Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Note To Self.
No matter how comfortable you feel, no matter the context, try to refrain from using the word "cock" (or any related words) in front of his mother.
No matter how comfortable you feel, no matter the context, try to refrain from using the word "cock" (or any related words) in front of his mother.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Freewrite.
I've been a bad blogger. So many things have been happening and I've wanted to write about them, but things like technology malfunctions get in the way. I sent my Mac to the doctor last week because Safari was sick - some sort of yellow fever or gangrene. The cure? Install Firefox. Kind of a shady way to fix the problem, but I only paid for half an hour of service, so I'm not going to complain.
The Christmas tree is up, with white lights, white ornaments and light green bows. Red and green packages sit underneath, awaiting their final destinations. First stop, East Liverpool, Ohio. Next, Hilliard, Ohio. And finally, to another part of Clintonville. It's so pretty; I want to post a picture, but I keep forgetting to bring the work digital camera home.
I've asked for a digital camera for Christmas. A real one, SLR. I want to remember the things that I learned in photojournalism school. And I want to relearn the skill without wasting loads of money on film and developing. I remember back in the day when I was skeptical of the new machine. Real film records history, while the digital version is temporary. Dark rooms, however ancient, will always exist, while media is in constant flux. I haven't touched my beloved ZIP disks of 1999 for several years now. Only to move them from house to house.
I'm getting older, I've realized. A completely different topic. Are you ready for the switch? I've begun to think about things like tradition. While I've spent years being subject to my family's loose traditions (toaster strudels on Christmas morning, etc.) I've been more eager to start planning my own traditions, to learn about others.
Some, I want to reinstate. My mom used to give my sister Mandy and I a calendar every Christmas in our stockings. I liked that. And new, handmade pajamas are her specialty. That would be nice to do, should I ever get past sewing straight lines.
(Oh. I'm making a quilt. If I had the digital camera of my reveries, I'd show you a little sneak peek. It's progressing slowly. I was proud, at first, as to how I saved money on fabric by buying pillowcases from a thrift store. But then I spent $50 on cutting supplies. And then another $106 cleaning, oiling and fixing my machine. The last time the machine saw the light of day was in my dorm room in Lincoln Hall, as Cathy and I made hippie clothing and blew pot smoke through toilet paper tubes filled with dryer sheets. Now my patchwork comes in blanket form. And I can't remember the last time I smoked pot. I never really liked it.)
Good God, I'm everywhere this morning.
So. I keep thinking things like, "When I have kids, I want to do *this* or *that*." And then I catch myself. Kids? I guess it's a natural thing. I mean, I'm twenty-seven years old. My friends have started procreating. It won't be long before the constant stream of bachelorette parties will be replaced by first birthday parties, before discussion at parties will rotate from films and music to child-rearing techniques and the best way to keep the kitchen floor clean. I'm by no way suggesting that I want to pop out several kids in the near future. I'm just aware of the the change.
I was at a caroling party last night. A group of fifteen or so people when from door to door in a Clintonville neighborhood, singing songs to houses, as the owners peered from windows, wondering at the crazies in their front yards. At any rate, at this party, I spent half an hour talking to a couple from my neighborhood. We discussed property value, landscaping, stories of questionable behavior by fellow neighbors, block watches and the history of our neighborhood. It was a riveting conversation. Two years ago, it would have been dull.
So the point? I'm getting older and Christmas is on the way. And I daydream about crafting. (I didn't write about that, but I figure I'll leave something for another post.)
Cheers.
I've been a bad blogger. So many things have been happening and I've wanted to write about them, but things like technology malfunctions get in the way. I sent my Mac to the doctor last week because Safari was sick - some sort of yellow fever or gangrene. The cure? Install Firefox. Kind of a shady way to fix the problem, but I only paid for half an hour of service, so I'm not going to complain.
The Christmas tree is up, with white lights, white ornaments and light green bows. Red and green packages sit underneath, awaiting their final destinations. First stop, East Liverpool, Ohio. Next, Hilliard, Ohio. And finally, to another part of Clintonville. It's so pretty; I want to post a picture, but I keep forgetting to bring the work digital camera home.
I've asked for a digital camera for Christmas. A real one, SLR. I want to remember the things that I learned in photojournalism school. And I want to relearn the skill without wasting loads of money on film and developing. I remember back in the day when I was skeptical of the new machine. Real film records history, while the digital version is temporary. Dark rooms, however ancient, will always exist, while media is in constant flux. I haven't touched my beloved ZIP disks of 1999 for several years now. Only to move them from house to house.
I'm getting older, I've realized. A completely different topic. Are you ready for the switch? I've begun to think about things like tradition. While I've spent years being subject to my family's loose traditions (toaster strudels on Christmas morning, etc.) I've been more eager to start planning my own traditions, to learn about others.
Some, I want to reinstate. My mom used to give my sister Mandy and I a calendar every Christmas in our stockings. I liked that. And new, handmade pajamas are her specialty. That would be nice to do, should I ever get past sewing straight lines.
(Oh. I'm making a quilt. If I had the digital camera of my reveries, I'd show you a little sneak peek. It's progressing slowly. I was proud, at first, as to how I saved money on fabric by buying pillowcases from a thrift store. But then I spent $50 on cutting supplies. And then another $106 cleaning, oiling and fixing my machine. The last time the machine saw the light of day was in my dorm room in Lincoln Hall, as Cathy and I made hippie clothing and blew pot smoke through toilet paper tubes filled with dryer sheets. Now my patchwork comes in blanket form. And I can't remember the last time I smoked pot. I never really liked it.)
Good God, I'm everywhere this morning.
So. I keep thinking things like, "When I have kids, I want to do *this* or *that*." And then I catch myself. Kids? I guess it's a natural thing. I mean, I'm twenty-seven years old. My friends have started procreating. It won't be long before the constant stream of bachelorette parties will be replaced by first birthday parties, before discussion at parties will rotate from films and music to child-rearing techniques and the best way to keep the kitchen floor clean. I'm by no way suggesting that I want to pop out several kids in the near future. I'm just aware of the the change.
I was at a caroling party last night. A group of fifteen or so people when from door to door in a Clintonville neighborhood, singing songs to houses, as the owners peered from windows, wondering at the crazies in their front yards. At any rate, at this party, I spent half an hour talking to a couple from my neighborhood. We discussed property value, landscaping, stories of questionable behavior by fellow neighbors, block watches and the history of our neighborhood. It was a riveting conversation. Two years ago, it would have been dull.
So the point? I'm getting older and Christmas is on the way. And I daydream about crafting. (I didn't write about that, but I figure I'll leave something for another post.)
Cheers.
