Random Thursday: In a Random Mood

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.

Look what I found in a folder on my desktop when I was trying to find my original draft of chapter seventeen!

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How to make Sewing Fun Again

Just take the arc reactor out of the cryhole, blue line it, attach it to the bobbinator, and pop out the dilithium crystal so you don’t abuse the quaffle with the uppydowny or snap the snitch when you let ‘er rip with the flounce attachment.

Wow . . . that sounds way more suggestive than I’d intended.

Then again, it is supposed to be more fun, so . . .

(one of you sent me this—who?)

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Save the Death Bats!

Because pollinators are so very important to our ecosystem, the U.S. now has a National Pollinator Health Strategy.

I am 100% behind this, especially if we can get some government power (such as it is) behind saving bees and bats.

However . . .

. . . it occurs to me that while this fuzzy yellow guy is clearly a major contributor to the process of pollination,
not to mention absolutely adorable,
as many bats are,
he is also caked with pollen,
which makes him one of the deadliest creatures in the world,
to those of us with sinus problems.

The Ciiiiiiircle of Liiiiiiife . . .

(Cha Cha shared this on Facebook for serious reasons, which I subverted for a cheap laugh—unless you clicked the image to look at the National Pollinator Health Strategy, which would make me a marketing genius . . . and also feel less guilty)

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Sanford and Son were . . .  British?

That’s . . . weird.

I wonder if Elizabeth knew?

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Hey, Mike!

The man always had to have the last word, didn’t he?

If the rest of you want to know why I think Mr. Blanc’s gravestone is relevant, check this out.

And then do yourself a solid and go through the rest of Mike Allegra’s archives—
some of his stories have moved me to tears.

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Which Horseman of the Apocalypse are You?

Me?  I’m Procrastination.  Sorry I’m late . . .

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 I’d Tap That

But I’d fall down. A lot.

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Random Thursday: Ninja Banjos, Mispronunciations, and Serious Roughage

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.

It’s been brought to my attention that true “Random” Thursdays probably wouldn’t have related elements.

Okay.

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Seems Legit

One out of one Sunny Ninjas agree, in case you were wondering.

My husband texted me this picture, with the caption,
“Nobody better take her stuff.”

My reply:
“No one can find her stuff in that room.”

His reply:
“Ninja Stuff!”

Fair enough.

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Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

If you haven’t subscribed to Anglophenia, yet, be warned:
I have no intention of letting up until you do.

Siobhan Thomson explores the idiosyncrasies of Britain,
while occasionally poking fun at Americans
in a way that makes us totally agree with her.

It’s a gift.

 

For those who really want to know:

You’re welcome.

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Knittin’ Broccoli

Click for the pattern! It’s on Ravelry! What a shocker!

I think we’ve probably established by now that I enjoy the thought of knitting things
more than I ever actually take the time to prove
that I’ve enjoyed having knitted them.
And I don’t like I-cord.

But I feel an intense need to knit up a head of these
and perhaps give them out for Christmas.

Try to act surprised.

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Poor Wandering Banjos and a Smug Pianist

Since Boston in smothered in snow,

have two Smothers Brothers and the Boston Pops.

(Hang on until 2:46.  You will be rewarded.)

If you’re wondering if you missed the banjos, you did.
Because they’re NINJAS.

Random Thursday: Purple Skies, Baby Owls, and Lady Chatterly’s Leprechaun

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.