Prepoceros

Tomorrow? Is going to rock. I’m keeping this post short so I can get to bed early because OMG NUTCRACKER MARKET!

The NM (as I like to call it, because I’m hip to the lingo) is an annual indoor “street market” full of food, crafty things, and holiday crap. Probably seventy-five percent of the items sold there are either edible or incredibly tacky. So why am I so totally psyched? Two words, people: CASH BAR. Making fun of fellow shoppers’ ridiculous footwear is infinitely more entertaining when you don’t give a shit about anyone’s reaction.

I won’t bother explaining here; you’d be better off scanning through my account of last year’s Market. Just skimming the list of free food has made my mouth water. I think I’ll fast from now until 10:00 tomorrow morning to save up room.

This year’s coverage will be more multimedia-ish, if I can manage it. Do they allow camcorders? We shall see.

You bring the kitsch, I’ll bring the snark. I am so ready for this.

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Linkage: Tired of reading travel blogs? Sucks for you. This is the last one, I think: Karen is in Denmark, learning about…politics something something. I’ve never been there, but it sounds swell. This is Karen’s blog. You should not read it while hungry. I actually know (knew) Karen in real life—we QuizBowled together in Claremont. She exists, really!

[EDIT: I am a moron. This post, with all its spammy words and phrases, is an absolute spam magnet. I’m removing most of those words and changing the permalink to try to stem the flood of crap streaming into my comments.]

A while back I mentioned that I was getting bombarded with comment spam and was changing my comment settings so that I’d have to approve each new commenter by hand. This hasn’t been an enormous burden, as I’ve been visited by maybe two or three legitimate new commenters in the intervening months.

On the other hand, it hasn’t done much to decrease the amount of spam I get; it just stops that spam from reaching the public part of the site. [snip]

Most of these are shameless bits of spam and would get dumped into the moderation queue anyway, as they’re nothing but strings of links. But a few get creative and try to disguise themselves as honest comments. Most of them are still obvious and lame:

Hey I like your page keep up the good work. Heres a link to my site CHEAP V1AGGRxA!

Even if they’re not peddling penis pills, these are still easy to spot because they’re clearly generic.

Great site!
Love your design!
I agree!

A couple of spam-bits have been well-written enough to give me a moment’s pause. They have no links in the body and are composed of generally grammatical sentences that could be potential responses to a blog post. Just today it was suggested that I listen to the War of the Worlds radio broadcast*. A couple days ago I got another comment from the same “guy” on a different topic. These take a little extra care to recognize but are still easily spotted as blatant fakes, as they’re entirely unrelated to anything I’ve ever written.

I had a point, surely I did. I think it was that spam is a minor pain. WordPress has a blacklist feature that supposedly junks any comments containing particular strings of characters, but I continue to see comments from email addresses I *know* are on my blacklist. Boo.

Speaking of links (we weren’t, but it’s late and I need a transition), today we’ll continue in the living-abroad motif with Kat. Kat is a Russian Studies major (or something like that) at Stanford currently studying abroad in Moscow. Here is Kat’s blog. I don’t know her in real life, and I barely know her on the ‘net, but I do know that she’s fabtastic.

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* This is not the actual text of the quote. I’ve heard that these sorts of spam comments are sent out as scouts. A later search on that specific text will reveal all the sites which approved the scout comment, and those sites will be targeted for further spam-splattering. This may be entirely false, but it seems plausible enough, and I can’t think of a better explanation for these otherwise harmless comments, so I’ll not risk annoyance unnecessarily by posting the “scout” unparaphrased.

Feel free to do a little dance wherever you are, because today’s post will be ungrumpy. Yes! Finally!

A few months ago, while surfing the internets, I came across a blog post about a writer seeking potential interviewees for a book on women in science. Now, I don’t generally spend much time thinking about gender issues and so probably have no profound insight on these sorts of things, but I am a woman, and I do science-y things, so clearly I’m part of the target group here, and I could be useful as a boring statistic if nothing else.

I emailed in my abridged life story and got a positive response. The interview (by phone) took place this afternoon.

I’ve spent some time in the last week or two thinking about what I might say in such an interview. I’m not the best extemporaneous speaker, especially on the phone, so I figured I’d try stringing a few words together beforehand so as not to come across as a mumbly, scatterbrained woman-in-science. The problem was that I don’t have any confident opinions on the “big questions” people like to debate. Are men naturally better at science? Dunno. Maybe. Is there widespread systemic discrimination in science programs? Not sure. What can be done to reduce gender bias and/or help women succeed in math and science? Um. Can we just do some calculus? I’m a scientist, not a politician*.

Needless to say, I didn’t come up with any cogent answers to the above questions, but I did stumble across a few things NOT to say, so that helped.

The interview was scheduled for fifteen minutes after my last class of the day, so I lay out in a big grassy area near a fountain and waited. My phone has a nasty habit of not ringing while I’m on campus** (thanks Sprint!), but the gods of telephony saw fit to let this one through.

We spent surprisingly little of the interview talking about gender-related things. The only one of the biggies she asked was about what could be done to encourage women to go into math and science. (My answer: make more women scientists, or women, or scientists, available as mentors.) Most of the things she asked were general questions about me and my life experiences, and, hello, here we are on my PERSONAL BLOG on which I have managed to ramble on about myself, myself, and sometimes even myself for nearly four years now. Clearly, telling stories about myself is NOT A PROBLEM.

We talked about my family, every school I’ve ever attended, all of my math and science courses, my teachers, my fellow students, the summer programs I’ve gone to, my dreams and ambitions, my failures, my thoughts on those failures…and occasionally a short question about whether I remembered experiencing gender bias in any of these things which I almost always answered in the negative. Overall it was a pleasant conversation, and I found myself at a loss for words less often than I expected. Hooray.

I think much more clearly when I’m moving around, and an extended phone call with a stranger is a task that requires deep concentration, so as soon as the phone rang I got up and started pacing. I paced around a circle maybe twenty feet in diameter. And I paced. And paced. And paced. And paced and paced and paced. Never stopped, never changed direction. Though I lost touch with the outside world five words into the conversation, I was vaguely aware of the pacing.

It was a lovely afternoon, and this particular grassy area is a popular place for outdoor studying. I imagine a few other students might have wanted to take advantage of the nice day and clean grass, but none dared to enter the circle I was clearly marking off as mine mine mine all mine don’t mess with the crazy woman. Twenty or thirty students came out and arranged themselves in a grassy area near mine for a outdoor lecture. When their class ended, I was still pacing. Come to think of it, my grassy area was nicer than theirs, and they might have liked to sit in it, but did I mention mine? MINE.

After we’d run through more of my life story than all but a very few people have heard***, the interview ended and I stopped pacing, rather abruptly. Where am I again? Ah yes, fountain, grass, people. But the sun? It was here just a second ago. And when did it get cold? What is this dizziness, and this tingly rubberyness in my legs? Why do I feel as though I’ve walked for miles? I checked the air time on my phone: one hour and twenty minutes. So, yes, two or three miles of pacing, plus free (albeit tedious) entertainment for anyone sitting nearby. Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all afternoon.

And there you have it—my best impersonation of a crazy person. I only wish I’d had one of those earpiece doodads, so I could’ve been a crazy person walking in circles talking to herself. Must remember to get a doodad before my next phone interview. Not that I’ve heard from anyone else with solid plans to interview me, but surely they’ll soon be clamoring for slots in my planner, what with the remarkable life I’ve led and all. I grew up in white suburbia! My parents are still married, and they love me! I have some sort of potential, but I slack off in school! I’m 22, I’m single, and I live alone with my dog! I don’t know what I want to do with my life! FASCINATING.

My co-conversant said she’d be writing the book next spring, so I’ll find out then if anything I said will appear in it. I expect not; I don’t tend to speak in sound bites, nor do I have a knack for cleverly and concisely summing up the thoughts of many (or even my own experiences) in pithy little nuggets of wit. If I did, I would’ve become a writer long ago. At least I’ve bumped up her sample size a notch.

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Okay, time to move out of the Top 100 for a while and start plugging some of the “locals.” My e-friend Jenni is in Dijon this semester (year?) teaching English at two French high schools, and she’s created a shiny new blog so the rest of us can stew in jealousy share vicariously in her adventures in Frenchy-Frenchland. French food, French words, French scenery…yum.

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* This is not to imply that these questions aren’t worth asking and debating, or that I shouldn’t have answers to them, or that scientists shouldn’t have to concern themselves with “political” issues in their environments. They are; I should; they should. My point is only that, in truth, I don’t think about these things often. This may make me a bad person.

** This is not just me being a ditz and not noticing the phone ringing, I promise. I can have the phone sitting in front of me and be watching it as someone calls, and it won’t ring or vibrate or flash or give any indication that it would like to answered until it flashes and beeps that I have a new message…from thirty seconds ago. When I hang up with voicemail, the screen shows I have a missed call. O RLY?

*** Seriously, this woman, whom I’ve only “met” today, might well be on the top five list of people-who-know-the-most-about-my-life. Definitely top ten.

I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to blog. You know what’s good? Thai food.

Today has been a long parade of suck. Nothing particularly awful happened, just…blah. I could have voted but didn’t, and the consequent guilt has, I think, contributed greatly to my bummed-out-ness. I did paint my toenails today, though; that was fulfilling.

Enough bitching and moaning. Here’s a site antipodally opposed in sentiment to mine at the moment: Cute Overload, premier repository of nubbly ears and tiny puppy tongues on the interwebs. The post that’s up now (Jeck-pup and Hyde-pup, can’t get the permalink to work) is devastatingly precious (though it mixes up its classic literary figures, psh).

I’ve spent the last two-ish hours filming and editing a video for YouTube. After I’d gotten all the video recorded and half-edited, I decided I wasn’t comfortable with part of the story I was telling, so I cut that part out. But then the rest of the video didn’t hang together all that well, so I cut most of the content out entirely and was left with a few unrelated “funny” bits and some footage of Sam being cute and scruffy. What the hell, might as well throw it up there.

I finished it, saved it, rendered it, and was ready to upload it when I watched the video one last time. Although it was only a minute and eighteen seconds long, it had no point, was not well-edited, and would make no sense to anyone but me. I couldn’t think of a single reason to post it, so I didn’t.

And there went my evening. I did manage to finish my Syntax homework along the way, so it wasn’t a total wash. That part was actually quite enjoyable, as I am a DORK and am tickled pink when I get to decipher sentences like these:

Up to this point we have been primarily looking at raising from the subject of an infinitive complement clause to the specifier of a main clause TP.

The subject of the embedded clause is Caseless and raises to this empty position for Case checking (and to satisfy the EPP).

The most reliable way to distinguish raising constructions from control constructions is to work out the theta grids associated with the matrix predicates.

Instead there is a null Caseless PRO in the specifier of the tenseless clause.

There’s this election thingamajig tomorrow, or so I’ve heard. The district in which I’m registered is a bit of a drive from where I live, so that’ll be fun. I planned to vote by mail, but that would have required NOT leaving it until the very last minute, and really who am I kidding.

There are TWO links today because I am a wonderful, caring person: Toothpaste for Dinner and Marmaduke Explained. Though each of these sites updates daily, I only stop by once a month or so and click through a whole bunch at once, which my carpal tunnels totally appreciate.

Every night so far this month (all five of them, yes) I’ve been at my computer as the time crept closer to midnight (or I’ve been sick-ish) and thinking, “Damn, I still haven’t written anything today. What can I urp out that will take the least possible effort but still technically count as a ‘post’?” This low-hanging-fruit method has produced some quality blogging, as you can see by scrolling down.

Tonight’s minimal-effort inspiration came a few minutes ago, when I remembered that I used to embed all of my Holland videos here as I finished editing them, so that they would appear on YouTube and Prepoceros simultaneously. I did finish the ninth video in the series a few weeks ago, but I completely forgot to post it here. I will now correct that oversight.

The video below features cherry sausages, dutch diphthongs, and teeny tiny toilets.

Okay, now all we need is a link with little or no explanation, and I can be in bed by midnight. How about BoingBoing? It updates seventy billion times a day, so I don’t recommend subscribing. Unless you’re fascinated by copyright law, computer case mods, crocheting, AND video game fan art, most of the posts won’t interest you. Or you could just wait for me to repost here some of the tidbits that catch my fancy, as I sometimes do. Makes no difference to me; I’m off to bed, suckers!

At Starbucks, again. I swear I spend time at other places. I’m not…I’m not…oh, hush.

This time our attention is commanded by a jackass, motormouth barista who I can only imagine is an absolute dream to work with for six or eight hours at a time. The snippet of conversation which follows took maybe ten seconds. He didn’t ever stop talking the whole time I was in the store, but this is the only segment I remember verbatim.

* JMB makes some asshole comment to fellow barista
JMB, in a whiny, high-pitched voice: Phil*, why are you always so mean to me?
JMB, in his own voice: Because I can.
* JMB’s cell phone rings
JMB: Who’s this? Someone else I don’t wanna talk to?
Other barista: Grande latte.
JMB: Grande latrine, coming right up.

Link? Geez, I’m so bad at this. Let’s go for something completely different today: StevePavlina.com. He’s one of those guru types, chock-full of “obvious” ways to improve every aspect of your job, health, relationships, social skills, yada yada. Sometimes his stuff is good (check the “Best Of” in the sidebar), and sometimes he’s a crazy-man-on-the-subway** wingnut (see: anything to do with “intention-manifestation”).

This may come as a surprise to those of you who know me well (or it may not, if you know me *very* well), but I’m quite enamored of the whole lifehacking/personal productivity cult (Covey, Getting Things Done, hipster PDAs and all that), an area which is usually the domain of middle-managers and freelancers. Merlin Mann is one of my all-time heroes, people. I’m living proof (in case anyone doubted it) that you can read all the books, subscribe to all the blogs, listen to all the podcasts, and STILL have no idea what you want to be doing a year from now, how much money is in your bank account, or where your umbrella is.

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* Name changed to protect the irritating.

** Not that I ride the subway often here in Houston, but the interweb tells me that the underground trains, they are full to bursting with crazies.

After some time spent trying to fall asleep and being unable to, I’ve come to the conclusion that the pain in my head almost certainly originates in my jaw, where an errant wisdom tooth is wreaking havoc on its neighbors.

This is fabulous timing, as I’ve just switched dentists this month, which means I won’t even be able to make an appointment for another couple weeks until the new dentist gets the magical patient list from the insurance company. After I make the appointment and actually get in to see the dentist, there will need to be more appointments with an oral surgeon, and if there aren’t too many college kids taking up all the slots during the holidays, I *might* be rid of this beast by Christmas.

I predict that this will not be a good month for my stomach lining; I foresee a great deal of ibuprofen in my future, as I imagine the pain will only get worse. Any suggestions on speeding up this process, besides calling the dentist every damn day, which I plan on doing anyway? Suggestions on getting through life without touching or moving my jaw are also appreciated.

Tonight’s post will also be grouchy and devoid of content because I have acquired, out of nowhere, a slamming headache. Lucky for you it’s likely to be short, as staring at tiny words on a screen is painful. “Slamming” is perhaps not a word typically used to describe headaches, but you will give me no grief about this because I have a slamming headache. Understood?

I’m not normally a sickly person, so these feelings of utter craptasticity two nights in a row are puzzling. I blame tonight’s headache on the paint fumes wafting through the air from the repainting of every building in my apartment complex. That’s probably not actually what’s making my head hurt, but my psyche would rather I assume that it’s paint fumes and not, say, BRAIN CANCER.

Aw crap. I’ve been so good lately at NOT thinking about death and dying and mortality and the horror of being confined to such a fragile, ultimately-doomed body*, but now I’ve gone and reminded myself. Thanks a lot, self.

This weekend I’ll be tutoring four lessons and proctoring one practice test. If everyone shows up, that is, which they damn well better, as I’m driving to all sorts of BFE. Must remember to update iPod. Must also remember to find something to do for four hours while I proctor. Most of my to-dos revolve around getting myself organized, which generally requires that I be at home, where all myself’s crap lives. Perhaps I will bring a book.

Now I’m just rambling, which is worsening my headache and boring you to tears, if you’ve even made it this far. Time for bed. Yes, at 8:20 on a Friday night. You wish you were as cool as I am.

Link? Hmmm, let’s segue smoothly from yesterday’s link into…Sarah Brown. Also New York, also much with the funny. You will love her. Yes.

Bonus link: the NaBloPoMo Randomizer. Can’t get enough blogging-on-the-regular? Sick of hearing about my mysterious maladies? Click the link to be whisked away to the site of a random NaBloPoMo participant.

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* I still think about all these things every day, but most of the time I can be all objective and detached about it and maintain some distance from that horrible despairing feeling. Am I lying to myself? Yeah kinda, but I’ll take it. Defense mechanisms FOR THE WIN.

If this were not NaBloPoMo, I would not be posting tonight. Why not? Because I feel like crap. I’m not sure what it is—I was completely fine and ordinary-feeling until about half an hour ago, when I was suddenly overcome by extreme sleepiness and a desire to do nothing but lay on the couch with my puppy. I don’t feel particularly sick, just, you know, not interested in moving or thinking or doing anything at all. I apologize in advance (in the middle, whatever) for the un-thought-out grammar and likely incoherence of this post. There are probably spelling errors, even. The horror.

I got stood up at a tutoring lesson this evening, for the third time this week (by three different students). What—do I smell or something? Why are people not in their houses at the times we’ve agreed on? So that was fun, spending two hours in my car during rush hour. Thank goodness for podcasts. I get paid, yes. Big whoop. I care more about my time.

Perhaps it was something I ate. On the way home from my cancelled lesson I stopped at Jamba Juice and got a raspberry smoothie and a pizza protein bar. I expected all that health food crap and vitamin-y whatnot to energize me, though, not bring me crashing down. Whatevs.

That tutoring student is supposed to call to reschedule, but she hasn’t yet. I’m trying to decide whether I can muster up the perkiness to call her, or whether I’ll just turn off the ringer on my phone and crawl into bed.

Wow. I am so tremendously grumpy, for no apparent reason. How is it only 8:30? I’d swear I’d been up all night. I’m all glum and moody and mopey, but NOTHING HAS HAPPENED. WTF.

Oh wait, wait. Brain. working. slowly. But I have a guess. I’m guessing temporary anemia. Will take an iron pill and go to bed. Woo! What a relief, to be fairly confident that I’m not dying and that my current malaise is likely easily remediable. Am still fairly confident that I cannot type anything worth reading, as it takes a concerted effort even to lift my hands all the way up to the keyboard. So I should stop. With the typing. And go away and leave you nice people alone.

Oh right. I promised links. Okay, let me find one I’m not too personally invested in. Aha. Overheard in New York. Updates several times a day, is hilarious, is wildly popular on this interweb thing. The headlines they add to the reader-contributed quotes they post are often the best part. See also: Overheard in the Office.

Conclusion: Blogging when one does not feel particularly inclined to blog leads to sharing, usually at length and concerning things which are of little interest to readers*, who are undoubtedly unsubscribing in droves** at this very moment for fear they might otherwise be subjected to such drivel for twenty-eight more days. Bye folks! Nice knowin ya!

Sleep? Sleep.

[UPDATE (7:37 AM): I’m alive, yes. Ten hours of sleep. I dreamt of cheerleading, Judaism, and strawberry cordial, but not simultaneously. Still don’t feel spectacular, but much better than I did last night. Sorry for all the whining.]

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* The technical term for this is blogorrhea. I wish I could take credit for that one. So evocative.

** I don’t know how many a “drove” is supposed to be, but I’m sure all my three readers together constitute less than one drove. Negative readership, here I come!