Damn it, Colin Firth, would you quit being so dashing?

I’m building a costume for Evido, one of the characters in the play we’re putting up next month. He’s an old-school vampire – the rest of the family wears jeans and T-shirts, but Evido is still all caped up. I’m using a cape design that a friend of mine created and adding waistcoat, cravat, and so on. It's going to be pretty awesome, I hope. I'm trying to figure out a way to incorporate some blue in the cravat to bring out the actor's eyes. I’ll put up some pictures when it’s finished!

It turns out that the period that best matches my sketches is Regency – high collars, fall-front trousers, fancy cravats – so I’ve been doing some Google Image searches. No matter what I type in (especially when I was searching for Victorian cravats), there will be at least one picture returned of Colin Firth looking dreamy. Each time, some part of me that craves romance and love and all that gooey stuff reawakens, and I want some clever, handsome man to ride in on a horse and sweep me off my feet (but not before some verbal sparring in which we make much of our mutual wit and intelligence). Rrrrrgh. Some dreamboat will be my downfall.

Finding My Past

Unpacking was eventful this weekend.

Side note: yes, now that I am no longer teaching a six-class semester (which I will never do again if possible), I do have time to unpack. If only I could have done this five months ago, which is about when I moved in.

Anyway. I've been finding all sorts of stuff, from my box of books I've had since I was a kid (included: Twig, The Stranger, The Omega Man, and an A. E. Van Vogt collection - this may explain a lot) to clothes that will never fit me again to three separate sets of dishes. More on all of this another time, but the cool thing was what I got out just now.

I had this thing that was made of metal. It folded up in a complicated way, and part of it was rusty. I never figured out just what it was, but I knew that it was something. Something important. Therefore, I threw it in a box when I packed up - what, eight years ago? Something like that - and did not think of it in the interim.

Three minutes ago, I picked it up, fooled around for five seconds, and realized it was a fold-out hatchet! Neatest of neat! This is more dangerous for me to have around than scissors, though, as I've already had to restrain my impulse to chop away at my kitchen table just to see how well this thing has held up. It's pretty. Pics later, if you're lucky! Or unlucky, depending on what you expect from a blog!

Till next time, when we find out WHAT WAS UNDER ALL THAT TAPE. Dun dun duunnnnn.

To all my fellow teachers

Have you ever had a student revise a paper (ostensibly for a better grade) and then, when the revision is turned in, if you were to grade it fresh, it would get a worse grade than the original? I've had two of those this week. Bleah.

Kaboing kaboing kaboing

The groundhog that hangs out in the vacant lot across from the Café des Bonnes Beans has groundhog babies! I know that groundhogs are usually considered pests, but these are really cute. They were mostly sticking close to the mother but occasionally chasing birds. Well, probably what happened was that the noise of passing traffic made the baby run away into longer grass, and that was what startled the birds, but I like thinking of it the other way.

The vacant land they run around on is a very well-kept lawn with a big stump in it. The stump was once a huge tree, one that we used in Much Ado About Nothing to stage the Hero/Margaret switcheroo (not the veiled wedding, but the “Dude, she’s cheating on you!” scene). The characters (Claudio and Don John, I think) were inside the Anteroom – we used the street door as an exit – and Margaret and Borachio were having a picnic under the big tree in the middle of the lawn all the way across the street with traffic going by. Claudio watched through the giant windows in horror; when he started to storm out the door to confront the couple, Don John grabbed him, pulled him back in, and talked evil sense into him (“Dude, wait till your wedding, then call her a slut and dump her at the altar!”). It was staged pretty effectively, I think!

One of the baby groundhogs is still hiding in the long grass, but one is coming back out. Ooo, now the baby groundhog is trying to find its mother, but when it stands up on its hind legs, it’s only just above the height of the grass. Cute! Now it finds her; now it’s crawling on top of her. She’s unperturbed. She’s still eating whatever she found in the grass.

The giant tree that is now a stump used to stand next to a large and lovely house that I coveted dearly. It had a cool window halfway up the side, probably in a stairwell, and I thought it was awesome. Someone once told me it was a Queen Anne design, but I know nothing of architecture. It burned down many, many years ago, unfortunately. In fact, the house may have been gone by the time Margaret unwittingly screwed up Hero’s love life.

Next to this lot stands Rouge Moving. It’s been for sale since I came back to Flint. I stare at that house almost daily, wanting to look inside it, wanting to buy it. It would be great for me, since all I really want is a home base, and it would be great for FCT, since we could convert the garage into a black box. I thought for a while that I could get a mortgage for above the amount of the house, fold my student loans and other debt into it, and be pretty well set for a while. Then I had an evil boss, realized that adjuncts in Michigan barely make a living wage, and began to question any idea that I’d ever have a house of my own. Now, when I look at it, I feel not desire but some sort of nostalgia.

What shall I covet next? I think that maybe, if I go into it with the understanding that I won’t get it, I won’t feel as bad at the end.

Blurgle.

What the hell, Blogger. I had a nice, long post composed in MS Word, and you won't let me copy/paste it. In fact, you won't let me paste anything. Rrrrrgh. Well, world, I'll try again tomorrow. Hope you can handle the wait.

Deliberation.

I'm trying to decide.

I'm hungry, so first comes lunch. Grading happens later today. That is decided. However, I have to figure out what to do with a book. I can either go over to Borders and buy it for, like, fourteen dollars, or I can order it online (used) and have it sent to my house for nine dollars. That's a substantial savings! Indeed, that five dollars would pay for my lunch today! However, I want the book now.

Budgets be damned. I got paid for some volunteer work this weekend, so I'm buying me a book.

Yay!

Exchange re: Tarantulas

Email exchange between my sister and me:

Me:

Tag from an article in my science magazine, unaltered:

A new medical case report reaffirms why even largely non-venomous tarantulas can make questionable pets. Some respond to stress by expelling a cloud of barbed hairs that can lodge in especially vulnerable tissues. Like your eyeball.

AAAAAAAAAGH!

[Ed. note: "AAAAAAAAAGH!" mine.]


My sister:

AAAAAAAAAGH!

Yikes! What makes 'em think they can do us like that?

In a more serious vein (the aorta), what kind of evolutionary advantage is that? On the way to Predator X's mouth, tarantula expels stinging hair cloud. Frenzied, Predator X eats spider anyway. Later, in the grips of fiery diarrhea from EATING A SPIDER, Predator X fails to notice that his eyes hurt. Tarantula genes removed from pool. Evolution stops.

Later: Darwin debunked; origin of life controversy over. Creationists win, rejoice; Darwinians lynched. Creationists then sucked into sky after "second coming." Non-believers inherit the earth. Earth expires and turns into moldy goo in 2 weeks. Life begins anew.

I love my sister so much.