What Are People Saying?

Yesterday, Walking from Work to the Bus

Random Dude: Hey, can you do my hair like that?
Me: I don't know, possibly.
RD: Your hair is great. I don't care what people say about you, you're alright with me.
Me: Uh . . .
RD: If people say they don't like your hair, don't listen, they're just jealous because it's beautiful.
Me: Thanks.

Then he turned and walked down an alley.

Dogblog

Okay, y'all, from now on this blog is just going to be links to pictures of cute animals. Witness: Dogblog, pictures of dogs hanging out. Also, if you scroll through the archives far enough back, the guy who writes it quotes a Decemberists song off the Five Songs Ep.

My secret dog fantasy is to get a wire hair terrier and name it Asta, and occasionally dye it funny colors.

(link via Alisa.)

Animal Friends

I realize that this is totally douchey and non-ironic and I am giving up any pretense of being cool by posting it, but dude: it's animals that are friends.

I am very intrigued by the piglets: Why are they wearing tiger outfits? Why isn't the tiger eating them?

Also, I am not sure that cat is actually friends with that monkey.

(Found via Mimi Smartypants)

In Which I Semi-Actively Seek Out Public Humiliation

Today was the first day of my second semester of belly dancing class. I went even though I'm think I'm getting sick. (Everyone in my office is sick, and all day I've been feeling like the inside of my face itches. Throat, eyes, nose, all itchy and gross. Plus, snot.)

I'm in the "advanced" class because I've already taken one class. Today four people showed up for the advanced class, and three of them were better than me. They all seem to have no problem moving their arms and legs at the same time, while it is still proving to be pretty difficult for me. Sometimes the teacher does things, and I'm not even sure what parts of her body she's moving. It's like some sort of ungodly combination of hips and knees and stomach and bouncing and twisting and we have to do this to music? Really fast? Are you serious?

There is also the ever looming spectre of a recital. Today the teacher told us, "This is the basic dance, and then we'll have people do solos. We can customize choreography for people based on their level, so we show off their abilities." She said this while looking directly at me and smiling, and I think it was secret code for "You are not getting out of this just because you suck."

I smiled and nodded and managed to avoid explaining that I would prefer not to do a solo, thank you, because the number of people who see me belly dance is directly proportional to the chances of me never having sex again. I know that belly dancing is supposed to be a dance of the sexy, but when I do it it's more of a dance of the awkward.

I Took This Picture At the Atlantic City Goodwill

People, some things should not be donated to the Goodwill. Ever.

Other disturbing things in the AC Goodwill: The old lady who accosted me about my hair, going so far as to jab her finger into my head while telling me that I should have a more natural hair color. When she told me, "No one has hair that color!" I replied, "I do," and took off, leaving her to complain loudly to passerby about my hair. Gotcha there, hag.

Atlantic City

Hey, it's the Atlantic Ocean! I saw it this Saturday, while I was at Atlantic City. I had never been to Atlantic City, and Easter means roadtrips, so Greg and I headed down there for the day. It turns out Atlantic City: Kind of lame. Probably because gambling is the one vice I don't have, and I've been a little twitchy in casinos ever since I was stuck in the Vegas airport for six hours.

I stuck my hand in the Atlantic ocean and lost three dollars at the penny slots. I think my inability to play video games carries over to slot machines, because I'm all, "There's lines and buttons and it flashes and I don't understand! So I put my money in this slot, and then it goes away? How is this fun?" See also: My apathy about both winning and money.

I got to ride in a car, though, and at this point in my life that is pretty exciting. I am like a small child, and if you stick me in the passenger seat and let me control the stereo, I will sort of space out and stare out the window and be perfectly content.

Confidential To The Guy Panhandling on the corner of 7th & Walnut Yesterday

Dude, when you ask me for change, and then I say no, and then you make kissy noises and/or whistle at me, it does not make me want to give you change. It makes me want to punch you in the face for sexually harassing me. If you want to get change out of me, try saying something like, "My, young lady, you look like you are more than capable of obtaining a PhD in Computer Science, or any other field, for that matter."

No Luv,
Cyn

The Old In-Out (List)

• Cheeto's Lip Balm (The chick that does Pop Culture Junkmail had this brilliant quote about it: "Now we know what to get Britney Spears for her birthday, I guess.")
• This Terry Schiavo bullshit. I don't even want to talk about it, because oh man, people, is it ever none of our fucking business, as a nation. Detube the Schiavo, Tube Terry, whatever, I do not care what you do because she is not my loved one, and thus I do not have to make that sort of decision about her.
• Eventually all of this "culture of life" bullshit that is secret code for "women should not be trusted with their own bodies" will make me so mad that I will spontaneously gain the power to shoot laser beams from my eyes, and then all of you fucking anti-choice freaks will be sorry.
• I get no Easter-related time off, despite the fact that I was prepared to believe very strongly in something if that was what it took to get it.
• Oh man, do I ever need to do my laundry.
• I still have not heard from UPenn, and the universal date for accepting Grad School offers is April 15th, which means that I may have to email them very shortly. I am very much not looking forward to that.

• New Decemberists album. Have I mentioned lately that this band is really good? The song The Sporting Life is pure, undiluted genius. I'm going to marry Colin Meloy one day. Unless he's gay. Maybe even if he is.
• MIA's album: Also good.
• This Cake or Death teacozy & Eddie Izzard teapot makes me wish I liked tea a lot more than I do.
• I have decided that now that I have given my work five months advance notice on my departure, it is practically my job to be a rabble-rouser and troublemaker.
• In response to the outcry in the comments of the last post, I now own a sailor hat.

Funny Hats

Sorry for the lack of blogging, kids. My friend Chris is visiting while on leave from the Navy (He's learning to run nuclear submarines!), and I've been totally busy making him drive me around in his rad ass old car. (You know what's fun? Making someone parallel park a car the size of a large boat without any power steering, that's what.)

Chris has funny hats in his car.

The Brioche Stitch Hat

This is the Brioche Stitch Hat from Weekend Knitting, done with two colors of Manos. If you plan to make this hat, I would suggest reading the Brioche Stitch article in the latest Interweave Knits, as the description of how to do Brioche Stitch in Weekend Knitting is ass. (I did not read the article, but I did rip out ten rows of knitting and start over.) Other than that, I liked the pattern.

This hat was on the difficult side. You have to knit the first three inches on size six needles, and between the fact that the yarn was really too big for the needles, and the fact that brioche stitch is all crazy complicated, I felt like I was wrestling with the yarn a lot. But then I switched to size 8 needles for the rest of the hat, and brioche stitch started to make more sense to me, and it got a lot easier. The decreases for the top of the hat are also really insane. But this hat turned out super awesome, so it was all worth it.

The SquiPod

So remember when I found this and was like, "I am totally going to knit me something like that"?

Well, I totally did. I made up the pattern and everything. I used Brown Sheep Nature Spun and size 4 dpns, and if you asked me real nice, I might even write up the pattern for you. He's got a little flap with a snap on the back so I can slip my iPod in and out, and the earbuds come out of the top of his pointy little head.

Spring Makes Me Crazy and I Clean

I think the coming of spring is doing weird things to me, because today I cleaned the heck out of my apartment. I decluttered my desk, vacuumed the floor, made my bed, cleaned the bathroom (including mopping the bathroom floor), washed the dishes, cleaned the counters, and cleaned the stove. Plus sort of general decluttering. You know how often this sort of thing happens in my apartment? Never, that's how often.

Depresingly, while my apartment is startlingly clean for my apartment, it is probably not super clean compared to all apartments everywhere. But I can see my desk again, and that is kind of exciting.

Also, if you would like your apartment to be filthy, all you have to do is get a cat. I love Sophie to bits, but I would love her more if she could clean up her own shed fur and not track little kitty litter pebbles everywhere.

Questionnaire

I normally don't do these question & answer memes, because I tend to skim them in other people's blogs, but when I found this one at Will Work for Favorable Dicta, I not only actually read it, but came up with my own amusing answers in my head. Also, it's 1:25 am, I had a hellish night at work, and I've been drinking whiskey, so y'all can't really expect the sort of loving craftsmanship and originality that goes into my blog entries on things like dead squirrels.

1. Who is an author whose work you've never read, but want to?

Umberto Eco. I own The Name of the Rose, but have not read it yet. I'm a little intimidated because my friend Melanie described the first hundred pages or so as "reader-hostile." This came up during a discussion of David Foster Wallace, who is the answer to the question, "Who is an author you really want to like, but actually hate?" I try so hard to like David Foster Wallace, but I just want to hunt him down and beat him about the head and shoulders with a (hardback) copy of Infinite Jest. With the help of Melanie, I have come to the conclusion that this is because his writing is very reader-hostile.

2. Can men and women be friends?

This question is totally hetero-normative, and so I am refusing to answer it.

3. If you could choose to live in a different time period, would you? If so, when would you live and why?

I would choose to live in The Future. I figure they have to have better gadgets there, and whether it's a utopia or a dystopia, it'll be some kind of topia, and the clothes will probably be shiny and pretty.

4. Have you ever sold anything, bought anything, or processed anything as a career? Have you ever sold anything bought or processed, or bought anything sold or processed, or repaired anything sold, bought, or processed, as a career?

I'm not sure I understand this question. I used to answer phones and deliver stair parts to job sites, does that count? My current job involves obtaining 800 numbers, which I guess also counts. I am going to go with "yes" on this one.

5. They're going to make a movie about your life. What's the theme song?

No Children, by The Mountain Goats. Just kidding! (Thought I would throw in some tMG humor for y'all.) Probably Red Right Ankle, by The Decemberists.

6. Is Half Squirrel the unfortunate remains of Hoppy the Three-Legged Rabbit-Squirrel?
(This question is actually from a reader comment.)

No. Unlike Hoppy, Half Squirrel has all four legs, and a complete tail. Half Squirrel is, however, missing a head. I assume (and hope) that Hoppy still remains happily at large. Other El Stop Fauna that are presumably doing well include Mohawk Pigeon and various high school students.

Half Squirrel

I realize that this is a terrible picture, but that gray blur sort of in the middle of the picture there is Half Squirrel. Half Squirrel first appeared at my El station on Wednesday the ninth, and he is still there. Half Squirrel is probably more like Three-Quarters Squirrel or Seven Eights Squirrel, but I like the sound of Half Squirrel.

The thing I am really impressed with is the staying power of Half Squirrel. There have been other squirrel fractions on the tracks before, but usually those were gone after a day or two. The first day Half Squirrel seemed to compress a little with passing trains, but he seems to have reached some sort of maximum squirrel density, and now the trains don't phase him at all. SEPTA doesn't seem to be concerned about sending anyone down there to scrape him off.

Half Squirrel is remarkably well preserved for a squirrel that's been dead for over a week and repeatedly run over by trains. I wouldn't want to poke at him or anything, but from where I stand across the tracks, he doesn't seem to be decomposing too much, or attracting bugs. (Isn't there a thing where the bodies of Saints aren't supposed to decompose? Perhaps he is Saint Half Squirrel, and this is the Miracle of the Dead Squirrel and soon the 46th street El stop will become a holy shrine of some sort.)

Every morning, I get up and go to the El station, and every morning, Half Squirrel is there. It sort of makes going to work more pleasant. "Well," I think to myself, "My daily chores will almost certainly be slightly boring and unpleasant, but at least I won't be staring at a dead squirrel any more."

The Mystery In My Checking Account

I check my bank balance online sort of compulsively. I do this because I like to check up on what my money is doing, and I don't balance my checkbook. The online account balance money checker info thinger has thing where it has your ledger balance, and your current withdrawals, and then it has more detailed info by date once your checks and junk clear. I've been checking a little extra compulsively recently because the last two weeks have been sort of interesting for my checking account, with my paycheck and plane tickets and rent and my huge fucking gas bill all doing a sort of complicated little dance.

On Monday, I noticed a $400 "cash card purchase" that I don't remember making.

"Hmmmm. Interesting," I thought. (Well, okay, I actually thought "EEEEP. EEEEP. WHERE MONEY GO?") But I'm a rational person, so I just plan to figure out what the charge was and sort it out. But it doesn't tell me what the charge was, because it hasn't cleared my bank account yet. It just tells me it was a check card purchase made on the 10th. The tenth was when I checked into the hotel, so I sort of think that maybe the hotel put some sort of hold on my card, even though UCSD was paying for my room, or maybe they accidentally charged me or something.

I tried to call my bank to figure out who's charging me. Their little automated system would not tell me.

I sent them a message through their online "message center" being all, "Yo, bitches, where my money at?" They have yet to respond, despite their website promising to do so within two business days.

Today, the money is back. It is as though it never left. I don't know what happened. Did the hotel charge me and then uncharge me? Did the bank screw up? Did my money go for a walk? I am glad my money has decided to come back to me, but I would like to know what happened, because I very much want for it to never happen again.

Lines Cause Terror

This is the line to get through security at LAX at 12:14 pm Monday afternoon. See that building, way in the distance? That was my terminal. The line snaked down the elevators, out the door, down the sidewalk, and halfway down the next terminal. I have no idea why it was so long. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, other than the huge fucking line. My dad says all of the other terminals were practically deserted.

Fortunately, the line moved pretty quickly, as every second I spent in it I was considering making a bomb threat myself. I was really torn - if the bomb threat plan went well, they would yank me out of line, search me, and then let me on my plane without any more standing in line. If it didn't go so well, I would go to jail. I decided to chance it with the line. I was also considering saying things like, "Well, this is it, the terrorists have already won," but I was worried about getting lynched by my fellow line dwellers, who were probably just as cranky as I was. I didn't even offer to give the pan-handling evangelist five bucks if she could get her god to make the line go away.

Seriously, LAX, what the fuck? Shouldn't you have this whole "checking people's luggage for bombs" thing down by now?

UCSD

I think I have a crush on UC San Diego.

Did you know that their CS program is rated 13th in the country? I didn't, although I probably should have.

Everyone I met this weekend was crazy smart. The profs were crazy smart, the grad students were crazy smart, my fellow prospective grad students were crazy smart. (One kid was choosing between Berkeley, MIT, and a job offer from Google. I tried really hard to hate him, but he was just too nice.) I went to lectures about work professors are doing, and met with a bunch of them one on one and got to hear about their research. Being in academia again felt fantastic. Everyone was doing such interesting work. I didn't want to leave.

All of the other prospective students were 21 and had prior research experience. Well, okay, to be fair, some of them were 23. And had Masters Degrees. It was very intimidating. I felt sort of old and busted. There were also a lot of responses like, "You went to a liberal arts school? And your degree is partly in Creative Writing? Oh, how cute." It was harder not to hate the kids who kept asking if they could get transfer credits for the graduate level courses they were currently taking as undergrads (at Top 5 schools).

On a not-so-old-and-busted note, apparently the fellowship they offered me is sort of a Big Deal. As in, my fellowship is probably bigger than yours. (My fellowship brings all the boys to the yard.)

I spent the two days at UCSD bonding with my fellow prospectives and following various professors and grad students around like a baby chick who had lost its mother. I had a really awesome roommate, and bonded with the other girl prospectives as well. (There were four girls, out of around 20 people. Oh, also UCSD only admitted about thirty people this year.)

Me First and the Gimme Gimmes were randomly playing a free show that we all got to go to, which was awesome. It wasn't the best show ever (they were rather drunk), but getting to see a band I like for free unexpectedly is always rad.

The only downside to all of this is that it turns out they're really not doing a lot of linguistics related research, and housing in the area is very expensive. And also it's looking more and more like I will (once more) be leaving all my friends to move across the country.

I Can't Dress Myself

So, I'm off to San Diego tomorrow. Blogging service will probably be slightly spotty until Tuesday. I had vague plans to get one of my friends to guest blog, but then I didn't do it. So instead of reading this, you can go outside or knit or something. You'll manage.

I think I'm scheduled to meet the entire UCSD cs department, either individually or en masse. I've already exchanged emails with three faculty members and two grad students. I'm very excited, and also freaked the hell out.

This conversation with my dad didn't help:
Dad: Try to pack some nice clothes.
Me: Errr, well, I'm bringing a skirt, it's nice. I don't have that many nice clothes.
Dad: I know it's a UC school, but you still might try dressing up a little.
Me: God, you act like I live in a cave and dress in bear pelts.
Dad: And?
Me: I'm a vegetarian, we don't wear bear pelts.

I refrained from pointing out I bought a new bra. (I thought I'd save it for the blog.) Also, I totally made sure that I didn't bring any offensive t-shirts, which ruled out, well, most of my wardrobe.

Every Dog Has Its Day, And Every Woman, She Gets Her Own Way

It's International Women's Day, and I'm celebrating by bleeding from my twat. (And then over-sharing about it on the internet!) I think this was good planning on the part of my uterus, it's like I have my own International Women's Day party decorations in my panties.

Okay, I'm going to shut up about this now, for the good of us all.

I might be going to a meeting for Women in Computing while I'm visiting UCSD, and I'm excited about, partly because it's an issue I'm really involved in, but partly because this means there are enough women in computing at UCSD for them to have a group. At Oberlin, it was mainly just me and Claire. Granted, we were the co-chairs of the Oberlin Computer Science Majors Committee for a year, so we were a small but highly visual group. (We were also responsible for a t-shirt that said, "We like Boobies" on the front and "Oberlin College Computer Science" on the back.)

One of the things I love about my job is that I don't feel like I'm a Girl Programmer, like a Girl Reporter or a Girl Genius. At Oberlin, I was a Girl Programmer. I was friends with the other Girl Programmer and the Gay Programmer, and together we were the Bad Kid Programmers and we drank in lab and mocked all of those straight boys for being so boring, and told each other it was okay that we weren't part of their club. It wasn't that the straight boys weren't nice to us, it was just that we were so Other to them that we might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

There was a big kerfuffle recently with a professor at some school, I think in North Carolina, getting in big trouble for saying that maybe there weren't more women in the sciences because women's brains weren't made to understand science. I don't remember all the salient details, and I'm not going to look them up because it will just make me all apoplectic. But I think that the reason there aren't more women in the sciences is because it sucks to be the only girl in the room. It's lonely, and it's hard. Even when no one's being sexist, it's just not fun to be constantly reminded of your alien status. It feels like every time you don't know something, or you make a mistake, you're letting down your gender.

I'm sort of worried that I might be the only girl in the class again at UCSD. But I'm also sort of excited that I might not be. And some day I might be the girl teaching the class.

Not Much To Report

I'm working on a brioche stitch hat (the one from Weekend Knitting) and I'm completely obsessed with it. I'm sending emails to my non-knitting friends, all, "Vertical lines of color, y'all!" and they're like, "Cyn. Step away from the knitting." It's sort of a pain in the ass, but it's turning out so awesome.

The Linguistics Plan is going okay. I've read about 250 pages in the first linguistics books, and I feel like I'm sort of getting a general overview of things. (It turns out we make noises with our mouths. Who knew?)

Check out the awesome fake taxidermied pig rug on Craftster.

The underwire snapped on my white bra today, meaning the only bra I have left is black, a little too big for me, and prone to unhooking itself in a semi-alarming fashion. Unfortunately, I don't think I have time to go bra shopping before I fly off to San Diego on Thursday. Which means I'm going to be generally unknowledgeable, and wearing ill-fitting support garments. Rad. Don't try this shit at home, kids, leave it to the professional fuck-ups.

Bills, Bills, Bills

Oh man, y'all, my gas bill this month was two hundred and thirty-nine dollars. What the fuck? It's not like I'm leaving the thermostat turned up to 80 all the time or something. I barely ever nudge it up above sixty-five.

I think someone told me recently that PGW raised their prices. Philly peeps, does anyone know what's up? Also, like, 98 dollars of my bill was a "delivery charge." Delivery of what? Why is the gas company trying to kill me?

Jellybean Socks

Hey, it's socks! I made these with Lion Brand Magic Stripes in the Jellybean Colorway, and was shocked by how awesome they turned out. I think that this may be my favorite sock yarn ever. It has really great uneven stripes, and the stripe pattern only repeats about 1 and a half times per sock, making the stripes seem really random. The colors were really cute, and I never knew what was going to come up next.

I used the sock pattern from The Knitter's Handy Book of Patterns, and my new Lantern Moon size three needles. I really like this sock pattern, and the socks are long enough that I can wear them with my pink boots.

Here's a picture of both socks.

I've been sort of on a mission to find the perfect basic sock pattern, and so far I think this one is winning. The only thing I found less than perfect about it was the toe, which I think is a little pointy.

Moss Scarf

I made this scarf using this awesome Collinette Mohair that Jill gave me for my birthday. I used a pattern for Shale Stitch that I found on the internet somewhere and haven't been able to find since. But it was your basic shale lace pattern, much like the one described here. I only used one repeat of the pattern, and I think I used size thirteen needles.

As is typical of Collinette, the colorway on this yarn is amazing. It really is mossy - all grey and green with little bits of red. I'm not at all sure my pictures do it justice. It's so pretty.

Here's a picture of me wearing it.

I've been meaning to block it, since it wants to fold itself in half, but I haven't yet because I am lazy.

This entire scarf came from one skein of yarn.

Big Words: Eminently Mockable

It's rap featuring SAT vocabulary words! And god bless it, because it features lyrics like:

"and shorteez frowning at me appear ubiquitously,
they're everywhere in the world like American currency,
I bow down to them obsequiously and submissively."

Unfortunately, because of my habit of picking up slang and using it ironically and then just using it all the time, that is probably disturbingly similar how I talk. I'm always saying shit like, "Hey, can I get some staples up in this piece?" at work.

My other suspicious phrasing habit involves the fact that hyperbole is my best friend, so I'm always using superlatives to describe really mundane things. This leads people to think I'm being sarcastic when I'm really not. I once described broccoli as "super exciting," and I meant it.

The Linguistics Plan

So, I've been accepted to a really exciting computer and linguistics related program at UCSD, and I'm going out there next Thursday to meet various professors and learn more about the program. And all these professors are sending me emails that say things like, "I can't wait to meet you in person, I hope we can work together in the future."

The problem is that I don't actually really know anything about linguistics. I've never taken a linguistics class. I read language log a lot, but that's really it. (I'm learning linguistics on the streets, man.)

Which is why I'm totally teaching myself linguistics in the next week. I got Naomi to loan me a bunch of her old textbooks, and I am ready to go. I've totally got this covered. I'll just read them all in my . . . copious free time. There is no way this plan can fail.

I'm From Philly, I Swear

I've realized a flaw in my moving to San Diego plan: In Philly, whenever I do dumb-ass things, I just claim it's because I'm from LA, and everyone accepts it.

Don't have any sensible shoes? I'm from LA. Can't dress for the weather? LA. Am always nearly being hit by cars while crossing the street? We don't walk in LA. Don't know how to pronounce Conshohocken or Schuylkill? Dude, I told you I was from LA.

Clearly, that shit is not going to fly in San Diego. I'm going to be all, "God, doesn't anyone take the bus here?" and they're going to be like, "Are you retarded? You know we don't."

Which is why I'm going to pretend that I'm from Philadelphia.

I'm enlisting Jill's help in acquiring a Philly accent. I figure it doesn't have to be very good, since no one on the West Coast knows or cares what a Philly accent sounds like.

I'm doing pretty good with water ("wooder"), and okay with cheesesteak ("cheestic"), but anything else is pretty much beyond me.

My coaching goes something like this:
Jill: cheestic
Me: Cheesteak
Jill: No, don't enunciate the k. Also, sound surly.
Me: CHEEsteak
Jill: Now you're just squeaky.
Me: CHEESTEAK
Jill: Now you're just loud.
Me: cheesTEAK
Jill: Now you sound agitated.

Apparently, I'm not very good at sounding surly. I think part of the problem is that my natural accent is to over enunciate, and the Philly accent involves being monotone and sort of mumbling.

But I have faith that I'll be able to fake being from Philly eventually. It'll definitely work way better than when Rowan was pretending to be from England.

More Grad School Talk!

I'm flying out to the West Coast March 10th through 14th to go to a prospective student thing at UCSD. I'm staying an extra couple of days so I can spend some time with the pinkhairedparents, as it seemed totally ridiculous to fly out the West Coast and then not see them.

It feels really decadent to fly across the country for a long weekend, but I didn't have enough notice to take more time off work. I guess I'll just have to deal with being bicoastal.

At this point I've heard from everywhere I applied to, except UPenn. (I've been accepted to UC Santa Cruz. I haven't heard from Temple, but I've decided to pretend I never applied to Temple.) Dude, UPenn, I live right down the street from you. You could just have someone walk over and tell me if I got in or not. Have one of your grad students do it or something. I need to know so I can start being incredibly neurotic about major life decisions immediately.