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I'm beginning to wonder about all the interestingly-dead mice in my general radius lately. Is this a possible outbreak of the Bubonic Plague or - more worryingly - cause for the attentions of the Demon Rat of Vercingetorix? New Ursula Vernon pic up at DeviantArt. I like the bit about the gods of flatworms taking community college classes.
Tuesday, 31 May 2005
bugger Darwin
Tuesday, 31 May 2005 10:43 pmHappy afternoon spent watching Stace cooing at her baby. Babies are, against all expectation and preference, cute. However much I want to be grumpy and old maidish at them, the bloody survival conditioning kicks in and I coo away right alongside the doting mother. Darned evolutionary wossname species survival mumblemumble. I have, so far, managed to retain complete sentences and avoid baby-noises, so this poor kid is likely to grow up with one hell of a vocabulary.
Revelations of the sartorial kind. There is a fairly good reason, other than vague retro-Edwardian cool (and my one-woman drive to re-eroticise the ankle), that I usually wear long skirts rather than trousers. It's because I find trousers, especially jeans, constricting and unpleasant. I think today is perhaps the first day ever, in my entire life, that I'm wearing a pair of jeans that I'm actually comfortable in. This is because they're stretch. Vi, bless the woman, recommended them, effecively neutralising my loathing for synthetic fabrics enough that I actually tried on a pair. They fit. I can move. I shall add them to my personal religion, forthwith.
(Speaking of which, what's with Saturdays? I haven't managed to post on a Saturday all month, and only on one last month. (I do like the dinky little calendars). It would be a logical free day on which to produce reams of burble, but no. Evidently the fundamental cussedness of the universe is kicking in.)
There are enormous and wonderful high winds outside, and squalls of rain, and the cats are glued to the heaters even more tightly than usual, when they're not chasing each other madly through the house. Watch this space to see whether we survive the night without losing the plane tree, the roof, any improperly anchored felines, or the whole house, which may well strip its guy ropes and head out to sea at any moment. *constructs Jolly Roger in preparation*. I love Cape Town. The whole mountain has been missing all day - you know, the bit where the gnomes take it down for cleaning and erect clouds for dust sheets to hide its absence, so the entire city's population doesn't wander, lost and devastated, like a disrupted ant colony, until they put it back. And they don't just clean it - they sharpen the edges, I suspect on one of those old-fashioned leather razor strop thingies. It's the only explanation for why it's so sharp against the sky on the morning after a storm.
Revelations of the sartorial kind. There is a fairly good reason, other than vague retro-Edwardian cool (and my one-woman drive to re-eroticise the ankle), that I usually wear long skirts rather than trousers. It's because I find trousers, especially jeans, constricting and unpleasant. I think today is perhaps the first day ever, in my entire life, that I'm wearing a pair of jeans that I'm actually comfortable in. This is because they're stretch. Vi, bless the woman, recommended them, effecively neutralising my loathing for synthetic fabrics enough that I actually tried on a pair. They fit. I can move. I shall add them to my personal religion, forthwith.
(Speaking of which, what's with Saturdays? I haven't managed to post on a Saturday all month, and only on one last month. (I do like the dinky little calendars). It would be a logical free day on which to produce reams of burble, but no. Evidently the fundamental cussedness of the universe is kicking in.)
There are enormous and wonderful high winds outside, and squalls of rain, and the cats are glued to the heaters even more tightly than usual, when they're not chasing each other madly through the house. Watch this space to see whether we survive the night without losing the plane tree, the roof, any improperly anchored felines, or the whole house, which may well strip its guy ropes and head out to sea at any moment. *constructs Jolly Roger in preparation*. I love Cape Town. The whole mountain has been missing all day - you know, the bit where the gnomes take it down for cleaning and erect clouds for dust sheets to hide its absence, so the entire city's population doesn't wander, lost and devastated, like a disrupted ant colony, until they put it back. And they don't just clean it - they sharpen the edges, I suspect on one of those old-fashioned leather razor strop thingies. It's the only explanation for why it's so sharp against the sky on the morning after a storm.
