Buying pianists from Nordstroms.

Apologising in advance, in a public-ish place, for being a really lame host to J., this long weekend’s houseguest, because my house is kind of a tip (the guest bedroom and bathroom are will be clean) and I have to work for chunks of Saturday and Monday (though will work a 12-ish hour day today to try to mitigate that). Still, there were will be tacos, Cards Against Humanity, pub time, and cat introductions, which are all bonuses to any weekend.

Today in Vegan Heathen Lent: Oatmeal with banana peach and peanut butter, ersatz burritos made with chili, falafel, a very expensive multivitamin made without gelatin or other any creature bits, another chunk of a Cocoa Camino dark chocolate bar.

Today in Gilmore Girls theories: The now-confirmed new cast member Sutton Foster is going to be playing her character, Michelle, from Bunheads. She will be back in New York for a while, appearing either on or adjacent to Broadway, and dating Jess. Jess will visit his mother and uncle in Stars Hollow to introduce her to them and realise that Michelle is just a slightly younger Lorelai with brown eyes and more honed singing-and-dancing skills. He will panic, dump her, and then hook up with Rory, at least temporarily, before realising that a brown-eyed, world-wearier Lorelai is infinitely preferable to rehashing shit with his high school girlfriend whose other two ex-boyfriends from a nearly decade earlier are apparently still hanging around.

RE. Wednesday’s title: Yep.

 

 

The Subsect.

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Whether Doyle’s coming back too.

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Little Green Men.

Frantically trying to finish a second mitten in a pair (the main body, anyway) tonight. I had to rebuild part of the pattern myself to customise it and they have to be finished, blocked, and dry before Sunday’s staff Christmas party. It’s pretty typical to overextend myself on these things – I make things because it is cheaper financially, but they ended up taking twice as long as I think they will to finish, so the value of DIY ends up in the shitter. Merry Christmas!

In preparation for going to a (free) screening of The Force Awakens on Friday morning, we watched the Despecialised edition of A New Hope on Friday night and mentioned to R. that one of my favourite things about the whole original trilogy is Yoda’s butt. It’s just adorable. And Yoda is such a brat that that scene makes me very happy.

R’s watching Empire Strikes Back tonight and I am wicked jealous.

Tiny green butts.

Cliffs.

Why hello! You may have noticed that I fell off the blogging map for four days, turning Holidailies into Holimaybes! HA HA HA.

Ugh.

Truth is, I was working like mad last week, including Saturday, sat in front of a computer for 9 or 10 hours a day, trying my damnedest to get a grip on picas and points and my boss’s idiosyncratic guidelines, and when I got home, my brain would just shut down. I spent nearly all of Sunday doing the dance of knitting/staring into space/despairing about not-done Christmas prep/worrying myself into a migraine/knitting more because it counts as Christmas prep and is more fun that vacuuming.

I’ve also largely been off social media because almost everyone is getting on my nerves. I shut off ‘Shut up‘ on a few sites and regretted it almost instantly. Whatever those poor bastards who moderate comments on news websites get paid, it is not enough. It’s probably about 3% of enough.

In my eventual, mostly benevolent dictatorship, people should have to buy a fucking stamp to express their opinion on a newspaper or other media outlet’s website.

Should I crowbar in a fact? Sure.

The oldest, still-published newspaper in the world is Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, originally printed as Ordinari Post Tijdender, which dates back to 1645 when it was an official mouthpiece of Queen Christina. It isn’t where you find out about Kardashians or recipes for trifle; it seems to be a bit Hansard-y, but with public and corporate and legal announcements too.

Since 2007, only one copy of each issue is actually printed; the rest is online only.

The Darkness.

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Anachronisms.

Welp, I have a handful of minutes to get a fact-filled post up. While standing by my bike, outside, on my phone.

Fargo is a good show, with bits that are less cool because I am jerk? Caught up on the last two episodes tonight and was most disturbed by the presence of a coffeemaker like this in a hotel room in 1979. Nyuh uh, no way.

Automatic drip coffeemakers in 1979 looked like this dammit and weren’t found in every motel room in South Dakota, dammit. DON’T LIE TO ME ABOUT COFFEE, HAWLEY.

Screens.

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Giving them what they don’t want.

Today, in Canada, it’s National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. This is not a marketing ploy, nor an arbitrarily chosen date either.

It’s the anniversary of the École Polytechnique Massacre in Montréal, when a violent misogynist named Marc Lépine shot 28 women, killing 14 of them. Read More →

Spellcheck.

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