Disjointed Declarations
Dec. 21st, 2004 07:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tealinAt last I have finished the insanity of do-this-before-you-leave board revisions. Now I am stuck with do-this-before-you-leave packing. Speaking of which, I have to put my laundry in the dryer. Excuse me, please.
Ahh, there we go.
I am tempting fate by not wearing my brown curtainy dress for flying tomorrow. I've worn it for every flight for the past four years and haven't died yet, so it's sort of my "lucky dress," but it's also falling apart and ... hmm, maybe I'll wear it for old times' sake. (Superstitious fool!) The customary consumption of tomato juice will not be abandoned.
A continuation of the Lamp Oil Misadventures: my backpack and sketchbook (get that, SKETCHBOOK) reek of lamp oil was well, even though I am 93% certain it did not actually spill. I tried washing out my backpack with dish detergent, to no effect... I'm either going to have to take my chances on running it through the washer or find the one that the cat peed on over the summer. So far lamp oil is harder to get rid of than cat pee, and that's saying something. I really, REALLY hope that my sketchbook doesn't set off any "incendiary device" alarms or dogs at the airport and get (A)confiscated, (B)blown up, or (C)eaten.
Just for the record: I am innocent and should have nothing to fear but U.S. Customs always makes me feel like I'm being processed into some sort of military camp. Eagles everywhere, scowling uniformed officials, flags, inflammatory pamphlets, jingoistic posters... The Canadian customs building has its waiting line lined with enlarged very old photos of the old border crossing and a meeting of Automotive Societies from either side of the border in 1914. The customs agents are businesslike but friendly. I am always very, very glad to find myself back at the Canadian customs building on my return. More glad every year.
So much to do and here I am typing away. For shame.
10:25 PM
How could I forget? The very flattering declaration! Today in the kitchen at work, the director of the show I'm on, for whom I have the utmost respect, said "you strike me as a very well-read person." Higher praise I cannot imagine. Especially when, compared to, say, someone who actually pursued an academic degree after high school rather than a vocational one, I am hardly well-read at all. *glow*
Ahh, there we go.
I am tempting fate by not wearing my brown curtainy dress for flying tomorrow. I've worn it for every flight for the past four years and haven't died yet, so it's sort of my "lucky dress," but it's also falling apart and ... hmm, maybe I'll wear it for old times' sake. (Superstitious fool!) The customary consumption of tomato juice will not be abandoned.
A continuation of the Lamp Oil Misadventures: my backpack and sketchbook (get that, SKETCHBOOK) reek of lamp oil was well, even though I am 93% certain it did not actually spill. I tried washing out my backpack with dish detergent, to no effect... I'm either going to have to take my chances on running it through the washer or find the one that the cat peed on over the summer. So far lamp oil is harder to get rid of than cat pee, and that's saying something. I really, REALLY hope that my sketchbook doesn't set off any "incendiary device" alarms or dogs at the airport and get (A)confiscated, (B)blown up, or (C)eaten.
Just for the record: I am innocent and should have nothing to fear but U.S. Customs always makes me feel like I'm being processed into some sort of military camp. Eagles everywhere, scowling uniformed officials, flags, inflammatory pamphlets, jingoistic posters... The Canadian customs building has its waiting line lined with enlarged very old photos of the old border crossing and a meeting of Automotive Societies from either side of the border in 1914. The customs agents are businesslike but friendly. I am always very, very glad to find myself back at the Canadian customs building on my return. More glad every year.
So much to do and here I am typing away. For shame.
10:25 PM
How could I forget? The very flattering declaration! Today in the kitchen at work, the director of the show I'm on, for whom I have the utmost respect, said "you strike me as a very well-read person." Higher praise I cannot imagine. Especially when, compared to, say, someone who actually pursued an academic degree after high school rather than a vocational one, I am hardly well-read at all. *glow*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-23 03:40 am (UTC)"Pff! Of course I'm a well read person. There's neither a children's book nor a Star Wars novel that I haven't ravaged."
Go ahead! Make fun of our jingoistic posters! They're the only thing keeping freedom on the march these days!
Fist, "Shake, shake, shake!"
|: )
Welcome "home."