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Name: Aynjel
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April 2009 |
 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 |
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It is always we who are to entertain the angels, and never they us. -- Samuel Butler
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
Not angels, but ghosts; curling like pink tea cups on any pillow, or kicking, showing their innocent bottoms, wailing for Lucifer. -- Anne Sexton, "Ghosts"
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
The angels are stooping Above your bed; They weary of trooping With the whimpering dead. -- Yeats, "A Cradle Song"
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy "Man", And its hero the Conqueror Worm. -- Edgar Allen Poe, from "Ligeia"
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel. -- Alexander Pope, from "An Essay on Man"
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
If men were angels, no government would be necessary. -- James Madison
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
There are so many intellectual and moral angels battling for rationalism, good citizenship, and pure spirituality; so many and such eminent ones, so very vocal and authoritative! The poor devil in man needs all the support and advocacy he can get. The artist is his natural champion. When an artist deserts to the side of the angels, it is the most odious of treasons. -- Aldus Huxley
_.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._.oOo._
[Children] still believe in God, the family, angels, devils, witches, goblins, logic, clarity, punctuation, and other such obsolete stuff.... When a book is boring, they yawn openly. They don’t expect their writer to redeem humanity, but leave to adults such childish illusions. -- Isaac Bashevis Singer |
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None of the following items are punctuation: LOL, lol, lolz, rolflercopter, lolercopter, lollipop, or any acronym or variant of these that indicates laughter. You may use a period (.), a comma (,), an exclamation point (!), a question mark (?), heaven forbid, an ellipsis (...), or any other Chicago Manual of Style recognized punctuation in order to, well, punctuate your statements. Can you imagine what an idiot you would look like if someone gave you a useful tip and you said, "That will come in handy," and then laughed out loud when the situation was not even remotely amusing? Current Mood: cranky and most assuredly *not* LOL
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Imagine if you will, a day kind of like this... Aynjel sits at her desk, staring blankly at her computer. There are words there, and pretty pictures, and colors, but, really, what do they mean? She glances at the phone, picks up the receiver, finds her manager's extension in the directory, and dials.
Aynjel: I can't come in to work today. I have the stupids. Manager: You're... calling me from your desk. Aynjel: See what I mean? I think I'd really like to have that conversation today... Current Mood: exanimate
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Fridays, in the cafeteria here at work, are Aloha Fridays. They make malted waffles. While you wait. And they have toppings that you can pick and choose to put on them. I've spent the better part of this past year resisting the lure of the waffle-crack. I've watched people jockey for positions, trying to be the First One in the waffle line on Friday mornings (while I go around the frothing mob, jonesing for their waffle fix, to get my breafkast sammich, and then sneak between their quivering forms to get a muffin). Today, because I got in a bit late, got up to the cafeteria a bit late, there was no line. I glanced around, saw no one was watching me, and took the plunge. I ordered a waffle. And while it was being cooked, stared at all of the potential toppings I could put on it. Fresh mango. Blueberries. Cinnamon whipped cream, canned-spray-whipped-cream, honey butter, caramel sauce, chocolate sauce, real maple syrup, little packages of Knotts' maple syrup (with Childhood Nostalgia Value(tm) for me, as a kid who went to Knotts Berry Farm a lot as a child), chopped pecans. I looked and looked and looked and planned and then, my waffle was cooked, and put in a to-go container for me and I dove into the toppings. I started with honey butter on the whole thing. And then... One quarter got chocolate sauce and cinnamon whipped cream. Another quarter got caramel sauce and pecans. A third quarter got blueberries and real maple syrup. The last quarter ended up with a little bit of everything. Ohmyghod. I need a waffle next Friday. This is how it all starts. One waffle, and then you just keep wanting more. First, it's once a week. Then, you're jonesing for it mid-week and on weekends after a late night partying. Then, you pretty much want it every day. Sometimes two or three times a day. And you're always thinking about it. Why oh why oh why did I give in and have a waffle? Current Mood: quixotic
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So... there was snow on the ground yesterday. And on my car. After it hailed like the world was going to end at some point in the middle of the night, it snowed. I think the two mingled together to make snowpellets. When I went outside the first time, the ground was crunchy with them. They were just a dusting in some places, but were thick enough to get stuck around the edge of my Dr. Martens in others. They'd been packed into slippery slush on the roads. I went back inside. It's not that I can't drive in the snow. After six years in Colorado, I feel that I am a capable enough snow driver. After four years in Portland (when I was an incapable snow driver) and two-or-so years here in Seattle, I know that many many many people who see snow once a year, or perhaps once every three years, are not capable snow drivers. I think one part of being a capable snow driver is knowing when there are more idiots on the road than is safe. When I went outside the second time, many of the snowpellets had melted off of the ground. They'd been driven to water with an occaisional slush-ice patch on the road. There were fewer idiots. My car, however, was still blanketed by snow pellets. They reminded me of that thing I don't remember. That thing that my family and family friends reminde me of when I go back to St. Louis. "Do you remember when you decided to play snow?" they say, often as they pull out photo albums with the evidence that this thing did in fact happen. I don't remember it. I remember being told about it. I remember seeing photos of it. I imagine what sort of thought I must have had, at the age of perhaps 3. I must have had snow experience at that point. And the little foam balls inside of the footstool were probably very very much like the snow pellets that covered my car yesterday. I leaned inside, started my car, got the ice scraper/brush, and removed the evidence. Current Mood: undercaffeinated
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Or, "Come to the dark side. We have cookies!" There is evil upstairs in the cafeteria. I wish there wasn't because I'm awful about resisting temptation and evil is so very very tempting. What sort of evil? This isn't the same kind of evil as the flavorless chicken pesto pasta, or the "ham is not bacon, you bastards!" breakfast sandwiches. This is a totally different kind of evil. A better kind of evil. A worse kind of evil. It is the McTavish Shortbread Caramel Bar. It is three ounces of evil. A perfect shortbread cookie with a bit of ever-so-modest caramel on top of it that's hidden from prying eyes by a coating of dark chocolate. Yes, yes, the website goes on from there to talk about the packaging, but, really, the gold label is just there to catch the eyes of those who might be immune to the sight of shortbread or dark chocolate or, <weakly>both at the same time</weakly> through the clear wrapper. The McTavish Shortbread website calls it A decadent treat!Don't be fooled; that's just another way to say "evil". Current Mood: devious
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aynjel: I have Leonard Cohen stuck in my head. e: which song? e: or just the man, leonard cohen. aynjel: "First we take Manhattan" e: or poem e: good one. aynjel: If he was stuck in there, I'd be in trouble. aynjel: I've got a big head, sure. aynjel: But I don't think it's big enough for him to fit. e: yes. e: he'd be all "I'm 100 floors above you, in the head of aynjel" Current Mood: quixotic Current Music: "First we take Manhattan" -- Leonard Cohen (earworm courtesy of Harald387, you bastard)
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So it's been raining a lot in Seattle lately. Like, a lot a lot. Yes, more than it usually does. Much more than that. And our whiteboard entertainment has reflected the quantity of water coming from the sky (sush, I know I can see the moon right now, but that doesn't mean it's done with the raining; there are still grey clouds in the sky). One list was the Top Ten List of Things To Do In the Rain. It included such things as galumphing, singing a song by The Who, washing one's car, and reading A Clockwork Orange. The other list, on the board right beside it, was the Top Ten List of "Rain" Songs. It included such things as Red Rain, Blame It On The Rain, Singin' In The Rain, and The Rubber Duckie Song. Someone put a double-ended arrow from one item on List A, to one item on List B with a note that those two things were inexorably connected. Initially, when I looked at it, I mis-saw the connection as being from "Read A Clockwork Orange" to "The Rubber Duckie Song". The other end of the arrow actually pointed to the song above The Rubber Duckie Song. Current Mood: quixotic
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aynjel: ... muffins should not be chewy on the outside. coworker: ew aynjel: It's like... this muffin has a protective layer. aynjel: Keeping its moist and tastey insides from falling out. aynjel: >.> aynjel: Something to discourage muffin predators. aynjel: I dunno. coworker: a protective layer is fine, as long as it's a bit crispy coworker: i like a crispy top on my muffin. aynjel: I like a crispy muffin top, yes. coworker: But... the bottom? aynjel: Sheesh. Who needs to protect the *bottom* of a muffin? coworker: but really, i don't like muffins, I just like cookies, and the crispy top is the part of a muffin most like a cookie. aynjel: Heehee. ... And now I am reminded of eating brownies from the Gateway cafeteria with heyoka what seems like forever ago. ... Ob Obscure Clarification: No, not those kinds of muffins. Of course they need protection (or at least Nutella). Current Mood: quixotic
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Pretty much the only time I get anything in my physical inbox at work is when they pass out company-wide information packets. For example, I have a Mr. Yuck! sticker and magnet that accompanied the Poison Control information they sent out, and an "in Action" sticker that accompanied the community volunteer information that went out. I think the only other thing I got in my physical inbox was my HR-related stuff. (My Outlook inbox is another story entirely.) So this morning, I'm walking by my mailbox, not because I expect to see anything in there, but because it's on the way to the soda fridge and I need caffeine (it's 6:10am, for cats' sake, I need caffeine). And as I make my way over there, I notice that every inbox has a little faux-velvet pouch in it. Each one is red or black, and they alternate mailboxes. Uncaffeinated as I was, I wonder, "Is it Christmas already?" I pluck the (black) pouch out of my inbox and peer at the tag. It says, "Freemont Bridge Construction Survival Kit", compliments of Facilities and SDOT. I carry it (and my caffeine) back to my desk and sit down. What, I wonder, Could possibly be in a "Freemont Bridge Construction Survival Kit"? A teleporter, perhaps? A very small teleporter, but, really, that is the sort of thing that will help me survive construction. I went through T-REX in Denver and a teleporter certainly would've made it better. But, no, perhaps it's something more realistic and less expensive. Perhaps it is a small book. A very very small book. Ghods know construction can give one plenty of time to read.It's like Christmas, but not. I open the pouch, having exhausted my creativity for the morning (and perhaps the remainder of the week) to find... construction earplugs, and a foam stress construction helmet. I only hope I don't need either of them... because if I do? I'm not certain survival is guaranteed. Current Mood: under-caffeinated
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