A gallery of Random Pics in which I learn to use my old Cannon Elph APS camera to take non-flash long exposures. Circa last winter.
All posts by Mush
Blog History
I haven’t always been smart enough to use a CMS. Well, I used to use Blogger, but before that I updated my blog manually. If you wanna see the archives, just click-click-click!
Continue reading Blog History
Dorky jeans
This morning I slept in again. When I woke I ran a brush through my hair, grabbed my Iowa Chicks Knitting t-shirt and a pair of old jeans and put them on, and rushed out the door.
Well, not before tossing a piece of lasagna into a tupperware and grabbing a fork. I made a pan of lasagna for dinner last night and there’s not much better for a morning commute snack than pasta.
I’m babbling. The point is, I hurried. Too much to look at my ass in a mirror before leaving.
Walking into the data center (I’m at work today because Buzz is on vay-cay) I saw my reflection in the glass door and thought, ‘Huh. So that’s why people in their late 30’s look like dorks. They’re old enough to own clothes that are ten years old and still fit.’
I’m wearing Levi’s low-slung relaxed fit wide leg jeans, and I’m lucky I live in Iowa where no one will (a) see me or (b) care how much a big dork I am.
I want a pair of old-style 501’s that fit. Is there such a thing? Looking at my jeans this morning I noticed that while they’re all Levi’s, they’re all completely different styles.
I hate jeans. Especially women’s jeans. This is why I wear skirts, like, all the time.
The War
New York Daily News – City News – Losing war on drugs.
“The message to parents is clear. Parents cannot outsource their responsibility to schools or to law enforcement,” said Califano, a former U.S. secretary of Health, Education and Welfare.
Wow, they’re starting to notice!
Amazon.com's Sex Store
Amazon.com sneakily opened a new store called Health & Personal Care: Sex & Sensuality. They have pictures of crazy purple vibrators there.
Far Into The Night
If you’ve been dying to hear me sing, here’s your chance.
Download Far Into The Night, a song recorded about ten years ago live at The Creamery in Keosauqua with the band Stormy Heaven, and engineered by Emo.
Please note that I was drunk during this recording, and my monitor sucked. No, that’s not an excuse, I’m just sayin’.
This file should play in iTunes or Winamp or what-have-you. If you have problems opening it after download, change the file’s extension from “m4a” to “mp4.”
And if you tell me I sound like Janice Joplin, I will bitch-slap you.
Cocktails for everyone!
Last night after work, I went out for a cocktail with my boyfriend Joe. We went to The Red Rock. We sat at the bar. I drank my usual. We chatted. I rubbed Joe’s head because he shaved it recently and it’s at that fuzzy stage that I like to pet.
Bo joined us. Joe called Corby. Corby arrived. We moved to a table. (The dumb asses at the Dead Cock removed the booths, so now it’s even boomier and more aurally uncomfortable in there than it ever was before.)
We chatted, drank, and smoked. We were all amusing as hell, as usual.
Dwight was drunk and disorderly, and spent a goodly amount of time banging his hands as hard and as loud as he could on the bar, more or less in time to the horrid rock that was blaring out of the Bose speakers hanging from the walls.
When I went to the ladies’ restroom, this was Sharpied on the door:
I know it’s foolish of me to hope that graffiti will be spelled correctly, but damn. What kind of mongoloid can buy a Sharpie, get herself to the bar, and operate a bathroom door, but can’t spell sticky?
Project Honeypot
Today I installed Project Honeypot code on this site and over at Iowa Chicks Knitting. Take that, you spamming bastards.
Calculating God
I recently finished reading Calculating God by Robert Sawyer, and I have to say I didn’t much like it.
I bought it because I was stoked at the idea of reading a “sci-fi” piece that was, at the very least, religion-friendly. I got instead a one-dimensional book (the entire story f0cused on one set of characters, the one “sub-plot,” if I’m not grossly misusing the word in this case, was told in fewer than five pages) in which the author thoroughly lamed out in the end with a finite, locatable intelligence turning out to be God!
While I enjoyed the author’s attempt to use science to explain the impossibility of our existence, I really felt like he lamed out at the end with that God-as-big-black-obelisk thing.
I've got dhal makhani on my boob
For some reason they’ve got a big trench dug down the center of Burlington, and traffic’s funneled into one lane each direction, and there are about five million orange cones set out, and ‘USE THIS LANE’ signs with arrows and flashing lights, and there is literally tons of heavy equipment all painted orange, and it’s loud and smelly but populated by deeply tanned, shirtless road crew guys who’ll smile if you wave at them.
I decided to have take-out India Cafe buffet for lunch today, and ended up walking about eight blocks to get there and back, even though it’s only three blocks away. (No way was I going to attempt hopping over the trench in an ankle-length skirt and heeled sandals in front of backed-up semi traffic, thank you very much. My clutz gene is too expressed to take that kind of risk. Especially on the way back with the food.)
I got my lunch, paid the cute guy with the endless eyelashes and sparkling black eyes, and sauntered my circuitious route back to the office, where I sat at my desk reading blogs and eating. Of course I got some dhal on my shirt. I don’t think I’ve eaten a single thing without getting any on my clothes in the past five years. I don’t know why this is, other than God hates me and wants me to suffer. Continue reading I've got dhal makhani on my boob