Better Living through Technology

I woke up this morning to discover a spider in my bathtub. As faithful readers of this blog may recall, such discoveries are not simply resolved chez Howard, the smush-and-flush approach being admired but not practiced in these parts and the cats being no help whatsoever. And so this morning, lacking time for an elaborate spider-relocation ritual, I heaved a sigh and trudged off to work showerless.

It wasn't until I returned home that I remembered last year's favorite Christmas gift leaning neglected in the corner--my very own spider-relocator! My Christmas-day experiments with the plastic dummy spider had been promising; nonetheless, now that the time had come to put it to the test with a living, scuttling arachnid, I was plagued with doubt. Would it be too forceful, leaving me with a gruesome lump of ex-spider mashed against the filaments? Or, worse, would it be too weak, letting a live and angry spider escape unexpectedly?

I should have had more faith. The device worked beautifully, scooping up the spider in one neat whoosh, holding it gently but securely all the way through the apartment to the hall. (This was helped a bit by the poor spider's instinctively rolling itself into a defensive ball.) When I released it, the spider scampered off toward my neighbor's door, presumably a bit stressed but otherwise unharmed. It was nothing short of amazing. I almost wish there were another spider in the bathtub so I could give it a second try.

Hmmm

As I stumbled through my front door tonight, I realized I was murmuring, "Okay, I really need to stop talking to myself."

(I also need to start writing longer blog posts, but that's a different matter.)

Eavesdropping on an Epistemologist

"You know, I only know what I know, you know."

Source: cell phone conversationalist on Metro Route 43 (toward downtown) this evening.

Not a Hallucination

This morning, shortly after making my groggy way in to the office, I realized I needed milk for the thermos of coffee I'd thriftily brought from home* and made my groggy way down to the cafeteria. I stumbled over to the milk case and grabbed a pint--which promptly shrieked, "OUUUUCH! That HURT!"

The food service worker in the area behind the case was, fortunately, not seriously injured by the can she'd dropped on her toe.


* Yes, I should be praised for this. Coffee from home is much cheaper than coffee from the cafeteria!

Heartwarming

So, last night, I'm lying in bed and I hear a large number of footsteps and a loud voice coming down the street. I heave a great sigh and am mentally preparing to restrain myself from sticking my head out the window and scolding the miscreants like the crazy old lady I am--when the footsteps draw nearer and I hear a much quieter voice say, "Damn, man, why are you so loud?" This statement was followed by a murmured chorus of support involving a fair amount of profanity and words such as "embarrassing" and "disrespectful." I looked out just in time to see the chastened offender and his crowd of keepers disappear around the corner.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't actually a dream.

It's difficult to capture the magic of angel chimes in a photograph.

Another Reason to Love Marie Osmond*

I was poking around on the web for a copy of Hugo Ball's great Dada poem "Karawane" on my coffee break today--and out of nowhere Marie Osmond started appearing in my results. It seems she recorded the poem for Ripley's Believe It or Not in the 1980s, and surprised everyone by reciting it from memory.

From what I understand, the clip that appears on UbuWeb is a bit mangled--Ms. Osmond did in fact recite the poem in its glorious entirety. It would be great to find the full version, because the clip is amazing. Listen to the conviction in those ü üü üs. Imagine what she must have done with the ba-umfs.

* I do realize that for some of you the title should be altered to read "A Reason..." I'm sorry. I'm also about a year behind the times in posting this--but in the immortal words of NBC, "If you haven't seen it, it's new to you."

All Done

I'm delighted (and a bit surprised) to report that I completed my self-portrait project yesterday. Hurray! If you have time on your hands and a desire to spend it perusing my year in pictures, you'll find the set of all 365 portraits here, and the greatest hits edition here--and clicking on the picture above will lead you to some late-night thoughts about the effect the project had on me.

Current Favorite Bus Graffiti

Christmas Spirits

Out of nowhere, Holiday Christine has reappeared. Please be aware that she is dangerously full of cheer; even canned Christmas music and energy-wasting holiday lights appear to be powerless to call forth her Scroogelike tendencies.

Why I should be so happy about Christmas this year is a mystery to me. It's still the same overcommercialized religious holiday that it was last year, and I'm still unable to do many of the things that used to make the season fun for me. I especially miss hosting Luciafest.

Nonetheless, I'm just brimming over with goodwill right now. I'm even looking forward to doing my Christmas shopping--which starts tonight with the excursion in search of presents Warren and I have made together since we were in high school. The first item on my list is a contribution to the pile of replacement presents for a holiday party for kids in my (extended) neighborhood; the original stash was ruined in this week's flood.

Details about the Miller Community Center / Country Doctor holiday party situation are here. It sounds as if there has already been a tremendous response, but if they're overrun I'm sure they'll find a good use for the gift overflow.

My Favorite New Compound Word

...is "happinessdotty," coined by Swedish amateur photographer Lena Möllergren to describe a feeling of glee. I may never use "giddy" again.

Breaking News

This dusting of snow arrived just in time to enhance the Christmas concert I'm headed to tonight. I love snow.

What's Wrong with This Picture?

(Not that I'm complaining.)

Perspective, Part III

Don't worry, I'm not going to post about plumbing again until my plumbing is actually fixed. This probably means you'll be safe for some time to come.

I will try to post about something else sometime soon, however.

Perspective, Part II

Another post about plumbing, you ask? I imagine you rolling your eyes.

Why, yes, I answer. You see, I have a very short list of potential blog topics in my head tonight, and while I know you must be dying to hear about How Much My Sinuses Hurt or Why I Would Trade Trick-or-Treaters for Drunken Barhoppers Any Day of the Year and Especially on Hallowe'en, I have taken the liberty of choosing Why My Plumbing Is Still Unfixed for your edification tonight.

Fortunately for you, it is a short post. My plumbing is still unfixed because the plumber was unable to operate a key--the key my manager left for him, the key that the manager and I were both able to operate successfully in a door unlocking re-enactment some hours later.

It is, of course, possible that the key is only a proximate cause. I would be willing to entertain the notion that the ultimate cause has to do with a curse and my sadly beleaguered head if my sinuses were less stuffy or the barhoppers less noisy.

Now, will you look at that? I've managed to work all three topics into a single post.

Disclaimer: Christine is far less crabby than the foregoing might imply. After all, there's a good possibility she'll come home to working plumbing tomorrow.

Perspective

I had an interesting conversation with my twentysomething apartment manager yesterday. I've been having plumbing woes, and since I haven't seen a plumber in two weeks or heard from the manager in a week, and I still have a nonfunctioning shower and a leaky connector that requires the hot-water valve to be turned off except when the hot water is in use, I called for an update.

Said manager brought up two topics I found unsettling in the course of our conversation. The first was, I think, a good-hearted attempt to help me find better ways of coping with the lack of a shower. "So, ummm...how are you cleaning yourself?" he asked. I was so disconcerted that I actually embarked on an answer before realizing that I had no need or desire to share the details of my ablutions with a young man with whom I have only the most passing of acquaintances.

After an awkward pause, he introduced Unsettling Topic 2: "Now, have you had any flashes of inspiration about what you might have done to cause this [emphasis mine]?"

Unfortunately, I took this as a veiled accusation, and the visions of pecuniary consequences dancing in my head produced a rather sharp (if truthful) response. I didn't do anything; the plumbing is ancient, and it's hardly surprising that the diverter for the shower should just give out or that a connector should spring a leak.

Upon further reflection, however, I'm pretty sure the question wasn't indicative of a plot by the management company to shift maintenance costs to an innocent tenant. I think my young manager simply has yet to learn one of the basic lessons of life: things have a lifespan. Sometimes they are damaged through accident or maliciousness, but sometimes--well, sometimes they just fall apart because they're old.

It does make some sense that it's easier to understand this at 38 than at 22.

Edit:

After receiving a response or two to this post, I've realized a couple of clarifications are in order:

1. My poor manager is not in any way responsible for the extended delay noted above. He got a plumber out here very promptly; the plumber looked over the situation, muttered something about ordering a part, and disappeared. My manager has spent the intervening weeks vainly trying to reestablish contact with the elusive plumber, calling other plumbers to see if they have the (apparently rare) part on hand, and generally worrying about my showerless state. His only failure was keeping me in the loop.

2. There was not the slightest suggestion of leering in Unsettling Topic 1. It was an odd question, to be sure, but an innocent one; we were both alarmed by the turn the conversation took.

Filler

Except for a tragic accident, the 35th annual Bath Heritage Days parade went off without a hitch.

--The Bath (Maine) Times Record, quoted in The New Yorker

Lest you think this post is all fluff, may I direct you to Hendrik Herzog's piece on Hillary Clinton's laugh in the self-same issue of The Best Magazine in the World?

Paving-Stone

My intentions were good, but I am just too tired: no post tonight.

Rule of Thumb

Singing to your cats is a clear sign that you're spending too much time alone.

If you feel a need to sing, though, might I recommend the following?

Kucing-kucing
Kucing-kucing
Kucing-kucing
KUUUU-CING!

Repeat as needed.

[Translation: "Kitties kitties kitties KI-IITTY!" The "c" in "kucing" makes a ch- sound. Extra bonus points if you address the final, singular "kucing" to a particular beastie.]

Oooh!

I'm not sure how I managed to go so long without discovering that The Guardian publishes Top-Ten book lists chosen by prominent authors in its book section. I suppose this could have been a distressing discovery, given that I've long cherished a geeky little fantasy of developing a website with just such lists--but the "competition" has such a wonderful selection that I can't even be jealous. There are lists of smelly books, books in which things end badly, and books in which things end well. There are provocative lists (e.g., Peter Singer's top ten books on ethics) and silly lists (e.g., Joanne Harris' top ten "kids' books with kickass heroines," although I suppose that might qualify as provocative in some quarters). There's even a list of books about trains that are actually interesting.

And to think all I was looking for was more information about Robert Irwin--I just finished his Exquisite Corpse, which is great reading for former fledgling art historians.* It seems Mr. Irwin is an historian as well as a novelist, and as such he contributed a top-ten list of books on Islam to the cause.


*Now there's a top-ten list I could compile: Christine's Top Ten Novels for Former Would-Be Academics in the Arts and Humanities. A. S. Byatt's Possession, David Lodge's The British Museum is Falling Down...