Keep Hoping Machine Running (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thefourthvine) wrote2004-09-20 11:00 am
thefourthvine) wrote2004-09-20 11:00 am
Entry tags:
Real Life Update
My house is more or less under control at this point. I hope. For at least a little while. So I should be able to return to recommending and ranting and whatever other things people hope to find here.
Item: Plumbing.
Status: Working. For now.
Unanswered Questions: Will we get the County tree guy to remove the tree - or even answer his voice mail - before the ficus uses its Underground Tentacles of Death to crush our main line in its evil, ficus-y embrace?
Item: Broken appliances, including washing machine, oven, and air conditioner.
Status: Working. For, one hopes, a while.
Unanswered Questions: Will I ever catch up on our laundry? Will they find me, in some not-too-distant future, dead from thirst, halfway to the front door, purse in hand, with dirty clothing entwined around my ankles, holding me in place? God, I hope not, because that would be even more humiliating than having all our various workpersons see the contents of the Refrigerator of Doom.
Item: Refrigerator of Doom
Status: Clean and gleaming and ready to receive food.
Unanswered Questions: What was that purple stuff? Was it ever food, or was that an alien civilization that we Lysoled to death? How is it that I know there were eight zucchini in there when we decamped suddenly, with no time to clean out the refrigerator, all those weeks ago, and yet I found no zucchini when I faced the horrid, microbe-infested, fuzzy music yesterday? Where did they go in the interim, and should I be scared? What scary properties does string cheese have, that it could survive in that refrigerator for three weeks totally unscathed, essentially the only food item to do so? And so on. We won't even talk about the mushrooms, but I do want to put in a plug for disposable plastic containers, which made the cleaning process, if not easier, at least more or less guilt-free.
Item: 4,500 books.
Status: 4,200 books unpacked, dusted, and reshelved.
Unanswered Questions: Why do we have three copies of The Hobbit? Why do we have at least two copies of almost everything Robertson Davies ever wrote, including, unless I miss my guess, a few of his grocery lists? Why, after purchasing four copies of The Anubis Gates, do we still only have one, and where did the other three go? Why do we have three copies of Neuromancer, when no one in the house will admit to liking the book? Will we be able to persuade ourselves to dispose of our many extraneous copies of the Collected Works of Saki? Does Greg Egan appreciate me as much as he should, given the sheer quantity of his books that I've purchased? And an estimated 3.3 million other questions of a similar nature, all of which will probably be forever unanswered.
Item: Other assorted non-book boxes filled with the entire contents of two rooms, which somehow, when packed, magically expanded to fill the rest of the house.
Status: All unpacked except for four boxes, which, by all that is holy, will yield to our combined might before a week from next Thursday.
Unanswered Questions: Aside from the lingering one about how two rooms, which never seemed all that full, held more than the entire rest of the house was capable of holding - and I think that's one of those physics, or possibly metaphysics, questions that will plague science and religion for generations to come - let's talk about what we found in those rooms. Like that mutant hand-tooled leather belt collection, which definitely didn't belong to anyone who has ever lived in this house. Like the Gay Ken Dolls collection, about which the less said the better. Like all those notes, not just from college but from high school, which is odd because I, for one, don't remember ever taking any notes in high school. And yet some appeared to be in my handwriting, albeit mostly the ones that were in-class notes about illegal activities. Like all those museum-quality computer parts, which should've been thrown out years ago, particularly the tower unit that had a - you know, I don't even remember the name for it, but it's the really huge floppy drive that people had back in the dark ages. And so on.
Item: Life.
Status: Will now return to normal. I hope.
Unanswered Questions: Will I even remember how to find porn? Does anyone remember when this LJ used to contain recs sets, as opposed to random whining? Can I learn to live again in a house that is not a collection of expensive, finely-tuned, non-functional parts? Are my hands permanently scarred from overexposure to cleaning products?
And that is all, except for this heartfelt message from One Who Has Suffered Much: people, if you're leaving your house, even if you only think it's going to be for the night, throw away your zucchini. You'll thank me later.
Item: Plumbing.
Status: Working. For now.
Unanswered Questions: Will we get the County tree guy to remove the tree - or even answer his voice mail - before the ficus uses its Underground Tentacles of Death to crush our main line in its evil, ficus-y embrace?
Item: Broken appliances, including washing machine, oven, and air conditioner.
Status: Working. For, one hopes, a while.
Unanswered Questions: Will I ever catch up on our laundry? Will they find me, in some not-too-distant future, dead from thirst, halfway to the front door, purse in hand, with dirty clothing entwined around my ankles, holding me in place? God, I hope not, because that would be even more humiliating than having all our various workpersons see the contents of the Refrigerator of Doom.
Item: Refrigerator of Doom
Status: Clean and gleaming and ready to receive food.
Unanswered Questions: What was that purple stuff? Was it ever food, or was that an alien civilization that we Lysoled to death? How is it that I know there were eight zucchini in there when we decamped suddenly, with no time to clean out the refrigerator, all those weeks ago, and yet I found no zucchini when I faced the horrid, microbe-infested, fuzzy music yesterday? Where did they go in the interim, and should I be scared? What scary properties does string cheese have, that it could survive in that refrigerator for three weeks totally unscathed, essentially the only food item to do so? And so on. We won't even talk about the mushrooms, but I do want to put in a plug for disposable plastic containers, which made the cleaning process, if not easier, at least more or less guilt-free.
Item: 4,500 books.
Status: 4,200 books unpacked, dusted, and reshelved.
Unanswered Questions: Why do we have three copies of The Hobbit? Why do we have at least two copies of almost everything Robertson Davies ever wrote, including, unless I miss my guess, a few of his grocery lists? Why, after purchasing four copies of The Anubis Gates, do we still only have one, and where did the other three go? Why do we have three copies of Neuromancer, when no one in the house will admit to liking the book? Will we be able to persuade ourselves to dispose of our many extraneous copies of the Collected Works of Saki? Does Greg Egan appreciate me as much as he should, given the sheer quantity of his books that I've purchased? And an estimated 3.3 million other questions of a similar nature, all of which will probably be forever unanswered.
Item: Other assorted non-book boxes filled with the entire contents of two rooms, which somehow, when packed, magically expanded to fill the rest of the house.
Status: All unpacked except for four boxes, which, by all that is holy, will yield to our combined might before a week from next Thursday.
Unanswered Questions: Aside from the lingering one about how two rooms, which never seemed all that full, held more than the entire rest of the house was capable of holding - and I think that's one of those physics, or possibly metaphysics, questions that will plague science and religion for generations to come - let's talk about what we found in those rooms. Like that mutant hand-tooled leather belt collection, which definitely didn't belong to anyone who has ever lived in this house. Like the Gay Ken Dolls collection, about which the less said the better. Like all those notes, not just from college but from high school, which is odd because I, for one, don't remember ever taking any notes in high school. And yet some appeared to be in my handwriting, albeit mostly the ones that were in-class notes about illegal activities. Like all those museum-quality computer parts, which should've been thrown out years ago, particularly the tower unit that had a - you know, I don't even remember the name for it, but it's the really huge floppy drive that people had back in the dark ages. And so on.
Item: Life.
Status: Will now return to normal. I hope.
Unanswered Questions: Will I even remember how to find porn? Does anyone remember when this LJ used to contain recs sets, as opposed to random whining? Can I learn to live again in a house that is not a collection of expensive, finely-tuned, non-functional parts? Are my hands permanently scarred from overexposure to cleaning products?
And that is all, except for this heartfelt message from One Who Has Suffered Much: people, if you're leaving your house, even if you only think it's going to be for the night, throw away your zucchini. You'll thank me later.
no subject
*Nothing* but sympathy.
Although...
Unanswered Questions: Will we get the County tree guy to remove the tree - or even answer his voice mail - before the ficus uses its Underground Tentacles of Death to crush our main line in its evil, ficus-y embrace?
Really, if it's a ficus that's causing the drama, it might be cheaper to just fly me to wherever you are and tell me to try to keep it alive. At which point the ficus will -- as all ficuses do in my presence -- spontaneously wither and die.
no subject
How long do you think it would take you to "take care" of a very robust ficus the size of a two-story building, with a root system that is not only destroying our plumbing but also our neighbor's, and that has been detected as far away as Nebraska?
Oh, and I hereby grant you all responsibility for keeping the thing alive. Seriously. The ficus is now yours to do with as you will. It's Te's Ficus that is destroying our plumbing, and so shall it ever be known. Perhaps I will get a small sign made for it, so that our neighbor can know who is responsible for it, too.
no subject
But. Suburbs of L.A., hmm?
If time was less of a concern, I'd recommend a large amount of acidic, impure water of the sort which is positively abundant here in the verdantly corrupt NJ suburbs.
*many hugs*
no subject
And you may be the only person on Earth with the power to kill this tree. God knows others have tried and failed. I mean, seriously, the gardener took a chainsaw to the root system and only made it mad; he was lucky to escape with his life. So I was thinking in terms of Hercules, but we all know Te is just as good as Hercules. Ficusbane, work your magic!
no subject
My GOD. I just...
*sticks pins in ficus doll*
no subject
Wow, you got your life back together before I managed to get my ACT together to send you porn! *marvels* Then again, I am bleeding, so any incompetence on my part should come as no surprise.
xxxooo
Will answer your email when I am no longer one big cramp.
no subject
And I would not say that I have my life together, no. I would say that I fought the law and managed to get a temporary injunction. So feel free to send me porn; your time isn't up or anything.
Still, while my life might not be together, I am pretty proud of the current state of the Refrigerator of Doom. I'm almost afraid to clutter it up with actual food.
I offer you extensive sympathy on your current crampy state, and the following wisdom from Saki:
"And now Amanda is seriously ill."
(Love, hugs, and porny goodness to you, my sweet, and feel better soon.)
no subject
Does it help to know I have three and a half boxes of medical books still in my car from when I left work more than a month ago? I have no place to put them! And I have to be thinking about packing, because at *some* point I'm actually going to get a job offer and have to move cross-country!
*more hugs*
no subject
And when the time comes to pack, you will have my total sympathy and moral support. And I'd offer to help, but, see, I'm all the way in Los Angeles, so, um, well, I've got other things to do. You know. Um. Vegetables to peel, and so on.
Actually, I imagine I'll still be recovering from all this when you get your job offer. Turns out hours of refrigerator scrubbing and box unpacking and book reshelving have a terrible effect on a woman.
no subject
Just reading about your house makes me tired. You have my full sympathies.
Like the Gay Ken Dolls collection, about which the less said the better.
I disagree. I for one, would like to hear more about this intriguing doll collection of yours.
Here's a short story (http://archerland.disbelieve.org/jfinn/Chasing%20FireG3.htm). It's not fanfic, but I think it's hot and you might enjoy it.
no subject
Well, OK. Once upon a time, lo these many years ago, a young and innocent lass wandered into a certain aisle at Target. This is an aisle that is shelf-to-shelf shocking pink, yet inexplicably does not have a sign warning casual visitors about eye damage.
In between the sarcastic remarks about the girl dolls on the shelf, this lass - whose innocence was rapidly waning - found some "boy" dolls. (And I put boy in quotation marks because said dolls clearly explain the current vogue for gayboys and gaysex amongst women; they were less boylike than I am.) And she didn't just find the "boy" dolls; she found them deeply, deeply amusing. And so, after much deliberation, she purchased one who appeared to be dressed as a member of the Village People.
Time passed, and the lass acquired many other Ken Dolls (for such they were), including one sporting the two-toned hairstyle we see only in pictures documenting 1970s San Francisco, the one sporting a mustache we see, again, mostly in those same pictures, and the two different dolls wearing what appears to be fetish gear. The lass also managed to find a Ken version of every member of the Village People but the Indian, and a non-Ken whose name should've been Catamite Boy. And great was her rejoicing.
Then she packed said dolls away during one of her moves, and they did not come to light for many an age. (OK, a couple of years.) Things that should not have been forgotten were. And then the lass, older and wiser and no longer remotely innocent, not even when it came to dolls, unpacked a box and found them again, and wondered why she'd purchased all these Kens. And then she found two of them in a position that you wouldn't think Kens would ever get into, there not being much point unless you're anatomically correct, and it all came flooding back.
And she giggled, and donated the dolls to charity so that they could make a new generation of girls love the gay.
The End
Zucchini of the world, unite!
So what are you going to do now? I mean, what will there be for you to do if you don't have to fight the creeping hordes of vegetables bent on world domination?
Re: Zucchini of the world, unite!
I'm going to Disneyland!
No, don't be silly. I'll read porn, rec porn, and write about porn. I might even fulfill some of my non-porn-related writing obligations, though god knows that's a slippery slope.
Unless, of course, the vegetables attack. Oh, god - I - I think I hear them massing for ground assault. I'll see you ere nightfall, or not at all. 'Tis a far, far better thing I do...
Re: Zucchini of the world, unite!
OKAY. *shakes it off* Anyway. AS I was saying, hee! Thanks for picking up on my soft set over the net for you. And (b), if the vegetables are launching a ground assault, the best move for you is an aerial defense, preferably through the judicious use of frying pan fighters and bombers made of vegetable graters and peelers. Give it a shot. I bet they sue for peace.
Re: Zucchini of the world, unite!
no subject
Glad to see you're around again, and ready to find porn and all. Your snark was very much missed.
:-)
no subject
(Although I'd like to think my continued status as "living human" was never in doubt. It was just a question of my expected future residence: this house or the laughing academy.)
no subject
No, no, it is clearly much better that you are back and posting again.
(Right. Note to self, absence from computer does not equal death. Repeat until you believe it.}
no subject
Also, I wonder how the refrigerator in my house would compare to yours. Mine has been known to spontaneously sprout livestock, much like Darth Maul's did in the Sith Academy. I find that cleaning out the fridge makes all the rest of life feel controllable - if I can throw out half-moldy mushrooms, I can do anything!
Zucchini and Super-zucchini
no subject
we had none. i bought three. i used two. we have two.
but it's good to hear that you at least didn't melt any limbs off with the cleaning products.
fight the good fight, and all.
no subject
All I know is, the vegetables have found a way to control time and space and matter. The vegetables are the secret rulers of our domain. Run! Run before it is too late!
no subject
can't breathe....
maybe it's a benevolent sort of amassing. or just information gathering. in seven other refrigerators across the land, transformed zucchini are gathering information about fanfic readers for secret and nefarious purposes.
we can't let them know we're onto them.
no subject
The future - the future is dark, my friend. Dark green. And filled with seeds. The seeds of EVIL.
no subject
(factoid of fun: i grew up in a new hampshire town small enough that it used to (and may still) have a zucchini festival.)
and apparently if you type zucchini often enough, eventually no spelling of it will look right.
Zucchini
(Anonymous) 2004-09-21 09:48 am (UTC)(link)Last week, while you were doing something, but probably not sleeping, I threw away as much, for lack of a better word, food as I could wedge into the garbage cans. This did include several crates of zucchini. I didn't realize you would miss them. Very sorry.
no subject
So glad you survived the ordeal. Many sympathies, and I'm very glad to see you back hereabouts.
no subject