serinde: (feminine complaint)
serinde: (Delirium)
I rushed home from work early (dissing the COO) to take Ranger to the vet; he had been peeing outside the box a few times in the last few weeks, and I wanted to know if it was physically triggered or just I'm Old, Damn Ya, Get Off My Lawn.

Background: All of the events, except one, have been while I'm home. He paces around yelling at me (as is usual if I am not in one of the Duly Appointed Places), and then his yowl takes on a slightly different note, and then I see he's blessing some random part of the apartment with his wee. (Once I figured out what was going on and carried him to the box before it started, and he was all "OH HEY BOX" and happily peed there instead.) He is using the box the rest of the time just fine. The box has been kept clean. He is eating and drinking and eliminating in usual quantities. So, I had been assuming this was some kind of new power play for attention; but then he did it Tuesday before I got home from work, and on the spot where he had been sleeping by preference, so I thought that this ought be looked at.

They check his weight and temperature and all; fine. They ask me questions which I have chiefly answered above. They ask if there is blood in his urine, or any diarrhea or vomiting or [etc]; no and no and no. The doctor recommends a blood test since his kidney levels were all very poor last time, and I agree heartily. Her guess is that he might have some kind of UTI starting up.

Ensues some hilarity as they try in both of his legs, and can't get his veins to disgorge enough blood for testing. (And the blood they do get looks rather thin and pale, so they figure he's anemic, too.) They take him away to get blood from his neck (I guess it takes deeper magic than you can do in the exam room? or it freaks out the owner?) and are gone for about ten minutes, whilst I look up kidney-disease-in-cats on the interwebs.

Finally they come back having gotten blood and a urine sample, which they show me and are all "There's blood! In the urine! Look at the pink urine!" and I am all WELL THERE WASN'T ON TUESDAY AND I KNOW THIS BECAUSE HE PISSED ON MY PRISTINE WHITE WORK BLOUSES RAWR and they are all "oh oh no no we believe you truly we do but there certainly is blood now". So they gave him an antibiotic shot, and gave me oral antibiotics which I need to give him daily for three weeks, because of course I am going away for two of those three weeks, and aaaaaaaaaaaa, and they will call me tomorrow with the blood test results.
serinde: (I see stupid people)
So, once upon a time and for many moons uncounted, I had a paid LJ account. Then the whole Time of the Random Banhammering came, and various & sundry other stupidities from the new overlords, and I did not want to give them of my moneys any more, so I dropped to a free account and moved my primary existence over to Dreamwidth, which can be neatly summed up as "LJ without the suck, and with some smart enhancements".

However, most people who are still active in the Foojournal-based worlds at all seem to still be on LJ, so I maintained my account there. And I was a little sick of only having six of my many icons, the rest being flagged inactive (except when you comment on someone else's post, where it gives you a choice of all of your icon library, and doesn't tell you which are active and which aren't); but what the hell, it's free, amirite? But yesterday I finally took note that you can just buy extra userpic capacity, so I went ahead and did that thing, $6 for the year being within my "fine you can have that much of my dosh" limits for another 15 icons.

You know what happens if you do that? It randomly chooses which of your icons to make active. Automatically. Instantly. No saving throw, and you can't switch it around. Your only option is to delete anything it chose as being active that you didn't want--which of course disassociates that icon from any of your old posts or comments you had used it in back in the paid days.

I was sure this was too stupid to be true, so I opened a support request. No, the Russians are oh so terribly sorry, but this is Just How It Works.

Went to my primary care physician today in re: my Probably Sciatica; not because I thought he could do anything about it, he being an internal medicine dude, but to start the referral wagon in motion. I was expressing how this particular pain was different from my other injuries on that leg, and he said "how many had you had?" and I started recollecting them as best I could, but I thought I missed some. So here's me trying to get them all down. I might be missing some.

Winter, 1997: Both knees: Fell on 'em, hard, while ice skating. For the next year and change, when kneeling down, there would be a point of excruciating pain at one point in the bend, and then it would be okay on the other side of that least until I stood up again. Eventually it went away, but my left knee remains occasionally arthritic.

January, 2003: Left groin muscle, torn at aikido. By someone's pants. Don't ask. Got better after 4-6 weeks, but never really recovered full flexibility.

Burning Man, 2004: Pinky toe: Smashed at Fight Club. I forget which foot it was, though, so maybe doesn't count.

Spring, 2006: Left knee: bursitis, or that's the best guess. Out for a couple weeks.

- strained both rotator cuffs in summer 2006, just to switch it up a little -
- late 2007, switched jobs; stopped going to aikido -
- early 2008, started running for exercise -

June 2008: Left knee, bone spur from running. Stopped hurting after a month or two of not running.

July 2009: Left foot, plantar fasciitis from running. Went away after a month or two of not running + ice + dork sock.

Spring 2010: Left ankle: chronic sprain from aikido injury + mosh pit + not letting it heal. Got better in about 10 weeks of dork boot + proper shoes.

Feb. 2011: Left pinky toe: broken on a cruise ship deck chair. Healed after about two months of dork boot, because wearing any shoe on that foot was excruciating.

And then there's the current whee, that seems to be of two parts comprised: something that feels muscular that started around January, and then the Maybe Sciatica which started after the Stanford trip last month but before I got my new bike.

serinde: (what has this flag become?)
Because everything happens at the same time, I also was called for jury duty this week. (In sober reflection I should have taken my postponement, but I was thinking that a) whatever other time they called me for would undoubtedly be even less convenient and then I wouldn't be able to postpone again, and b) I believed everyone around me who had had to show up maybe one day and then that was it.)

Now, it must be understood that I do not have a problem with this; indeed, if this week/month weren't so full of the ualeauleauleaue, I would be really excited to serve on a jury. I truly do believe it is part of what makes society go 'round, and I truly do hope that if it's ever my turn in the legal barrel that intelligent, well-rounded, competent people will not try to do whatever they can to avoid it, and I truly do feel it to be an honorable and worthy thing to be doing. (The last and only other time I got called, when living in Jersey City, I got as far as juror selection and they bounced me--to my dying day I will believe it was because, when they asked "What's your favorite TV show?", I said "Buffy".) But also, this is trial jury not grand jury, so I expected the most that would be asked of us was one week--which I could spare, with difficulty it's true, but if I worked like a dog at night it could be okay. Whether or no, it's still important to show up, and now they tell us that there is wifi in the juror waiting room and all, so I figured worst-case I'd be sitting around for a day or two but I'd still be able to get a lot of work done.

Life In 60 Centre St )

And I told the truth and the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but I feel crappy about it. I had two powerful duties, and they conflicted, and I had to choose one; and I think I chose the right one, but that still means I failed on the other.
serinde: (Delirium)
A co-op application, even for a weenie subletter, is a serious thing with lots of info. They want everything to do a credit check, so it has information like your SSN, your bank account number, your last N residences, etc. Oh yes, and a check.

Wanting to be careful about this sort of information, I thought it wise to send it via certified mail, which has delivery confirmation and requires a signature. Because it's going to an office, right? Someone should be there, right?


I looked at the tracking number. Delivery was attempted last Tuesday, no one was there[*], and so a notice was left to come pick it up at the post office. (It seems they do not attempt redelivery.)

Which no one has, from that day to this. And at this point I don't expect they will. So in fifteen days (!!) it gets sent back to me, and I can try mailing it again. And then they have to actually read it, and process it, and interview me, and pass judgment, and etc. By which point I will be worn to a breaking point wondering if I have someplace to live or not.

[*] I s'pose it's possible that the mail carrier was playing silly buggers and didn't actually ring, as occasionally happens.
serinde: (job joy)
User: I keep getting this error with Firefox. {description elided}
Student Helper: This happens when Firefox detects another profile in use. {fix elided}
User: That didn't work. Also this started happening when we started using this application hosted elsewhere, and other schools are saying they're having the same problem with it too. So please come troubleshoot it.
serinde: (Delirium)
I haven't really posted about work since starting the new job a year ago. (Then again, I haven't posted much about anything, so it's not that I've been deliberately exclusionary.) But it is needful to set up some background before getting to the actual meat of this post.

Lo: Background. )

Primal conflict: man vs. self. )

What do you do when you don't know what to do? )

Takeaway: )
I have come down with [ profile] nedlnthred's lurgy (with really shit-arse timing, I may add), and crawled home from work at 2pm suffering from total enervation, a tetchy throat, and a head packed with pressure. No actual symptoms elsewise, but still deeply miserable. In the hopes of effecting a swift cure, or at least keeping it from getting much worse, I spawned the following procedure:

0. Set up P&P on your televisionary device.
1. Take ye a smallish chicken. Seethe it with carrots, onion, salt, pepper, and whatever other stockish stuff you have lying around, for about 3 hours.
2. Meantime, roast two heads of garlic in a 350 degree oven for about 45 minutes.
3. Strain the broth, reserving the chicken meat and fending off an importunate cat.
4. Chop up most of an onion and saute in olive oil, adding thyme ynogh.
5. After the onion is well along, throw in an additional handful of raw garlic cloves.
6. Let that fry while you squeeze out all the roasted garlic cloves. Throw those in the pot, with about 3.5 cups of broth.
7. Let that cook together for 15-30 minutes, or until the raw cloves are soft.
8. Immersion blender the snot out of it.
9. Stir in 1/2 cup of whatever combination of cream or half-and-half you have to hand.
10. Add the chicken meat and salt & pepper to taste. Let it cook for about 5-10 minutes, but obviously watch out for curdling dairy.
11. Consume while lolling on the couch watching P&P and feeling terribly sorry for yourself.

It's got a really nice flavor and is most kind to the throat and head. It could actually be more garlicky, I think, though maybe my sinus weasels are deadening my smell/taste somewhat.
serinde: (job joy)
Department Assistant: "Hi, I'm calling from the XXXX department. We need to order a computer for our lab, and it has to be an HP, how do we do that?"
Your humble correspondent: "Is there a particular reason it has to be an HP? Is there some kind of peripheral or card it has to have? Because the desktop machines are pretty much created equal, and we should be able to get you a much better deal through Dell."
DA: "I don't know but they said it has to be HP because it needs to run this thing...what is it... L - I - N - U - X ?"
YHC: "...Why don't you email me the spec and we'll figure out what you need to order."

(Quoth [ profile] elibalin, "Maybe that's why my printer keeps jamming. I'm using Windows ink.")
serinde: (ze fiber arts)
So, there was this sewing project (q.v.), and as I kind of guessed I did not, in fact, turn early December to any sort of account; and then the holidays were holidayish, and I chucked it in the corner and failed to meet its eye until suddenly I was staring down the barrel of Twelfth Night. Why is this night different from all other nights? Well, because the Queen will be down here, and I may have a finite chance of getting half an hour to do a fitting and see if this is just completely fucking doomed or what.

Of course, [ profile] nedlnthred have committed to serving lunch for the 400 attendees at said event. We are just the tiniest bit busy. However.

As has been the case for years without end amen, I was not able to pick up this project until a deadline (real or self-imposed but vaguely real) was looming, and so tonight I got home and determined to cut out the lining & baste it together. At least I'd have something to work with, yes? Even bearing in mind the already-noted concerns about the cookie-cutter nature of the pattern pieces. And the fact that I'd asked the person who is managing the project for Their Majesties for a sleeve pattern over a month ago, and it still has not appeared. But okay whatever. I iron my favorite tawny linen Lining Stuff, and lay it out, and dig out the pattern pieces, and... this right? That doesn't look right. Oh, it's curved-front. Not something I've tried before. Nuisance-y for cutting, but whatever, and there are them what say it works better. OK. But! Wait! The rich fullness of the skirt isn't from assumed gores, it's all in the pattern! Which means that each of the four pattern pieces is a full quarter circle.

1) this is wrong
2) you could say that it's easier than inserting gores, but it is wrong and moreover it is wasteful of fabric
3) and I don't have enough lining fabric to cut it that way
4) so the logical thing to do is cut it mostly straight, and then cut gores out of the waste fabric

...and here's where it gets fun, because the waist isn't marked on here, and I can make a guess at it, but I don't know; and since it was impressed on me in the strongest possible terms that this pattern is EXACTLY TO THE DESIRED LENGTH, I am entirely un-confident in my ability to wing this. And none of my sewing peeps are online, and and and and.

So I've twitched the evening away accomplishing nearly nothing, except checking in on work email and going into a red rage because of lying fuckhead faculty.
It's a busy week: the students are moving back into the dorms, the faculty is returning to their offices, everyone's working double tides to make sure everything's right and tight for the start of classes next Tuesday.

Therefore, of course, I've come down sick.

I seem to have fought off most of the symptoms--it's chiefly manifesting as total soul-sucking lassitude and enervation, though with a bit of tetchy throat and sinus headache--but even couch + laptop forces me to set it aside and close my eyes every 40 minutes or so. I OBJECT. STRENUOUSLY.

For once, however, I am being smart and actually staying home instead of trying to power through it; and I'm actually getting some stuff done in my moments of lucidity, which I would not if I had dragged my sorry ass in. The other major goal is to shake it before I have to troop off on a family trip Friday night.
serinde: (feminine complaint)
I left [ profile] sweh's midafternoon, with a multi-faceted but not over-complicated program; drive south, check in on [ profile] nedlnthred's cats as she's away for the weekend (and drop off some things and pick up some things), drive on to Jersey City, drop Bud off at our favored mechanics so they can figure out what's to be done about his muffler (and give him a general check-up as I will need to drive him 500 miles in a few weeks), walk up to Journal Square, and thus home via PATH and subway. The best laid plans, etc.

TMI starts here. )
serinde: (glamour)
[ profile] nedlnthred has the congenial July 4th custom of drumming up a group to go watch the NYC fireworks display, which gatherings I've usually missed in the past. This year, being as how the display was over the Hudson, the obvious viewing location was the Frying Pan, which is an old rusty boat with a bar in it. The problem is, that particular venue has been Discovered this season (to the point I heard some Joisey Boyz talking about it on the train), and we learned that they were charging a C-note just to step on board, let alone the food and booze cost.

I took to the intarwubs to find an alternative, and came across the Liberty Belle Spectacular, at the rooftop bar of the Empire Hotel. Jazz Age party, cocktails, dancing, burlesque, and only $20 to get in; yes, that will do nicely. The more so as the word was that there would be only 25 at-the-door tickets, so it seemed likely that it would not be a goddamn crush.

[We pause while the audience laughs uproariously at my charming naïveté.]

The doors were to open at 7pm, so we (a party of six) rolled up about 7:20; whereupon we were taken aback to see a line of people extending around the corner and down the block. Was this for non-ticket-holders, we inquired? No, it's for everyone, and the line would split further up. ...Well OK then. We got on line, and chatted, and waited, and slowly shuffled forward, and waited some more, and... [Time passes.] Some 40 minutes later, we made it to where the line split, where they checked for printed receipts/confirmation numbers. Those which had same got blue tickets and went left; those who did not, got red tickets and went right. At which point both types of guest were passed through the velvet rope in equal numbers--or indeed with a stronger preference for the non-advanced ticketed, much to the chagrin of those of us who had planned ahead[1]. Indeed, after the third batch of hoi polloi were permitted up to the exclusion of ticket holders, a lady behind us confronted the gatekeeper to ask, in essence, What The Fuck, Dude. He claimed that he was letting people in equally. We all stared at him with the "you're lying, we know it, and you know it", but it was left at that and in the next batch he did let equal numbers in. (Lord knows what he did subsequently.)

At length we made it up top. The bar is a big space, with a terrace on either end (though of course only the western-facing one was going to be immediately relevant), and a decent amount of lounge seating, though not nearly enough for the mob of people. The band was excellent, playing jazz and swing tunes, and in old-style Navy uniforms, which I thought was a nice touch. As we rolled in, they were having an impromptu fashion show of ladies who had come in period rig[2], and there were many fine-looking outfits indeed, though the biggest hit was a Rosie the Riveter look-alike. The drinks were $14, which is a bit high, but they were at least good and unusual; in-house creations, not "here's your vodka and cranberry juice in a Dixie cup". If you managed to stab someone and get a seat, you could order food (and bottle service if you're that kind of idiot). Anyways, it being twenty to nine[3], we got drinks and immediately fought our way onto the terrace to try and get a decent view for the fireworks, which would start around 9:20.

And we stood. And stood. and stood. And were crushed by people. And couldn't see anything but an admittedly gorgeous sunset. There was burlesque and dancing where the bar let onto the terrace, which we could only perceive by the cheering and flashbulb popping. I was particularly woeful because I was wearing shoes that are not for standing in--I can wear them all night, but not for hours of nothing but standing on concrete--and I was hitting the agony point; and we were crushed in behind a group who had a table and seats (those stupid square hassock things that bar/lounges like), and the party in question weren't even sitting half the time. Indeed, one of them was having words with Beth because our party was maneuvering in the gap between their table and the next one and I guess he felt we were harshing their mellow or something.

At length, the fireworks started. Upon which we realized a few things:
1) Fordham Law School was in the way.
2) A really tall fingerlike apartment building was in the way.
3) The tasteful palm fronds along the edge of the terrace were in the way.

We could still see a good portion of the show (except [ profile] elibalin, who was directly in line of the palms), but it was not the unimpeded front-row view implied on the tin, as it were. At one point "This Land Is Your Land" broke out, and the whole crowd was singing, and that was kinda cool. Later, the band and one of the singers was striking up "God Bless America", which I am regrettably far less fond of[4], but eh.

As anticipated, the instant the fireworks were over there was a mass exodus, and many of the remaining guests surged indoors to the air conditioning and the entertainment; and thus, after about ten minutes of vulching I managed to land us a table on the patio. Which was good, because I was reaching the end of my little fraying rope... A half hour of sitting, drinking, excellent conversation, and a snack restored comity and joy. We decided to move back inside to check out (and perhaps partake of) the dancing, but upon standing up again I realized that I was quite, quite Done. I really would have liked to have stayed and seen the actual party we were here for, but a dispassionate assessment made it clear that misery was right around the corner, so I took myself unto the crosstown bus, and thus home.

So, Lessons Were Learned:
* Do not, do not, believe that any event that looks cool and claims exclusivity will not be mobbed to alt.hell and back. Wear comfortable shoes. Get there early. Stake out turf.
* Investigate the exact barge locations of the fireworks well in advance.
* If you want to take a Night on the Town, and actually be up to all of it, don't start drinking Pimm's cup at noon (unless you're arranging a disco nap in between).

As I explore the nightlife world, I am more and more getting the sense of that classic Yogi Berra line, "No one goes there, it's too crowded". I really don't like forking out the brass for the privilege of being crushed like a sardine in a noisy environment where you can't see or talk to anyone but who's standing directly beside you. Beth reports that, after I left, the party reached the sweet spot of good music, good dancing, and enough space to actually enjoy all of these things, so that's good to know; but, I mean, argh.

[begin footnotes]
[1] Beth spoke to the organizers upstairs on this head, and was told that yes, they'd had a lot of complaints about it. I notice that this is not the same as "...and we'll do something about it next time we hold an event".

[2] We had plenty of time to observe a lot of these outfits while on line and then once upstairs; we noticed that, first, many weren't actually Jazz Age at all, but were much more 40s or 50s, which is okay with us, because there's only one body type that looks good in flapper gear; and second, most were more theatrical/passing-the-squint-test than true period outfits. Now, many still looked very, very awesome...but not to the knowing eye. (I'm not the knowing eye, but I was in company with several.)

[3] And there was still a huge line behind us waiting to get in. I can only imagine what the reaction of the ticket-holders who were still on the street when the fireworks started was.

[4] I may be unjust to the song, simply because its sentiments and chorus have been appropriated by assclowns.
serinde: (self-control)
I still have not found a way to balance Doing Stuff with required downtime. The analogy I used to [ profile] sweh yesterday was, it's as if I'm one of those terrible drivers whose technique is a continual alternation between stomping on the gas and then slamming on the brakes, rather than maintaining a relatively consistent speed. And I feel not unlike a passenger of one of those drivers.

I've considered methods such as "every Thursday is at-home" or "no more than X days out per week" but I cannot seem to make this work. There's always something I absolutely cannot miss and the system breaks down. Moreover, by the time I do have a day or evening in, I'm usually so wiped I don't have the brain space to do at-home things like putter or steady-state cleaning or handwork. So I have to push those into a giant day of effort, which is then deeply exhausting and not "downtime" at all.

And thus, of course, I was about to volunteer to be Ostgardr seneschal. I AM A FLAMIN' IDIOT.
serinde: (fighty!)
I have had cause to wonder whether Ranger might not do better with a companion; he has spent his entire life being half of a duo, and his behavior has gotten a little odd and proprietary (co-dependent?) over the last year, and he seemed to tolerate visiting kittens not too badly, and [ profile] nedlnthred has had problems finding home for poor Domino, a most sweet-natured cat; so I decided to take him on a trial basis and see how it worked out.

I picked him up on Friday morning and decanted him, whereupon he went directly under the couch. Ranger was, of course, hissingly displeased per usual, but not making much of a fuss. So, when I left Friday night, Domino was quietly hiding under the futon, and Ranger was watching with disapproval from the bed. Domino would occasionally make a tiny "mew mew mew" and poke his head out, or explore a little, at which point Ranger would hiss (giving himself a hairball) and he'd duck back under. But they were pretty much staying each in their own room.

Begins now the tale.... )
serinde: (brew-up)
So, a few developments for those who are not living in my brain.

1) I have a new job. My last day at Hunter was Friday, and I'm starting at Barnard on May 10th, where I will be Director of User Services (shut up). This is a big promotion-like thing, and I have moments of shrieking panic, but in my more rational moments I feel tolerably sure I can handle it. I also had the smart of giving myself some time between jobs, which I didn't really have last time 'round; I intended to spend it frolicking around in spring weather, except...

2) So that thing where I hurt my ankle at aikido and then some more in a mosh pit? It was feeling mostly better, so I kept going to class, and I kept going to yoga, and then it started to hurt somewhat when I walked, and then started hurting a lot when I walked, and I did the HMO referrals dance, and the referring ortho couldn't see me til July, and I went back and bibbled at Callen-Lorde's referral dept., and they sent me to the NYU walk-in clinic on Friday who tell me I have a chronic sprain because I haven't just let the stupid thing heal. So I have an air cast and crutches, and I'm supposed to keep off it as much as possible, and wear the (extremely ill-fitting) air cast when walking, and etc. I am coping with this with my usual grace and serenity: which is to say, hanging on by the skin of my teeth and being a whiny little bitch. I seem to have an enforced staycation, except the part where I still seem to be running around a lot. But I'm taking the bus whenever I can, and that's something, yes? In spite of the fact that some of the M66 drivers are rotten fucking people, to the point where one actually closed the doors in my face as I was about to put my foot on the step. (Some of the others are really nice, though, so I guess this evens out.)

3) I still have not hung my curtains. I faithfully swear that I shall call the landlady tomorrow and ask if we have a ladder. I have to change a light bulb anyways. Watch, I'll get them finally up and then hate how they look.

4) As far as I'm aware, we're all still supposed to put our plastic/glass recycling in clear plastic trash bags. So why do none of the stores around me sell 'em?

5) I'm having mental hysterics off-and-on that the progress I'd been making on the weight loss front will now be utterly destroyed by enforced inactivity. Because what can you do without a leg to stand on?

6) I went and asked a boy out, for a number of reasons, not least of which was to confirm that I was capable of doing so. I was ready for "yes", I was ready for "no"; I was not prepared for utter silence. The entire situation has led to numerous reflexions, including that my dating brain appears to be stuck at age 16.

7) I have Rock Band again, which makes me happy, except I really want to drum, but it's my right foot I hit the kick drum with, and that will just not do; and I prefer bass over guitar, but you can't have a solo career as a bassist (tell that to Lemmy, jerkweeds).

8) In spite of all of these bees, I'm doing pretty okay.
serinde: (I see stupid people)
3/30: Professor Foo forwards a phishing attempt of the usual vintage (OMG UR OVER QUOTA, click here to fix) to the college mailing list, saying "Phish warning!" in the Subject, and removing the trawling link, but otherwise unedited

4/7: Professor Bar responds to the college mailing list, asking "Thank you but I do not see a link or password in order to do what you request. Is this still necessary?"

4/7: Professor Foo responds to the college mailing list, saying "I hesitate even to reply to an email, for fear that's a phish. Hopefully Dr. Bar is a real member of this list."


serinde: (Default)

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