Which Contains One of the Infamous Library Stories

You can't help but love the week assignments are due for the children's-literature courses.

More specifically, the day before and the day of the deadline.

SO MANY panicked college girls in the library's youth department.

One apparently imprinted on me because I was the first staff person she saw, bless her, and she kept coming back no matter how many other desks I sent her to. For the purposes of this post I shall name her Boots, as her fuzzy boots were the first defining feature I noticed; the poor thing seemed more confused every time I saw her.

First question was easy enough: "Where do you have the like, comic-book type picture books?"

Youth Graphic Novels rack, why yes it is quite full, and don't expect everything to be quite in alphabetical order.

Next: "Where do you find books about, like, family relations, or parents, and stuff?"

There was no youth librarian around (most likely she was helping one of the other half-dozen panicked college girls who were milling about), and the girl didn't really seem up to doing a keyword search on the computers, so I referred her to the book list of various subjects that the youth department has on hand for cases such as this. It was already lying open in the right spot on the desk anyhow, due to aforementioned  surge of college students all on the same scavenger hunt. The list occupied her for quite some time, but then it came to actually retrieving the items ....

"Can you help me find this call number? I don't know what I'm doing!"

Normally a straightforward task, but we hit some snags.

Boots: I've looked through everything, I can't even find the .92 ones.

Me: Did it say it was checked in?

Boots: Yeah.

Me: Okay, let's see. The 591's are over here, so this is the right place. The .92's are these right here. [points at the somewhat hastily-written call number on her paper] Is this an A, that it starts with?

Boots: Uhm, yeah.

Me: Okay. Yeah, I don't see that author here. So you were looking for a book about animals? Ocean animals, sea creatures? [points to the other books in this section]

Boots: I don't know! I dunno, it was just a book without words [same thing last semester's students had to look for]. Would you still have it shelved over here, if it was a book without words?

Me: Well, we don't really sort them that way; if this is the call number, it should be here -- wait. [notices a letter "E" sitting a ways to the left of the call number she's scribbled down] Is this part of the number, is this an E?

Boots: Yeah?

Me: Um ... huh. [it's now too long for the 3-letter author ID, but the E doesn't make sense as a collection marker unless she meant ETR, easy-to-read]. Did it say it was in the easy-books section? [blank stare] Do you remember the title?

Boots: I don't know, I just have this number.

Me: ...Okay, how about we get someone to look this up again for you and see if we can find out where it is.

My mention of the E reminded her of a more pressing question, however:

Boots: So does the E, this E [points at another call number jotted down above the troublesome one] mean they're over there? [points at the picture books section].

Me: Yes.

Boots: So, how do those, like ... work? 'Cuz I'm looking for like, "Sendak," and I can't find anything.

Me: Well, they're roughly sorted in the bins by first letter of the alphabet, so they're not in exact alphabetical order; but the bins are labeled with the letter range you'll find there. So you're looking for -- what again?

Boots: Maurice Sendak, it has to be something by him. So like, it says there are like a bunch of this one checked in, SEN. It's Where the Wild Things Are.

Me: Okay, well let's go over here then ... see the "SE" on these? It should be in one of these four bins, in either the top or the bottom. Now this one right here is a Where the Wild Things Are, but it's the movie storybook.

Boots: That's fine.

Me: Okay, but this one's not the original book, is that going to work? It's a picture book based on the movie "Where the Wild Things Are" that was made later.

Boots: Oh that's okay, it just has to be by Maurice Sendak.

Me: Weeeeellll ....

Boots: [looking inside] Oh, is it not? Oh, okay. Yeah, I don't see it anywhere, it said there were a lot of them.

Me: Was it this version of the book?

Boots: I don't think so.

Me: Okay, well, here's the actual Where the Wild Things Are, down here.

Boots: Oh, great!

When I saw her again she had a pretty good-sized pile of books amassed, but still looked lost.

Boots: I need to find a book with a copyright of 2010 or later. How would I do that?

Me: Any book?

Boots: Yeah.

Me: ...But a picture book?

Boots: Oh, well yeah.

Me: Okay, because those we don't have a New Books shelf for.

Boots: Yeah.

Me: But any picture book?

Boots: Yeah.

Me: Well, when you do a search on the computers you can sort by publication date, so...

Boots: [gives me a sort of blank look, starts going toward the book bins]

Me: Or, okay, you can just grab one that looks new and check the date. Like, here. Rrralph, that one's copyrighted 2011.

Boots: Oh ... okay! [pages through] Uh, but does this look like it's one for ages 5-12?

Me: ...Um, well, that depends; so it has to--

Boots: Sorry, yeah, it has to be for ages 5-12.

Me: Well, like I said, you could just look for the newer-looking ones, or you can go over here and search for something, and the search results can be sorted by date ....

Boots: [grabs one, points at the copyright date] This one says 2010. So will that work?

Me: ... Ah, I don't know, is that what they told you to look--

Boots: I mean, "copyright 2010," is that what that means?

Me: [not quite sure what she's asking here] Yes, "copyright 2010" means ... the copyright ... is from 2010 ....

Boots: Okay, good!

Me: So, did you find that one without words?

Boots: No.

Me: Let's go to the Info desk and see if they can help you with that one; maybe it was checked in recently. They can help you look in some of the other areas of the library where we keep things before they're shelved. So, this is the Information  desk ... oh, and there's the youth librarian too! Okay, so we need to look up a book.

Info: Alright, what's the title?

Me: [turns to Boots] So, did you get the ...?

Boots: No.

Me: Okay, do you still have the call number with you?

Boots: Uhm ... darn, let me go see. [runs off]

At that point my shift was almost over anyhow, so I handed her over to the excellent care of the youth librarian, silently wishing them both some much-needed luck.

In Which I Go To The Avengers And Also The Moon

I don't exactly feel qualified to *review* this movie and do it any justice, as I'm not a Marvel connoisseur (let me just pause here for a moment to exult over the fact that I spelled "connoisseur" correctly the first time for once), but I will say I enjoyed it. Since I've hardly gotten around to seeing any of the individual superheroes' movies, why was I looking forward to this one so much? Good reviews aside, Joss Whedon and Iron Man were not the only reasons ... but I'd be lying if I said those didn't factor in. 

I mean, c'mon, Stark's like a scrawny obnoxious Batman, gets the best theme music, suits up in Cyclones colors ... what's not to love? 

Okay, some of those may be Ames-specific, but two out of three ain't bad.

Also, since about half of the guy's screen time is as a GIANT FACE with some computer-y stuff around it (for most of which time I managed not to think, "BuffyBot?") ...

Tony! How is your money?

...you can't help but notice what pretty eyes Robert Downey Jr. has. I mean, I am seriously a little envious of those eyelashes.

As for Joss Whedon, well, I've already managed to reference his work once and I haven't even gotten to the part where I'm referencing his work, so, there's that. Grr. Argh. Speaking of, when Thor (whose lines were funny for the opposite reason of Stark's -- he's got such a dead serious expression and delivery) is describing the Bilgesnipe (do you not have those?), despite the scales I can't help but picture it as Dru's chaos demon. All slime and antlers, y'know.

Anyhow, it's a fun movie, just watch it. Whether you know what's going on or not it's tons of fun visually -- in action and fine details as well as in more "posed" scenes like the Avengers on the street or the final remnant of the name on the Stark building. My mom watched it, didn't realize that Bruce Banner = The Hulk until like halfway through the movie, and she still loved it. As with any movie with source material, your biggest concern would probably be if you go in knowing *too* much about what's going on. When consistency/accuracy is at odds with mass appeal, guess which one invariably wins out?

Oh, and of course, watch the news monitors near the end for the "superheroes, in New York?" cameo.

And finally, let us have a moment of silence for all of the space-eels who died being awesome.

That's a moraaaaay

Well. In other news, the moon was pretty last night. Wait wait, I'm going somewhere with this.

I'm still figuring out my new camera, so most of the time I'll just set it to Auto and hope for the best. Because of this, at first all of my pictures were like this:

So the following dialogue ensued.

ME: Camera, why you gotta be this way? You were EXPENSIVE for a point-and-shoot, man! You've got like, 25x zoom! Is this really the best you can do?

CAMERA: Maaaaaybe.

ME: Is that so?

CAMERA: I'm not tellling....

ME: You know what, enough of this. MANUAL OVERRIDE!

CAMERA: !!!

ME: [presses random buttons]

CAMERA: Ow, wait, stoppit! Fine, fine, this is how well I can actually see it, okay? Are you happy now?

ME: Dang, Camera, why couldn't you have just started with that?

CAMERA: I dunno, didn't see the point. Now it just looks like a rock instead of a glowy rock. What could you even use this picture for?

ME: I can ... I ... I'll show you Camera, I'm gonna put it on a BLOG!

CAMERA: 'K, whatever, can you put my lens cap on now? It's getting late and my battery's low.

ME: We still have a long way to go, Camera.

I like to think it was secretly trying to teach me how to use the Manual function, though. I mean, I'm still clueless, but it's a nice sentiment.

Which is About Books, Books, and Books.

Carrying on from my last post, but in a much more succinct fashion ...

I finally got my own personal copy of Howl's Moving Castle. With a proper cover with a proper Calcifer. These things are important to me.

I was a little nervous about what "Acceptable" condition would end up being, as I once had a "Very Good" textbook that was full of writing, had torn and bent pages, and was decorated on the front with a smallish "The Onion" sticker.

Fortunately, libraries have rather better standards, and this was a former library book. It's really quite lovely for a used, 1986 children's book.

As it turns out, I'm sort of glad it is an ex-library book, because it's a pretty cool library book. Since I work at a library, I naturally have purchased or acquired a fair amount of withdrawn books, most with the library labels still on. It's kind of cool to have my own little "library" shelf, call numbers and all. What's even cooler than books from my local library, though, is a book from the Onondaga Nation School library, with a card still in it from just a year after I was born.

I hope Kim and Paul enjoyed it as much as I have.

I also see that the Onondaga Nation School Library catalogued it as Young Adult, just like my library did. It came off to me as more of a J book, but I suppose there were parts (decapitation and drunkenness and the like) best suited to the older crowd.

It appears my library finally located the copy of Castle in the Air it was looking for, so I'll finally be able to read it. I got as far as checking out the audiobook, but ... I simply cannot have fiction read to me. Takes me out of it.

Speaking of libraries, I'm working on a Dewey-Decimal related drawing. It's about as interesting as it sounds, but it'll still be fun if I actually get around to finishing it. 

With all of this recent being-a-library-geek that's come over me, I also decided to revive my languishing Squidoo account and make a library lens. Part of it required digging through the Internet for library-themed webcomics -- I found a few I didn't know existed, and will now have to read through in my spare time. This means, of course, that I will write blogs and make sandwiches in my spare time and read the aforementioned webcomics on workdays when I have ten minutes to get ready to leave.

Oh well, I guess everything gets done eventually. Which reminds me, I really need to clean the gecko cage. I've been watching Dexter and admiring my new book and buying obscene amounts of groceries all day. Ta-ta. 

In Which I Ramblingly Confuse Myself About Howl's Moving Castle(s)

Even before I've started typing this, there's no way I can delude myself into thinking this will turn out as something I can honestly call a "review."

So. Spoilers, no doubt, will abound.

Skipping back to the top from the end of this (several miles off, as the crow flies), I'll offer a tl;dr before the jump: I read the book, I watched the movie, I really liked the book better but the movie is too different for an actual comparison. 

Alright. Press on, gentle reader, if you dare.

In Which I Cannot Resist Terrible Puns and May Possibly Be A Nerd

Doc Auk.

...That is all.

In Which There Are Pictures of Bloody Meat Chunks (and sort of a recipe)

So, have you ever been playing a game on your emulator during a cold rainy day off and thinking, "wow, time really flies when I'm on here -- hey, and it's a cold and rainy day off! This is the perfect combination of factors for me to cook that tough cut of lamb in the fridge!"

But then you realize there needs to be a good meaty broth if you're going to make braised lamb, and there's no good way to just rip off a hunk of hind shank and make a proper stock with it. You have a wide variety of beef chunks and whole and partial chickens in the freezer (being, you feel you must clarify, someone who recently purchased a lot of meat during a sale, rather than some sort of chiefly carnivorous werewolf-person), but you'd rather not dilute the (expensive) lamb flavor.

You also realize you don't have any vegetables to go with it (due to having used them up recently, rather than due to being a chiefly carnivorous werewolf-person), so while you're on your way to figure out the broth situation you decide to grab a can of artichokes because laziness.

And when you get to the store they actually have (cleverly hidden beneath a pile of lamb chops) exactly what you need for once, which is the cheapest lamb in the universe or at least in your state, and also coincidentally the perfect thing to make stock/stew with:

So you get to work with your sauteeing and your browning and you're wondering whether you even need to bother making stock separately, and also how the heck all of this is going to fit along with the lamb shank...

...which is after all quite sizable once unwrapped.

 

So you chop off the fat blobs where possible, and you chop of the ribby bits and decide they can be spared for stock while the rest browns:

And you go through the first part of the cooking process half-asleep because it's kind of late now to be cooking what with all the impromptu shopping trips in the rain and all, and because all of the stewed things start out the same way, brown the meat first and then soften the onions in the fat....

 along with any other crunchy things that can't just boil (a bunch of chopped fennel in this case), then add the major spices (just rosemary today) and then add the liquid and use it to dissolve the crispy burny meaty bits and then put the meat back in on top and add any wispy fresh stuff (like the fennel tops) and make sure the liquid's about halfway up or so and cover it with the lid.

And you also forget about the artichokes you went out in the rain to get until you're partway through the next step (which in the case of braised lamb is a little different and wakes you -- instead of just leaving it on the stovetop forever you have to put it in a medium oven for an hour or two, periodically pausing your game to pull the pan out with two oven mitts, half-throwing said pan onto the stovetop in a heat-fearing panic, opening it to stir, and then shoving it back into the hateful dragon's den that is your oven).

Then you return to your beloved stovetop to boil up the remaining stock and make the world's easiest grain-based side dish, couscous. 

And finally you add salt and pepper and forget to take a picture of the final product because you're ravenous and have been gnawing on the pathetic jumble of bones from the stock-pot while waiting for everything else to cook.

Not that you're a chiefly carnivorous werewolf-person or anything, it's just been a long time since lunch.

You've had days like that, right? 

Right?

Okay, well at least tell me whether I lost you at emulator or neck bones.

(also, it's really awesome when you've finished a slightly epic endeavor like this and then realize you have a fresh apricot in the fridge to eat afterward. Reheated, it's also good with a plop of plain/honey-flavored yogurt next to the couscous to cool any hot spots in the stew.)

In which the Midwest is an elemental minefield

Fire, ice, water, electricity, the sun -- pretty much the only thing that is particularly safe and reliable out here is the earth itself, which fortunately lacks the restlessness found in the more coastal chunks of continent.

It's been hot lately, record-breaking sort of hot, which at least rules out ice and water as assailants for the time being. Since our seasons often progress along the lines of Ice, Flood, Drought, and Mixture, or get stuck on one or two of the four for a year or so, this isn't  wildly surprising, just inconvenient. Which is good, since we don't have anything to talk about with strangers if the weather isn't bad.

In general, Drought isn't as tricky a season as Flood, since it usually subsides soon enough with nothing more than the occasional advisory and burn ban to remind us that this a particularly summer-y summer. It doesn't generally go all-out like in the truly dry places where your lawns are rocks and cactus, because at heart the whole cycle is eventually gearing toward its preferred status, Flood. Businesses in low-lying areas build on hills, build walls, or don't build at all. This is particularly true of my previous residence, where we would watch water creep into the parking lot and hope it didn't make it in this year. In 1993, 1996, 2008 and 2010 anyone too close to the ground was mercilessly weeded out of the area by rising waters. Childhood favorites like the pizza place, golf course, movie theater and bowling alley, all just a short walk from my old building, gave up the ghost one by one as they were washed out or simply realized that the water would not stop coming, not for long.

So in short, I'm used to sad spring stories from the lowlands about this, that and the other place literally going under. But I was surprised to see a familiar address, an old neighboring building, in the news now, with no water in sight. The apartments I sloshed past through the rivers of mud and God-knows-what-else in '96 had gone up in flames, none injured but little time to save anything else, a fire at 6AM in a building likely made with water in mind but ill-equipped for fire. I felt a faint twinge of irony at reports that the fire started in a boat....

Anyway, I know it's not Colorado's blaze or Japan's deluge, but it's home. It's hard to get over the fact that I used to live near hear, used to sneak shortcuts between buildings and windbreaks.



Walking around the charred walls I can see what's around the corner in my mind, a parking lot and a hill in the corner, steep but climbable, even without the steps, a place I found a dead frog once. All the chipmunks, far more than I see up north where I live now ... they're still there, cautious but curious and hopeful as ever for handouts. Friends of mine have lived here, some in this very building.

The thoughts of those for whom the memories are not of last decade or last year but of last week, those who have without exaggeration just lost the roof over their heads, I cannot imagine ... but I hope all have at least found a place to stay in the heat.

On a more upbeat note, my people (known as the Geeks) have a song we play for moral support on such occasions; please excuse if it is not to your taste, but we offer it in earnest. The words (while somewhat appropriate upon reflection for one whose land has burned and who suddenly has an unobstructed, if unwelcome, view of the sky) are known, so the music alone will suffice:

In Which I Pretend to Review the Movie "Chance" But Mostly Babble While Listening to Mumford & Sons

{This is the babbly part}

So, I just now got around to watching the movie Chance.

You'd think I'd have done this quite a bit sooner, as it's directed, written and produced by Amber Benson and also includes James Marsters in the cast.

Thing is, aside from a couple minutes of YouTube clip I stumbled on months ago during one of my idle "how many clips of Marsters' giggle fits can we find?" marathons, there's not a whole lot about this movie readily available for those who aren't looking for it already.

It's not at the library, which is where I generally find my more-obscure movies, and even Amazon's over-eager "suggest everything with three words in common" recommendation engine never mentioned it to me. Sure, if you click on "CreateSpace" in the "Directed By" field to see their other works, you get a selection that from the titles appears evenly split between pornography and children's educational programming ... but still. Not relevant to the matter at hand, which is: At the very least, Tara and Spike are in this! I bought all seven seasons from you, Amazon, don't you pay any attention?

Anyhow.

I was doing a mini marathon of Joss Whedon's music in honor of his birthday in June, and I saw in his Soundtrack credits (along with The Lion King II, which I already had on my list) a song from a movie called "Chance."

"Why, wait," thought I, "isn't that the name of the one James Marsters was having a giggle fit in?"

I determined that it was, and that there were exactly two places I could find to purchase it. Being the cheapskate that I am (and having no idea whether I'd really like it), I decided to forgive Amazon's betrayal/failure in this department and purchase the digital version for $9.99 (which was really zero dollars since I still have a gift balance left from returning my textbooks).

The reason I didn't actually watch it for two more weeks was that I managed to scrape up just enough self-control to finish watching series 2 of Being Human and Sherlock (which I did get from the library and had to return soon) before starting in on this.

{I actually start talking about the movie here, with screencaps}

In which other blogs exist, with other Emilys who are also artists, but the fabric of time is safe

What a nifty little button.
Anyhow, this represents my first real ~*interview*~, which makes me feel all fancy even though I specifically asked if I could do it. Being interviewed by an artist named Emily was rather interesting, though somewhat intimidating -- am I a failed clone? Did our meeting initiate an age-old prophecy that all had hoped was a myth? Evil twin? Good twin? Vampire doppelganger? Regular doppelganger? Bad Wolf? Do I need to cut back on the sci-fi/fantasy for a few weeks?

Ah, well. In other news, here's a wild bird obtaining minerals from a cliff face.
Actually, it's a house sparrow eating a brick wall. They kept coming back to this little worn-out spot. I suppose it looks tasty enough? It's a lovely shade of orange, at least.

In which I learn that Zappos.com hires professional stalkers

Okay, I get that Zappos is a "fun" store. They're going for a laid-back, we're-you're-buddies vibe. That's cool. I can handle that. Plus, I like the new shoes I got. They're nice shoes.
But here's the question: Just how far can you encourage folks go with customer service before it becomes customer stalking?
My previous post was very long, so you probably didn't read it all the way through. That's okay. I didn't proofread it all the way through either.
But the title is pretty much all you need to read. I tried to exchange shoes. Much, much, much talking was required in order to accomplish this.
So that's the end of it, I think. I made it. I beat the level. I got my shoes. New scenario.
Then I check my mail a few days later.

Zappos.com, says the envelope. Printed, official. Follow-up, I think, them being Powered By Service and all. Thanks for ordering. Sorry you didn't like that first pair of shoes. Glad you found others. Please buy more now. You have store credit. Remember your store credit? You don't have to buy shoes. We have socks and knives and golf clubs.
Something like that, I figured.
Odd, I thought, that Zappos.com hand-writes the recipient's address. That seems sort of time-consuming. Also, they should have scribbled a little first to get the ink flowing.

Then I open it up. THEN I OPEN IT UP.

Is that marker? Is that three colors of marker?!
But it's the doggy stamp, the smiley sticker, and that little foam flower dealio that really give me pause.

 I cannot picture this workplace. Are there big jars of assorted craft supplies sitting next to each desk for this sort of thing? Then I'm picturing everyone working at something resembling the Youth desk at my library, stampers and stickers and toys and temporary tattoos hidden away in every drawer, next to the first-aid kit and behind the file folders. Or did he go home and raid his kids' stash of supplies?
And really, it wouldn't take a privacy nut, not even a privacy enthusiast, to be a little concerned that they are getting handwritten mail to their homes from the customer-service guy. Specifically. Personally. HE KNOWS WHERE I LIVE.
On second thought, maybe this means he knows where I blog as well.
Brian with a giant B, my apologies if you discover this in your efforts to further provide exceptional customer service, and feel offended and/or homicidal. You were psyched about flesh-eating insects, remember. It's fair for me to think of this as mildly weird.

So what say you, gentle reader? Would you be put off or pleased by this exercise in Extreme Customer Service? If I actually *buy* something on my own initiative from this place, will I get balloons? What should I use that store credit for, anyhow? Do they really sell kitchen knives?

In which I have (and subsequently transcribe) a marathon phone conversation in order to return shoes

You know how sometimes you say "It's a long story" when it's not, but you really just don't feel like telling the story at all?

Sometimes that backfires.

The way it backfired is actually, and somewhat ironically, a rather long story (or at least an incredibly long conversation), which includes my name more times than virtually any conversation I have had in the past, including several I've had that involved at least one other person named Emily.

It seemed straightforward enough ... a bit strange, as situations go, but straightforward.

I inexplicably received some shoes the other day, two pair, one per box, sitting obediently on my doorstep when I returned from work. 

I was quite certain I had not ordered any shoes -- volume 1 of Digger, yes, and season 7 of Buffy that I'd been doing without so long, but nothing remotely resembling shoes. Some asking around finally revealed that they were from an aunt who heard from my mother that I had been looking for shoes and had, as this particular aunt is wont to do, simply ordered up a couple pairs and had them shipped off to me.

The one pair was lovely, the other a bit clomp-y and not quite the proper fit. So, as is fairly often the case and even the expectation with random surprise deliveries such as this from that particular aunt, I decided to go to the website from which the order was made and find an equivalent and more-fitting pair for a swap.

Unlike a simple return, an exchange required calling up Zappos directly. So, a call was placed. A straightforward call. An, "I got these shoes and would like these shoes instead, please, thankyouverymuch bye" sort of call.

The customer-service guy answered with that peppy-puppy sort of tone that, on my less-friendly days, makes me go "uh-oh" and feel a sudden desire run off and hide in an abandoned basement for safety's sake, much like a werewolf on the eve of the full moon who's just been asked to take care of a friend's kitten for the weekend ... or ... um ... I was going somewhere with this.

Here's a fancy bunny to break the upcoming monotony:

Anyhow, you could tell right off it was going to be one of those companies that makes their employees chat up the customers in an effort to seem friendly and welcoming and give us good reviews and tell your friends about us please. Though in this case, store policy only served to enhance the naturally-occurring chattiness.

Me: I'm not sure I pressed the right number, it said "returns" -- I'm calling about a gift exchange?

CS Rep: Uh, um, yeah, I can help you with that, ah, what's your name?

Me: .... Ummmm, Emily; I'm gonna tell you what the situation is here first and then I'll give you whatever the information is you need, okay?

CS Rep: Ah, okay, sure!

Me: [explains situation]

CS Rep: Okay, Emily, so, is this something you want to keep on the down-low from the person who sent it?

Me: ... Um, no, she's fine with me returning stuff.

CS Rep: Okay, just wanted to make sure it's not like, "My mom bought me these and I hate them" or something [knowing, conspiratorial laughter] --

Me: Yeah; no, that's not the case.

CS Rep: Okay! Well Emily, do you have an account with Zappos?

Me: No, no I don't.

CS Rep: Okay, so I'm gonna start by setting up an account for you.

Me: [started searching for the "Register" button shortly after his previous question] Uh, I can start an account on my own if you like.

CS Rep: Ummm ... [recovers] uh, okay, you can if you want, it's up to you!

Me: Okay, 'cuz it looks pretty simple.

CS Rep: Yes! It's very simple!

Me: Yeah alright, I've made a *lot* of accounts, lemme see, name, email, password ... doesn't really matter, I won't probably be using this again [dang, I need to stop narrating aloud to myself].

CS Rep: Aw, you won't be using it again? That makes me sad.

Me: Um ... well I guess you have to use it to order, don't you. I was more thinking I'm not gonna be returning anything again.

CS Rep: Yes, you'll use it to order [goes into pre-made "things you'll use your account for" spiel as I finish actually making account]

Me: 'Kay, I'm all set.

CS Rep: Okay, Emily, so what's the email you just used for that account?

Me: Well ... I'm gonna say it and then spell it, 'cuz it's weird. [says, spells]

CS Rep: Hm, okay!

Me: Long story.

After much more speaking and fairly little progress, including such themes as Which Shoes Do You Want? ("Aw, not the leopard print?") and What Happens to the $12 Difference Between These and the Other Pair? ("I, uh, I've never had someone exchange something where it cost less, let me look that up"), and Other/Cheaper Things I Can Buy Here ("clothing, golf clubs, kitchen knives ..."), we returned to that old favorite, Your Email Address ("So, Emily, I've emailed the shipping label ... now what's the story about your email address?").

Remember what I said about long stories?

Me: Well, um, it's just a species name actually --

CS Rep: Yeah, I figured something like that!

Me: [in my speediest "telling impatient new library patrons where all the computers and service desks are" voice] It's a bug, dermestid beetles; they're flesh-eating bugs, but ... basically, they're hide beetles, so. Yeah, like I said, long story why I chose it though.

CS Rep: See the reason I ask is, I'm really interested in forensic stuff, like CSI stuff and that kind of thing. So what's the long story?

Me: [good luck with the job options, buddy]. Ah. Interesting. Well. [so much for getting rid of him with the flesh-eating-bugs part]. Have you heard of the TV show Bones.

CS Rep: [closest anyone has come to delivering an audible eye-roll] Of course.

Me: [back to "the-info-desk-is-in-the-middle-over-there-they-can-help-you-find-items" rhythm] Ah, okay. Well, I always liked the character Zack; so of course he's got his flesh-eating bugs, and that's the kind they were. And they all had names, and he wouldn't let anyone kill them, because they had names, and I thought that was cute. So. There you go.

CS Rep: Okay, I get that! Cool.

Me: [SO AM I GETTING MY NEW SHOES OR WHAT] So. *HREM*

CS Rep: Okay, so that address wasn't the one they were shipped from, that's going to you, right? [starts reading back address]

Me: Seven. Not two, seven. Right?

CS Rep: Oh, right! Yeah, I must have been reading the ZIP code.

Me: ... [there are no 2's in my ZIP code] Ah. Yes?

CS Rep: And that's -- how do you pronounce that -- AH-mayz? Ah-MEHZ?

Me: ... Ames. It's Ames. [this package is never going to find me, is it?]

CS Rep: Oh, okay!

Me: YEP.

CS Rep: Well, you have a good evening!

Me: You too. BYE!

But on the bright side, I got my shoes the next day, and they fit precisely as they ought -- even the surly werewolf artist-librarian Lizard Lass can find no fault. Plus, the buckles jingle when I walk. Yes, this is definitely a plus.

Okay, I admit, the umbrella isn't mine. I don't really go for the polka-dot motif. But I couldn't resist....

If you read this far without falling asleep or giving up entirely, you deserve a cookie! So go bake yourself some. I'll take care of the leftovers if you have any. :)

In which my unhealthy squirrel obsession pays off

...well, a little at least.

As does my propensity for eavesdropping on tech-related questions that do not currently apply to me, with the generally-accurate assumption that at some point I will manage to break something in a similar way and have no idea how to fix it on my own.

So, backstory: On Tuesdays I have to loiter a while on campus near the lake. The lake is home to two swans, some ducks, many geese, and various squirrels, raccoons (which is apparently a typographical error, since there is no such thing as more than one raccoon? Ah, spellcheck), chipmunks, and such small deer.

Large and small alike, they are all fed on bread by idle hikers and eager children, and so have become quite (at times unnervingly) tame. I walked up on this group yesterday and only three of them even noticed me -- the female mallard second from the right isn't turning her head to look at me, she is tucking her head under her wing and falling asleep.

Anyhow, all I have to do is sit down and it's as if I'm not there at all. So the squirrels promptly started being adorable because they obviously knew I couldn't find my camera. One was drinking from the lake, one was playing with bark chips. Finally I managed to get my camera out, on, and focused in time to take a brief video of Adorable Teenage Squirrel #3 fighting with a scary stick. It was one of the cutest things I've personally witnessed and recorded a squirrel doing, and I was eager to get back home and share it. I still had time to kill before that, though, so I went through and started deleting subpar images from my camera in case something else interesting happened that required even more video space.

One of them was so blurry, I didn't know why I hadn't deleted it immediately. I clicked the trash can icon, and the "Yes" button, and then ... I clicked back a couple pictures to where my video should have been, and it was GONE.

Noooooooo.

My camera is not very good at making it clear which preview images are images and which are video stills, and I apparently misjudged which images came before and after the video I wanted, because I had deleted it. Just like that. IT WAS BLURRY BECAUSE IT WAS A SQUIRREL MID-CUTE-ATTACK. After fretting about this (and the lack of an "undo" button) for a good thirty seconds I realized that (unlike similar disasters I'd had in the past with less-sophisticated media-recording devices) the image had been stored on a memory card, and the thing about memory cards was that deleted things weren't necessarily Gone Forever. 

I rushed home (being ridiculously careful to remind myself not to take anymore pictures with the camera in the interim, just in case), jumped to the first forum post I could find asking about recovering deleted images, and LO AND BEHOLD, there were options. 

I hooked up the Lumix, downloaded PhotoRec, and with a few keystrokes I had recovered my beloved squirrel (along with ten or fifteen less-beloved squirrels that had been deleted in the same run).

As the sort of person who's had more than one "NOOOO, I TAPED OVER MY FAVORITE SONG/TV SHOW/RANDOM SOUND CLIP AND NOW IT'S GONE FOREVER AND THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS FINDING IT ON THE INTERNET" moment, I have to say I don't entirely mind the "nothing you delete is ever really gone" element of today's technology.

My brain needs an upgrade ....

You know those ads where Siri is like your helpful little slave, captive brain-in-a-box with no feelings or feeding to worry about, just a helpful imaginary friend, a handy auxiliary brain to behave as your own surely would were it connected to the entire Internet?

Those are kind of creepy, aren't they?

Anyhow, the point of this post.

Asking direct questions is a great way to get answers, but if you're asking a medium meant to imitate your brain, then the answers can get dicey pretty fast.

After yet another bout of fussing and fuming at search engines, Pandora (I keep "breaking up" with it and then feeling bad and giving it another chance ...), and the Internet in general, I realized that my own personal brain doesn't really do that much better 90% of the time. It's just learned to run through all the wrong answers more quickly, so I wind up with the right answer sooner.

Most days.

Some days it is just about exactly as quick on the uptake as Pandora or Google.

Now, I've complained about word-association in the past, but downtime and idle conversations are one thing (two things, pah, you know what I mean). What about when I'm actually requesting helpful information from my patented brain algorithm? 

An ideal situation would be,

Me: What is the name of that color?
Brain: What color?
Me: The nice one that sounds like super-blue but is actually beyond-the-sea.
Brain: Based on your search query, "ultramarine" is the closest match.
Me: That's it! Thank you, brain!
Brain: You're welcome.

A more realistic situation would be,

Me: What is the name of that color?
Brain: Red lorry, yellow lorry, red lorry, yellow lorry ...
Me: PAY ATTENTION. What color is it?
Brain: What color?
Me: The nice one that sounds like super-blue but is actually beyond-the-sea.
Brain: ♫ Somewhere ... beyond the sea ... ♫
Me: ...
Brain: Was that the song you were looking for? It appears that 80% of the above lyrics match your search query. Do you want to buy Finding Nemo on DVD with your Amazon gift card? Your VHS copy is looking a little worn.
Me: I WANTED A COLOR. Super-blue, but not.
Brain: UBERWEISS. It's new, it's German, it's super-tough. Don't you wonder how that laundromat scene would look set to the Freeze-Ray song from Dr. Horrible? You have Tuesday off, you could probably make--
Me: NO, GAWD, I'LL JUST LOOK IT UP. Um ... okay, it would be under ...
Brain: U.
Me: U?
Brain: For "ultramarine."
Me: Ah, right -- HEY. D:
Brain: :D
Me: THIS ISN'T FUNNY.
Brain: Did you mean: ♫I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cryyy with the saints--♫
Me: STOPPIT I DON'T WANT THAT IN MY HEAD WHILE I'M AT WORK.
Brain: No, the song you didn't want in your head at work is by Cee-Lo Green. The title is F--
Me: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.
Brain: ...:(
Me: Sorry brain, but ... you know how you get sometimes.
Brain: Yes, I am also sor-- wait, have we been letting Pandora run unattended this whole time?
Me: IT'S PLAYING THE IRISH FOLK MUSIC AGAIN.

Brain: AND THE PREVIOUS TRACK WAS FROM GLEE.

Me: WHY DOES IT EVEN HAVE THAT SONG?
Brain: WHO CARES?? THUMBS-DOWN, THUMBS-DOWN!!!
Me: I KNOW I KNOW, MY MOUSE WON'T MOVE THAT FAST.
Brain: I'M SO SORRY.
Me: I got it, I got it! It's okay, Brain. It's over now. It'll be okay.
Brain: :) Not to dig up the past, but why did you need to know what ultramarine was called?
Me: Um ... I don't remember. Isn't that your job?
Brain: I don't know, let me look that up--
Me: NO. Don't. Please. I'll ... I'll just use it in a blog post, I haven't blogged in a while.
Brain: Very well. Did you ever know he was singing "Kyrie, eleison" in that song?

Me: I didn't know it even had words, I just thought he was making 80's noises.

Brain: So did I. Thumbs-up?

Me: Let's not get carried away. But ... I guess you and Pandora aren't so bad after all.
Brain: :D

This is a baby bunny my brain thought you might find relevant.

Blaidd drwg?

Either the universe is ending, or someone downtown is having a bit too much fun with chalk.

On the way back from the British food store's St. Paddy's bash, I noticed something on an alley wall. At first it just looked like faded scribbling, but at the right angle....

In case you didn't get that, let's tweak the light a little:

What say you, handwriting experts -- same culprit from the sidewalk a couple weeks back?  

Looks like somebody needs a Doctor.

Been a while ...

So little has happened while I've been away!

Well, not in the world around us, but here in lizard-lass-land.

I finally sort of finished the digital painting I've been alternately working on and avoiding for months now:

I just wanted to draw a little monitor lizard standing on his hind legs and maybe painted a little or wearing some decorations. Then I realized I needed a background, and shading, and ... well, basically I ran away screaming. I keep telling myself that this is the most I'll bother doing, that it's as good as it needs to be and nobody really cares either way, but then I keep seeing something *wrong* with it. I'm currently ignoring the fact that the left leg of the dot-painted human on the boomerang has somehow gotten smudged out of existence.

Also discovered that frog legs, despite what everyone says about everything, do not taste at all like chicken. If you deep-fry them and leave them in the fridge for a day, they do start to dry out and get a texture sort of like chicken breast ... but I don't think that's what they were getting at. Basically, it's like a firm white freshwater fish -- trout was the one that came to mind for me. It's not strongly flavored (definitely not bird-flavored), and if there's any flavor it's fish. The meat breaks apart/flakes a bit like fish too. Really, the main problem is that when you cook up a whole set of frog's legs without breaking them apart, they look like a frog's butt.

The gecko still lives, the library still stands, and the days grow warmer. We'll see if I can keep up a little better with you fine folks (yes, I pretend my readership is existent AND plural) in the future.

Livin' on the edge of the law...

Here's to hoping they can't one day arrest me for those pictures of my Thomas the Tank Engine night light I posted earlier, or for quoting Gilmore Girls.