Random Thursday: Random Acts of Espionage

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

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Sad . . . But True

Flash Spy

And then I forget to take it out of my pocket before I do laundry
and immediately go back to feeling like a total idiot.

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Contractual Random Science Pun

Bond Hydrogen Bond

(Thanks, Kev!)

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 Crying  U.N.C.L.E.

I’m pretty sure my childhood adoration of the Men from the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement is responsible for my current love for the Agents of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. originally aired the decade before I was born but I watched all the episodes in syndication and I even own some of the books, gleaned from dusty bookshops and flea markets.

I am permanently in love with David McCallum, who played Illya Kurakin, the pragmatic Russian counterpart to Robert Vaughn’s Napoleon Solo, who was just this side of too smooth and debonair.

And now, Guy Ritchie is making a movie, starring Henry Cavill and Armie Hammer.

Is that really going to work?

 Yeah.  I think it will.

(My husband tells me that MeTV is airing the original show on Sunday evenings, if you’re interested)

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i_know_youre_listening

Ever get the feeling that your life is the surveillance equivalent of counting sheep?

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The Woman From SPY

Melissa McCarthy is a good actress, but her script sense is hit or miss.

I think it has potential . . . maybe?

The Wild Librarian Says : Wheeeee!

I was offered the job!

That’s right! Starting next month,* I’ll be working on a different floor! With windows.

Sunglasses and vitamin D, here I come!

That’s not the only difference, or I wouldn’t have bothered, but it isn’t an insignificant one.  Neither is stepping away from the enclosed environs of the Archives—breathing history is tough on chronic sinusitis.**

I’ll have to work one night a week,*** travel more between branches, and trade in my personal workstation and cubicle space for a login and a couple of assigned drawers.

But the questions will be quicker and the patrons will have different interests, and most of my new duties will be my very favorite parts of library work.Wild Librarian

I will be moving around instead of waiting in the basement lower level for petitioners like the Mushroom of Wisdom.  And no one will ever ask me how to find genealogical proof that their great-great-great grandmother was born a Cherokee Princess—which is not and never has been a Real Thing™—right here in Pottawattomie territory.^  If they do, I’ll direct them to the person who replaces me.^^

And there’s a rumor I might get to select adult graphic novels.

I am overcome, y’all.

Overcome.

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*Assuming that the person who left that department for another department doesn’t want her job back after her probationary period is up.

**I can’t claim it as the cause, though—I grew up in southern Ohio and “Cincinnati Sinus” is no joke.

***I’m working one a month, now, which is why I can never remember when it is.

^Which at the time would have been approximately than 400 miles north of the nearest Cherokee settlement—give or take, as the United States spent a lot of time and resources keeping most native nations unsettled.  But that’s a rant for another time.

^^Again assuming  the person who left the ref department won’t return, bumping us all back to our original places like an Occupational Newton’s Cradle . . .

Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (Merrok)

We WriWa bannerHave a WIP, an EIP, an MS, or a published work you want to share on your blog, eight sentences at a time?

Want to sample other people’s WIPs, EIPs, MSs, or published works, eight sentences at a time?

Be a Weekend Writing Warrior!

Rules are here!

List of participants is here!

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Or if you’re a fellow Facebook addict (we can quit any time we want to, right?),
why not check out the offerings of the Snippet Sunday gang?

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Tom has arrived at the packleader’s house from last week,and meets someone new.

This person was supposed to be a housekeeping stock-character whose sole, original, three-line purpose was to guide Tom to and from the cells in the basement.

To my surprise, and possibly to Tom’s, she isn’t.

But she did let me put her in the same dress.

Hokkaidō wolf

The female who opened the door was an inch or two taller than me, with thick dark hair held back in a clip that couldn’t be silver and a navy blue dress that was just shy of a uniform. Her eyes were long and slanted a little—a Hokkaidō in the wolfpile somewhere, maybe—and her nose was big enough to make her face interesting instead of delicate. Her mouth was wide and full and unsmiling.

From the way her gray eyes sharpened as they observed me observing her, I didn’t dare inventory anything lower.

“Thomas Mahon,” she said, as if checking me off a list. “I’m Merrok. This way, please.”

If Susan was Rhombeck’s work spouse, than Ms. Merrok was her counterpart in the pack.

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Hokkaidō wolves were known as Ezo wolves in Japan, before they became extinct in the late 1800s; they were descended from Siberian wolves, which I might use instead, for familiarity’s sake.

Naturally (pun intended), Merrok wouldn’t be descended from the wolves themselves, but the way I have Homo Mutabilis figured, the individuals resemble both the animal and the humans from the place their ancestors evolved. Don’t ask me why, but that’s the end product.

So both of Merrok’s forms will show her Asian ancestry the same way Jackie resembles both a Panthera tigris jacksoni and also a Malaysian woman (though not at the same time).  Joly is a Transvaal werelion immigrant from Polokwane. And Hooper is a big white bruiser of European descent any way you look at him.

Tom, if you’re wondering, looks like a Muscovy drake and a bit like Joseph Gordon-Levitt, if Mr. Gordon-Levitt’s family had hailed from Central America.

Random Thursday: Literary Puns and Poetical Plums

And about 35 seconds of Up Yours, Mister in the middle, there.

You’ll know it when you get to it.

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Even More Psychosis-Inducing Than The Original

Nevermind Raven

Look at him, sitting there all Poe-faced . . .

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I’m Just Saying

This is just to Say Plums

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This Is For the Patron . . . 

 . . . who called the other day to inform us that taxpayer’s hard-earned money would be better spent in supplying free laptops and city-wide Wi-Fi to citizens than on libraries and the salary they pay me for sitting on my rump all day, reading trashy novels.

Good luck to you, sir.

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Speaking of Passive-Aggressive . . .

WIlliam Carlos Williams Red Wheelbarrow
Could someone please explain this poem to me?

Why is the wheelbarrow so crucial?
Are the chickens significant or just co-dependent?
Is  the rain metaphor or meaningless?

WHAT?!

People have been reading and debating this poem for over fifty years just because we can’t suss out the—

Oh.

Well-played Mr. Williams.

Well played.

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Still a Better Romance Than . . .

 . . . you know.

One Shade of Gray

Alternative Title:  “Consent is not a grey area.”

Pun grimly intended.

(Thanks, Helen—you rock!)

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The Last Line Sells It

We can only do so much, Mr. Pip.

I kid.  Scroobius Pip is one hell of a performance poet, I just can’t share most of his stuff here until my kids are old enough to know when not to recite his lyrics in public.

(thanks, Cha-Cha!)

Be Amazing. Now.

I have an interview today.  Not for a new job, exactly, but for a position in a different department of the library.

There’s no real reason to think I’ll do badly, but I’m still stressing about it, as part of my default setting.

As I told a friend yesterday,  I can’t decide whether it’s good or bad that my old boss will be interviewing me and  whether she’ll think it’s good that I have seventeen years of professional experience under my hat or bad that I’m not young, perky, and  able to create a LibGuide without hitting the help button every three minutes.

Before I could get into the spirit of the thing and spiral into describing every single thing I’ll do to ruin my chances during the interview, she reminded me that I’d given up self-hatred for Lent.*

Damn.

Coincidentally,** Jane had a Self-Esteem assignment due yesterday.

Naturally, she ignored it until Sunday afternoon, because the last thing a twelve-year old wants to do is stand up in front of her peer group and do a five-minute presentation on why she’s an amazing human being, even if the instructions say she’s supposed to introduce a representation of herself to make it marginally less embarrassing.

Because she’s pretty sure someone (everyone) will make sure to explain in great detail why she’s wrong.

Man, we start downplaying our personal value and internalizing worthlessness early, don’t we?

I’ve internalized several decades of the stuff at this point.

Which is why I decided to prepare for my interview by doing Jane’s assignment, too, with a couple of modifications.*** Because if I’m going to sit in front of a fairly intimidating former supervisor—who knows aaaaall of my workpace quirks and foibles—and explain why I’m the best choice for this position, I’m going to need all the awesome I can feel.

And let me tell you, this exercise was extremely difficult.

I knew that I didn’t have to share any of my statements—I had a filler post all ready—and I still had problems writing things like “why I’m a good friend”.   I had a hell of a time even typing that previous sentence without cringing or adding modifiers like “sometimes”, “almost”, or “occasionally”. Or taking our the word “good” altogether.

Because, you know . . . maybe . . .  I’m not a good friend all the time. Or even most of the time. I remember one time I didn’t even—I mean, it’s not really for me to say, right?  Why are my shoulders hunched?

Holy flippin’ cow, why is it so hard to let ourselves be awesome?

Why can’t we just be awesome for a single moment without making a joke out of it, or ducking imaginary rotten tomatoes, or tossing them at ourselves to save the trolls the trouble?

We don’t even have to be awesome all the time—just for a moment.  And then maybe we could be awesome again for one more moment. And then another one.

Until we’ve built up the ability to be awesome for a whole series of moments—like self-worth Kegels or something.

You know what I mean.

Let’s all just be awesome in the moment and fill in the damn answers.

Who’s with me?

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INTRODUCING THE AMAZING _______________________ . . . AN INSIDE LOOK!

You must include a physical representation of yourself: a large picture, life-sized cutout, 3D head, recreation of you, mannequin dressed and you, or anything that can be YOU!

Card with glasses

Note the Purple Glasses of Awesome.

Topics you should cover:

• My best physical feature:

My eyes.  They’re green, like my mothers’.

• My greatest athletic ability:

I can belly dance.  My Camel Walk and Shimmy are especially awesome.

• My most amazing social quality:

I can strike up conversations with almost anyone.

• “I am a genius at . . . “

Making up lyrics to other people’s songs.

• “I am a good friend because . . .”

I listen and I can keep a secret.

• one awesome thing about my family:

We sing made-up operas together in the car.

• after high school retirement, I’m going to . . .

Spend the whole summer at the Shakespeare Festival in Stratford, Ontario

• My proudest moment

When someone told me she’d stayed up until 4am to finish a story I’d written.

But only because I’m always proud of my kids—that’s a constant, not a moment.

• My greatest academic quality

I have no written test anxiety whatsoever.

• My favorite activity

Laughing with my kids.

• My most amazing accomplishment

I’d say “childbirth”, but I also once beat a Marine in a fencing match.

• almost nobody knows that I. . .

Used to make stuffed animals for extra cash in grad school.  Made a llama once, with eyelashes and everything.

• non-school work related activities that I love to do are . . .

Reading, cooking, eating, singing to the radio, writing, watching British game shows, blogging, napping, hanging with my kids . . .

• I’m awesome, because . . .

I’m the only one of me there will ever be.

• When I’m an adult, I’m going to have the amazing job of . . .

Writing for a living.

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There.  Whew.

Feel free to put yours in the comments, if you want.

Or not.  You don’t have to.

I already know you’re awesome.

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*Also dieting and abstinence.  St. Augustine would approve.

**Or not, depending on your views toward the mysterious ways the deity of your choice moves or the inevitable way the random generator of the universe sometimes throws a double.

***I changed some of the questions because I’m already doing what I’m doing after high school, and so on.  You’re supposed to supply four objects that say something about you, but I’m substituting four years worth of blog entries. And, as mentioned above, you’re supposed to use the physical representation of yourself as the awesome “person” you’re introducing.  It is easier that way . . . but maybe it shouldn’t be. So I ignored that bit, too.