous As' wedding; and 6) loaded up another load of fragile/awkward stuff from the house in Arlington.There was not nearly as much sleeping involved as I would have liked. Or needed.
Of course, I hate driving, so this was a bit rough.... eleven hours up, twelve and a half back, mostly on I-95. It gave me a lot of time to think about things like regional driving styles. Virginia seems to be full of the impatient whose style (and the flood of vanity license plates-- the second highest number in the country-- with things like "DA MANDIN" and "2KOOL4U"-- appear to support this impression) seems to say that you are in they're way, and you need to move over. Marylanders are speed demons. Jersey and Connecticut have the highest number of people who seem to have learned how to drive by practicing on Grand Theft Auto-- lots and lots of insane weaving in an out of traffic, missing carloads of people by inches, and coming very close to crashing in to each other when two of them try to pass someone in the middle lane going a mere ten miles over the speed limit on either side. The entire drive made me wish that Amtrak weren't so outrageously expensive.
The upside of being stuck in the car for hours and hours and hours is that I got to hear some of the things on NPR that I often don't get a chance to hear. (Working hard to find something positive about the drive, here). Like Prairie Home Companion and Car Talk. Sadly, I managed to miss all but about seven minutes of This American Life, which is my most favorite radio show, but I haven't been able to listen to it for months and months. All day Sunday I would tune into whichever npr station I was in the range of, and the would say, "stay tuned for This American Life!" And then, ten minutes before it was supposed to start, I would leave the range of that station and spend ten minutes trying to find the next one... where I would hear the dulcet tones of Ira Glass's voice saying, "that was This American Life." Argh. In the seven minutes I did get to listen to it I heard a great story about a sort of secret identity that a woman discovered about her father, Mr. Low. Of course, I can't find it anywhere on the TAL website. So I give up and give you a link to one of my favorite shows, ever, First Day. It has the segment called Squirrel Cop that I just love, so I share it with you.
Lately, at least over the last few years, visiting New England makes me feel something that I assume (but can't be sure of, since I'd never felt it before) is homesickness. I've experienced the desire for a decent pizza (mostly during the time I was in Southeast Asia), and days where I wished not to communicate in any language other than English, but I don't think that's the same thing. This is more... maybe sentimental? When I was last living in New England I was *on*fire* to get the hell out of the town where I went to high school (though that may have been more about the town where I went to high school than anything else), but at this point I'd really like the opportunity to go home (as weird as it is to call it that when I've now spent more of my life away from there than I did there). Driving into Massachusetts I felt glad to be back, sad it was only a short stay, and wishing for the opportunity to be back for good. If I did, I think I'd like to head up into the Berkshires, or at least into the northern part of the Pioneer Valley.... in any case, the drive reminded me how much I like birches (which just can't deal with the heat down south), and that I even like (I guess because of their nostalgic familiarity) the signs for the towns better.
At least, on my lighting strike journey, I got to see family, in particular, my niece, who seemed to be equal parts cuteness and sleep-deprivation-induced little demon. Here, she decided my dad needed his hair brushed (she says he has pretty pretty hair), and sat back to check out her handiwork:
And then went off to see the Fabulous A's get married! Glass was broken, bread was broken, people were carried in chairs! And there was much joy and happiness to be witnessed-- Mazel Tov!
So, after a week of being on hold and bounced around between the truly useless "automated" system at Verizon ("I did not understand you. Please choose from the following options: if you would like a coterie of farm animals, say, farm animals; if you would like to add the Nine Million Channels of Crap to your package for just $349.95 a month, say, crap; if you would like customer service, please hang up, we don't have that.... you said, farm animals... is that right?") and rude customer service (ahem) folks, our service got hooked up. Then, this week some other Verizon dude came to the house. He didn't ring the bell or anything, he just went around back and started messing around. P came outside and asked what he was doing. "Hooking up your service." Uhmmm.... we got service a few days ago. This guy was insistent that we had service coming. He was going to hook up service for a phone number we'd never heard of. And shut off the service we have. AND CHARGE US FOR IT. So, you know, we're less than impressed with them.
Then, the other morning, a sewage back up pipe-y thingie started to... you know... back up. Cause it was open, though the cap was lying on the ground next to it. P, handy guy that he is, got a wrench and recapped it. At which point none of the drains in the house would drain and the toilets went BLUB BLUB BLUB.... BLUB BLUB..... BLUB. For hours. While looking for a wrench around the house, P found a box of septic tank treatment stuff left by the previous owner. But we don't have a tank; we're on city water. Clearly, the previous owner was a moron (microbes will only eat the gunk in the tank because it's a tank. They need to hang out for a while. It don't do much good to send them zipping into the city sewer system) who obviously knew that there was some issue with the sewer line prior to selling the house. Which they failed to disclose. As they lightly capped the pipe-- just enough to vent the pipe for the inspection while having it appear as though the cap was actually on. Meaning that Mrs. S, abuser of walls (many of them have really weird scratches on them-- as though she were keeping a werewolf in the house who periodically got busy in the dining room), defiler of carpet (the carpet in the bedroom was disgustingly filthy. No, really... it was filthy), possessor of bad taste (the brass! The brass switchplates and nasty ceiling lamps! My eyes!
I include here, for your consideration, two of the lamp monstrosities that the truth-challenged Mrs. S left behind for us. The Offensive Grape Lamp is in the dining room and involves grape bunch shaped pieces of plastic dangling from a brass base (at least three levels of wrong there). The Brass and Glass Grandma Fan is currently flashing its brassy tackiness at us nightly from its perch above the bed. High on the list of home improvement projects once the unpacking has gotten under control is to Get. Rid. Of. All. Lampage, as Mrs. S could not be trusted in that aisle of Home Depot. Though the lamps did go, stylistically, with the vertical blinds (shudder... though they did make for amusement as Phil put them on his shoulders and pretended to be a car wash), the brass switchplates, and the horribly flouncy curtain bar left behind in the living room.
That's right peoples, it's that time of year: Artomatic! It's on like a pot of neck bones (as P always says). It's going to be in D.C. this year, near the New York Ave. metro stop on the red line. Registration to open any day now, and new website to be launched at the same addy: www.artomatic.org. So go sign up for the newsletter & you'll get a notice in your inbox telling you when to sign up.
