My Very Own Geek

It’s Adopt-a-Geek Week over at Pretty Feet, Pop Toe.

I think this is a fantastic idea.  But I have my very own dearly loved and loveable geek.  Mine is taking a day off from being a Senior Software Geek because he has Super Sad Sinusitis.

I usually like it when we have matching days off, but not when he feels like this:

Proof of snot.

But wait, not only is he a Senior Software Geek with Sinusitis, he is also a Band Geek:

Proof of skills.

And before you think this is one-sided geekery, it isn’t.  I’m the one who wants my very own Bazinga t-shirt.

Are you a geek?

Do you have a geek?

Perhaps we can double-geek-date?

The Art of Patience

My third cider of the year. For somewhat medicinal purposes.

When I was a kid, people were always telling me to ‘have patience’.  I thought it was some kind of gift, one that I’m still waiting for.  And I’m not good with waiting.

Well, that’s not necessarily true.   There’s a part of me that likes to burn candles and incense and become as blissed out as someone who is into that sort of thing.  Because I am into that sort of thing.  But I also think sleep is  a waste of time.  And this may surprise some people who know me off-screen, but I don’t like doing nothing.  Being idle makes me itch.

Take yesterday for example,  I was on the couch  for hours waiting for spare parts and if that didn’t work, a spare chair.   I’ve been saying I needed a change of scenery, but that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.  Let me back up a bit, because now I can.

I’ve wanted to see Avenue Q since it was new.  When we were in New York, it was on in Glasgow, so Sarge and I met up with a friend of mine from way back and we saw The House of Blue Leaves.  Great show.  We got home and missed Avenue Q again, because we went island-hopping instead.

Anyway, Saturday’s tickets were an early Valentine’s gift (or as Sarge would say, Happy Arbitrary Day in February), and also third-time lucky.  And the show was every bit as colourful and fun and funny as I thought it would be.  Good times.  Made me want to go back to NYC.  (I know, I still have to write those adventures.)

We went to dinner after the show, and then for coffee.   We contemplated rounding the evening by going to see the new Muppets film and decided that might be over-kill.  And then we went to the pub.  In all honesty, no matter what we do, I haven’t had a bad date since October of 2009.  They haven’t been bad, but they’ve always been interesting.

Back in April, we were on our way to dinner, and I ended up with a rather artistic eyebrow.  In April it was gravel and some glue.  On Saturday, the front wheel fought with a cobblestone.  We soon found out the wheel lost.  But I managed to keep my ass in the seat this time.  And so, to the pub.

I transferred to a comfy couch and noticed that the front wheel was bent underneath the chair.  I can’t even get angles that good.

That's not how they roll.

Essentially on three wheels, I again broke my No Cider rule.  While Sarge  googled  ‘Spare wheelchairs in Edinburgh’.  Even though I am an actual multiple card-carrying wheelchair-user, I don’t have a spare chair.  I’ve had this one for years, and I recycled the last one for parts.  Parts that other people could use.  The one before that is in my mother’s garage somewhere.  Probably next to some yarn, a few lamps and my Poppy’s old tools.

This one has a lifetime warranty.  On the frame.  When a castor bends like this weekend, there’s an emergency call-out service.  The same one I found when a broken bottle shredded my apparently not-so-industrial tires AND inner-tubes last year.  That was the last time I had to be patient.

Back to Saturday, we got a taxi from the pub.  We had trouble even getting one of those.  When we called we mentioned the three-wheeler deal, and it seemed to be fine.  The taxi arrived, and Sarge went off to tell the driver I was around the corner.

Sarge came back.  Not in a taxi.

‘He may not take us, because it’s broken.  He says he doesn’t want to get sued.  He’s calling in to see what he can do.’

‘He can grow a pair and take the fare.’  Yes, I sometimes speak in rhyme.  It’s unintentional.

He did.  I climbed up and sat on the seat and the chair was lifted in after me.

The taxi-driver must have mentioned his ‘insurance’ and ‘the Law’ at least ten times during the five-minute journey.

‘If something happened, you could sue me,’ he said.

‘That only works if the chair isn’t busted before we get in the cab.’ I said.

I hobbled to bed on three wheels.

I stayed in bed while Sarge called the repair dude the next morning.   I stayed put, but my mind did not.   What if he couldn’t get here?  What if he didn’t have the parts?  What if I had to reschedule important meetings this week because I couldn’t get out of the house?

Then, I’d wait.  Because I’d have to.  I would have to have patience.  Because even more than patience, I need working wheels under my ass.  Everything else could wait, including me.

Sarge came back and said that I’d have one new castor or a replacement chair by 3 o’clock.  I could do that.  I went to the bathroom on my three working wheels, and then deposited myself on the couch, using my lap-top on my actual lap.  I might have blasted the Avenue Q soundtrack, and then watched Muppets in Space.  Because it was on.  And I wasn’t going anywhere.

The repairman came in and put my wheel and some new bolts into a castor that wasn’t bent.   After talk of replacement stems and forks, I was back on all wheels and feeling taller.

Sarge and I then left the house.  Because I could.  We went to the new Muppets movie.  This seemed to be a good weekend for muppets.

And today, I drove out to the living room; my laptop is back on the table.   I need to print out something for this week.  The printer is out of ink.  Sarge might pick some up on his way home.

I can wait.

What's wrong with this picture? Shortly after this, I was on the road again..

Coffee, Castles and Carnage

My drive-by view of Edinburgh Castle

I’ve loved movies since I cried during Follow That Bird and my Dad took me to My Left Foot and called it research.

Whether it’s at home with a bowl of burnt popcorn, or in a plush seat at the theatre, I don’t talk during the film and I watch to the end of the credits.

And for the record, I didn’t ask for my money back because The Artist is a silent film.

My most recent movie date with Sarge was Carnage, before a coffee and a successful book trade with a friend.

I snapped some photos, and drove backwards over some cobbles on the way to cheesy nachos and an early evening showing.  My kind of Sunday.

I’ve loved Kate Winslet since Sense and Sensibility, and Jodie Foster since Nell.  Jodie Foster’s most recent character is considerably less zen than Nell.  I kept waiting for her to burst a blood vessel.

After the film, we somewhat reluctantly switched on our mobiles.

Sarge had four missed calls from work.  On a Sunday.  The next call he got sent him into the office.  Somewhere in the world, a computer exploded.  On a Sunday.    And I found myself looking to dump Sarge’s phone into the nearest vase of tulips.

Reading Through the Stacks: What’s In Your Fridge?

Last year, I declared 100 Books Or Bust.  After semi-regular updates on my progress, I stopped counting.

In the end, I got to the actually painful number 49.  49, I tell you.  These were them.

This year, I have set the same challenge for myself.  But I’m going to be slightly more systematic in posting my progress of reading through the stacks.   The ones in the bedroom, in my office, sometimes on the shelves and even in the fridge.

I’m going to commit to monthly round-up posts and hope to get a rounder number in December.

Here’s January’s tally:

New Finnish Grammar  - A must for anyone interested in WWII, memory/nostalgia, and the concept of home.

The Paris Wife – Made me want to read Hemingway.  The real one, not my computer.  Though I could stand to read more on here, too.

Two for the Dough (Stephanie Plum, #2) – I’m probably going to end up borrowing all of these from a friend.  I needed another long series to get into.

The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop – I read this on the way back from Cambridge.  Beautiful and inspiring.

Three to Get Deadly (Stephanie Plum, #3) – And now I need number #4!

Bossypants – On Goodreads, I put this on my I Caved and also my Laughed Out Loud shelves.  Because I did.  Both.  And I quoted bits to Sarge, so now the book is on his side of the bed.  Funny stuff and good advice.  Thank you, Tina Fey.

And I think I’ve added some new bookstores to my to-visit list after reading about the 20 Most Beautiful Bookstores in the World.

What are you reading?

What should I be reading?

And, dare I ask, what’s in your fridge?

The essentials. Books. Coffee. Gin & Lemonade. My fridge is well-stocked.

Why My Electric Bill Is So High

Book Buying And Other Existential Crises

It would be more than safe to say that I like books.  I love books.  I greatly esteem books.  Sarge says I eat them.

I buy clothes when I need them, or every three years, whichever rolls around first.  I buy or trade books once a week.  And then I go to the library.

A few years ago, I set myself a goal to ‘visit all the bookshops in the world.’  Lofty goals are the truest ones.  I’ve been doing pretty well.  Some personal highlights have been Shakespeare and Company, The Strand, and Heffers.  No, I haven’t been to Powell’s.  Yet.

I’ve even been known to read books about books and reading.  Last week, I read this, complete with a list of more bookshops for me to visit.  I’m also going to work on this list.  And because I’m not picky, this one, too.

Yesterday, after our monthly book-group, Sarge and I went to Blackwell’s, Edinburgh (number 39 on this list.)  We just had to buy next month’s book.  A Steinbeck, yes!  It was Sarge’s idea to get it yesterday.  He is such an enabler.  I love him.

I get short of breath with sweaty palms anytime there might be books to buy/check out anywhere.

Here is the ‘reasoning’ behind this, in list form:

1.  BOOKS!
2. All the books I might want to read, I already have, but haven’t read.
3. Books are so pretty.  Want, want.
4. I’d like something that isn’t in a 3 for 2 deal.  And two books that are.  So I should pick out something else that has a damn sticker on it.  Because it’s a free book, people.  So Sarge picks out something that I’ll probably start/read first, anyway.  Because he reads slower than I do, and because it’s there, and because he loves me.
5. BOOKS!
6. There’s a space on a shelf that doesn’t have a book with my name on it.  Sometimes Sarge creates that space (in alphabetical order) and says:  That’s where your book goes.  Put one there.

And then I feel bad, because I’ve bought all these books when I should be writing one.  That is, finishing one.  It would seem I have issues with finishing things.  It’s a shame I don’t have any issues with finishing a bag of Doritos.  I couldn’t even finish a bowl of porridge this weekend.  Because it tasted like paste.  I told Sarge that I’d eat half and we could use the rest as spackle.  Good deal.

Back to the books, and finishing them.  I should probably work on that.

And because I like to change the subject, where is your favourite bookshop?

Image via Wikipedia

On The Road: Cambridge

Edinburgh — Peterborough – Cambridge — Peterborough — Edinburgh

We boarded the train with two backpacks, my butterfly bag and George Bailey-Penguin, our travel mascot.

I like train travel, and have come to accept the sometimes not-so-faint whiff of piss as part of the journey.

This time, I ignored it by reading Three To Get Deadly and eating chocolate-covered popcorn.

One hundred and fifty pages and an empty bag later, we arrived in Peterborough to catch the train to Cambridge.  The only thing possibly worthy of note is the fact that there was a wheelbarrow in the accessible toilet.

After one more, much shorter train journey, we met the wonderful Emily from Emily Drinking Tea and her equally wonderful husband and went off in the direction of their local pub where I broke my self-imposed no cider rule and had some lovely ice-cream.

On the way to their house afterwards, I lost count of the number of cyclists whizzing past, and we met a hedgehog not going nearly as fast.  It was all very quaint.

Now, our friends have a very lovely, but very narrow  house.  After we squeezed the chair in the front door, I found myself with an actual gin and lemonade in my hand.  It must have been a strong one, because I fell asleep watching The Thick of It, only waking up to actually drag ass up the stairs and check out their incongruously large bathroom.

The next morning, there was really strong coffee and Emily’s homemade bagels.

We took the scenic route into town along the river, and met Sarge’s friends for what turned out to be lunch, before getting lost in a bookshop.

Sarge and I came out with a pretty good combined haul and I may have taken some photos of the sky.  I do that when I’m happy.

We had really good Indian take-away and Emily’s homemade raspberry strudel, and I discovered my new favourite drink when elderflower cordial was added to  another gin and lemonade.  I might have pretended I was Anne Shirley for a moment.

We stayed up until one o’clock and I really did fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, we finished off the bagels and watched Mr Cat enthralled with an iPad.

Too soon, it was up a taxi ramp and time for a backwards goodbye.  Our train snacks didn’t taste as good this time.  But I did start and finish The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop.

Sarge and I arrived in Edinburgh and scrambled our stuff.

‘Where’s your butterfly bag?’ asked Sarge.

‘Stuffed in your bag.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘I thought you had it.’

‘Well, I thought you had it.’

Luckily I’d given Sarge my phone, which is probably why I forgot my bag.  After something akin to the scene where they realise Kevin is Home Alone, I texted Emily and asked her to have a look around, hoping it was safely upstairs.  It was.  And now it’s in the post.

I arrived home feeling lighter.  Maybe it was the lovely trip.   Maybe because I was bagless.  Maybe both.

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Magic Coffee: What’s Wrong With This Picture?

 

I snapped a shot of our travel mascot, George Bailey-Penguin, ready for our most recent trip.  Next thing I knew, he’d flipped into my coffee.

 

How did he get there?

 

This photo set is not staged.  Coasters are still bad.

 

Stay tuned for:  On The Road: Cambridge

 

 

Bow-Ties Available at Reception

Regular readers will know that my boyfriend sometimes wears a kilt and walks around with a knife in his sock, in the name of Scottish traditional dress.  His 90 year-old Gran recently requested that he get fully decked out to attend her birthday dinner, and he obliged.  With a little help.

Last April, he bought a full kilt when friends of ours got married.   He wore the  jacket and my father’s tweed waist-coat.  This caused me to get all misty-eyed and gooey, but that could be another post.

A few weeks ago, we packed a bag and his kilt, and stayed at a hotel closer to the birthday dinner.

The accessible room wasn’t, actually.  And the quest to find another one was like something out of Goldilocks/Fawlty Towers/The Twilight Zone.  The third key opened a door to a room that was usable for the one night we used it.  We brought my chair and Sarge’s kilt over the threshold and all was right with the world.  Sarge put on his kilt and went back into the bag for his bow-tie.  Wasn’t there.  No romantic-looking silk cravat, either.  Not in the bag, under the bag, or in his shoe.

‘How do I look without it?’

‘Fine.’

‘That means not fine.’

I shrugged.  Something WAS missing.

‘Should I phone my Mum?’

‘What for?’

‘To see if Dad has a tie?’

‘You can try.’

‘Is that like ‘fine’?’

‘Maybe.’

And so, he called his Mum.

No tie.

‘Is there time to go to a shop and get one?’

There wasn’t.

Five minutes later, his Dad called Reception and the same woman who showed us into our room brought Sarge a bow-tie.  From her brother-in-law down the street.

‘That’s pay-back for the room mix-up,’ I said when she left.

I have been traveling, and living, all my life; no room is the perfect fit.  That’s true for anyone.  What’s accessible to me in my chair may be inaccessible to someone else.  I know work is always being done to improve accessibility. Somewhere, everywhere.  I’ve helped to do some of it.  One place/attitude at a time.

But there are times when I have access issues.  Most all of my issues are access issues.  When life gets interesting, as I like to say, I choose to laugh and write about it.  Last time I had an ‘access issue’, I got free beer.  Most recently, compensation came in the form of a clip-on bow-tie for my boyfriend.  I can take, and appreciate, both.

Image via Wikipedia

Confessions of a Girl Scout Reject

Sharon at Hyperactive Inefficiency and Susan at LostnChina have given me the Versatile Blogger Award.  This means a, you really, really like me or b, my ramblings are truly aimless or iii, I am Waffley Versatile.  I can take all three.  Thanks a bunch.

In the name of blogging community, I’m going to share yet more random factoids about myself.

Here goes:

I used to think that I was born in the wrong era.  I have since made peace with this one.  My favourite musicians are still old or dead.  I can name that tune in one note and it’s usually More Than A Feeling by Boston.  Don’t ask, because I don’t know.  And that ‘s OK.

I get high on life, the smell of books and paint and gasoline and cigars.  But not intentionally.  It just happens.  In related news, I smoked pot at University, but I wasn’t co-ordinated enough to do it more than once.

When I ‘graduated’ from the Brownies, the leader suggested I ‘might not want to move up to the Green Uniform.’  So I didn’t.  I’m a rebel from way back.  I guess she doubted my commitment to Sparkle Motion.

I’ve said before that I quote my favourite movies in everyday conversation.  I’ll say now that most of the time, it makes sense.

Wine gives me heartburn.  This is probably a good thing.

I don’t like chocolate, either.  Unless it’s expensive.

The stack of books by my side of the bed keeps threatening to hit me in the head as I sleep.  Currently reading:  Fante, The Tiger’s Wife, and Two For The Dough.  Because I’m versatile.

More random factoids can be found here, here  and elsewhere within my posts.

I’m supposed to tell other bloggers to do this.  You can, if you wish.

What I will do now is mention some folks who I think should start a blog.  Because I would read it.

My Dad:  Everyone needs his philosophy on life and baseball.

Sarge:   He wants me to write lyrics to go with his music.  And because I want even more insight into the workings of his brain.

My cousin Karin:  I want to be like her when I grow up.  And I told her so.  Yes, I am that corny.