Posts Tagged ‘silly’

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Sun and fun in Wisconsin

May 10, 2012

The sun is at the wrong angle. This is midsummer sun, not early May sun. The light is all wrong. It makes me hyper.** But I feel like I’m in the wrong month. And the trees are much brighter than usual here, like someone turned the saturation all the way up.

Anyway, C did not appreciate me putting the Laverne and Shirley theme song on when we reached Milwaukee. And then the Happy Days song. Teeheehee.

Also, we heard it at lunch. The accent. I think she really said, “Soyoubetcha donchaaknow”. It was all I could do not to laugh so hard pizza came out my nose. But, quietly, don’t cha know?

** There will be a post about the hyperness and the Chicago Zoo later.

We gassed up after lunch (snicker… jeez, I still have the giggles, that sun angle really makes me giddy).

346.5 miles, 16.390 gallons for an mpg of 21.14, kinda low which I’m blaming on Chicago traffic and unending toll booth stops. $60.03

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Trip souvenir: Boston Public Library Card

May 7, 2012

If you had a book (a book that you wrote), where would you want to see it? I mean, other than the New York Times’ bestseller list.

A few weeks after it came out, my father-in-law found my book on a store shelf near Harvard. He took a photo of it, making me quite happy.

Still, it was disappointing that most bookstores don’t carry my book, it is only available for special order, which is silly. And, while tempting, I did not follow through on my idea to call all of the Barnes & Nobels, order a copy and, when it arrives, say nevermind so that it goes to their shelves for people to admire (and buy).

It was exciting to see my book, to actually touch it, especially for the first time. But that was a little anticlimactic because many of my friends got a copy before I did (from Amazon). O’Reilly gave me several author copies. I picked out one for myself and gave a couple to family (most of my supportive and generous friends bought their own copies). What to do with the other copies?

I love the library. It is a place where you can borrow books. As a child, it was an all-you-can-eat mental buffet, my family could never have afforded even a hundredth of the books I blew through as soon as I got my own card. It was a child’s card initially but I snuck into the big library (“waiting for my mom” got me in with the security guards). I’d go pick up my pile from the kid’s ara and then read the adult books (ok, the adult encyclopedia, the guards still kept track of me). I suspect my love of Wikipedia comes from these formative years.

Since I love the library, I donated copies to my two local library systems. They were humorously confused by the donation. See, I had to find the right person to donate it to, the acquisition librarian, so it wouldn’t go into the neverending fundraising used book sale.

The exchange for the Santa Clara system happened in person. The librarian was a little confused. Even as I was handing her the books, she wanted to make sure that I didn’t want to be paid for them. And then she explained that these would go into the system and be available to all the libraries, not the just the Campbell one. (Yes, of course!)

But one sad (ok, ecstatically happy) thing is that my book is always checked out. Of both libraries. And each library got extra copies beyond the two each I gave them. I have never managed to pop in and get a picture of my book with the library labeling (and the Dewey decimal stickers!). I do check, especially when I’m bummed for one reason or another… knowing people have checked out my book is spirit lifting.

I had hoped that we’d see my book in the Library of Congress in Washington DC. Despite common wisdom, they do not carry every book. One book that the Library of Congress does not have is (cue dirge music) my book. What is this nation coming to?

Actually, if I’d known and planned ahead, I might have tried to give a copy of my book to the LOC. That would have been spiffy but I didn’t bring any copies on the trip because I believed the myth (that LOC carried everything). The congress people would do well to understand the problems associated with creating robust embedded systems, it is an important subject for all our future.

Sigh.

However, when all seems lost, at its darkest, there are other opportunities. In this case, Boston Public Library. You may have seen their lions:

Boston public library carries my book! But not for checkout… How odd, I don’t know if it is better that it is a reference only book and they are afraid it will be stolen or worse that people don’t get to take it home to truly enjoy it. In order to check my book out from BPL, you have to fill out a form, get a library card to finish filling out the form, and then hand it to the nice lady who will go retrieve the books from behind a “Staff Only” door.

Once you have the book, start by admiring the Dewey decimal and BPL signage. There are many marble topped tables and other beautiful desks that lend gravity to the library.

Ok, once you’ve appreciated the awesomeness of my book in the library, in the Boston Public Library, now it is time to take the book on a wee adventure (remember: you can’t leave the library). You shouldn’t run through the library giggling and squeeing. It is frowned upon though if you run fast enough, no one will catch you so it is ok. Be sure to take pictures in well known locations though you may need a confederate. Just in case, be sure you can run faster than the confederate.

Please send me your pictures with my book, particularly in famous locales, especially in famous libraries. It is really damn cool.
You may want to write a book just so you can try this out. Awesome fun!

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Acting like kindergarteners

May 3, 2012

Have you ever wished you were a dinosaur? Raaaaaawwwrrr!

C and I went to Dinosaur Park where they built dome over some dino tracks in the Connecticut mud. Dinosaurs walked here! Right here!

It was pretty awesome. I’d forgotten how much non-science-nerds also love dinosaurs. We all had a very good time.

I love Triceratops best of all the dinosaurs. (Read my book, it has ’em!)

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Conversational tactics: faking appendicitis

May 2, 2012

Many years ago, on our honeymoon though it could have been an anniversary, my husband and I went to Carmel-by-the-sea. It is a quaint little place with lots of antique shops and art galleries. Now that I’ve been to a cute New England town, I would say it feels most like that.

I saw a cute, tiny painting in a window and wanted to go inside to see what the gallery offered. As sometimes happens in Carmel galleries, the artist was there to greet us. It was his gallery; all of this was his work.

When I find a painting or photo I like, I want to know more about the artist. Is this an example of their work or some odd little piece? Do I like their vision of the world or am I enchanted by the frame on the one that caught my eye?

I’m easily swayed by trivial things but when I live with them for a week or two, I lose interest. And then I start to actively dislike a picture that shows only the easy, plain surface. However, looking at more work by one artist seems to be a good indicator of how I’ll feel about a piece in the long term.

Once we walked in, we realized that it wasn’t our sort of gallery. I have nothing against different styles of art but this was more Thomas Kinkade’s style, not the impressionism that I’d taken it for (remember, it was a miniature painting that had me amused). I could tell C felt the same way: this was the sort of candy-like art that makes me unhappy in the long term (and that he seldom falls for anyway).

The artist was garrulous, wanting to tell us about each piece and his career, exclaiming, “I was the original painter of light!” We were the only ones there; probably the only ones who had entered in weeks and he’d been hoarding all his words, waiting to share the bounty with the first unsuspecting tourists that entered his domain.

“Wait, wait! Let me get another masterpiece to show you!” He had a light dimmer and would raise and lower the light levels on each painting, extolling its virtues. How fast can one realistically leave in the face of this niceness and pride? We didn’t think we could sneak out at this point, he’d totally catch us. Each time he stepped out to get another painting, we did that couple thing where you mumbled quietly to each other to figure out a plan, hoping the communication is inaudible to others.

We tried to say that we’d come back later (liars!) but the artist took that to mean we truly wanted something and assured us he’s be happy to ship anywhere. We cried that we had a budget and he swore he’d help us with credit.

He went off to get another painting, he was sure we’d adore (I remember, he said the word adore with such happy elfin joy that we nearly cracked up, hidden in coughing fits). C and I mumbled again, I think I suggested faking appendicitis but it could have been him. Sadly, we failed to determine who would be the one to writhe on the floor in agony before the artist came back.

We reached the point where I was worried we have to actually buy something to escape. I didn’t want to hurt the nice old man’s feelings and he wouldn’t stop talking long enough to really let us get a word in edgewise.

I don’t remember how we got out of there, probably pled a fictitious lunch date. I do remember getting out of the gallery, walking on the sunny street and laughing with C, demanding that we come up with hand signals or something so one or the other of us could properly fake appendicitis when the need arose again. And it has occasionally but we never did come up with those signals.

 

 

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Check out the expression

April 29, 2012

Check out the expression on the cow’s face:

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This painting is the Abduction of Europa by Jean Francoise de Troy. 1716.