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.
Got felled with one of my blinding (and I mean that literally) migraines yesterday, and so spent the day in a nice quiet room sleeping off my meds and sipping nice, hot mugs of caffeine.
Possibly at the same time. I don’t really remember.
But I’m feeling better today—a little dizzy, but that’s nothing new—and also very thankful for friends who have sent me so much stuff this month that I already had this post pretty much pre-assembled by the time I could bear to look at a screen again.
Thanks, guys!
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Knitbats!
Remember my Purple Elephant rant from a couple years ago?
Looks like I may have to break out the %&#$ double-pointed needles again.
This (these?) are Boo.
Boo’s pattern is on sale at the Mochimochi Land shop.
I don’t want to wrestle with a handful of small sticks for three hours
just trying to cast on, no matter how adoraboo
(ahem)
he/she/they is/are.
Maybe I should send the pattern to my friend Grace instead,
as a sort of self-serving holiday gift?
(Don’t tell her, Cha—let it be a surprise!)
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A Short Physics Poem
Roses are red.
Chromaticity’s wavy.
That’s why the sky isn’t purple:
It’s gravy.
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Catris
This is a good visual metaphor for how I’m piecemeal writing my Nanonovel this week . . .
. . . except with plot elements and werewolves and swanmanes instead of kitties.
And some of the blocks would be hissing at each other and/or pointing guns.
Or threatening to take each other’s P.I. licenses away.
Or scent marking the lower levels.
Never mind.
(Thanks again, caitlin!)
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Because Baby Owl
To misquote Robert A. Heinlein,
“Baby owls, like butterflies, need no excuse.”
He actually said “little girls” instead of owls,
but in my experience, little girls seem to need a lot of excuses,
and tend to deliver them even before you’ve asked.
(Stolen from Paula’s FB feed—thanks, Paula!)
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Troll of the D’urbervilles
My friend Siobhan sent me the link to this video, with the subject heading:
“Guess I can’t give you any more crap about the wereduck thing.”
No, Vannie. No, you can’t.
Earful of Cider 