Category Archives: Experiments
I discovered this contest. It’s called Blogger Idol. It seemed like fun so I um entered. Here is my personal invitation for you to join in. I want that feather pin immediately. That would be better than my business card.
P.S. I didn’t want to have to do this, but apparently to win you have to be voted for on Facebook and Twitter. Such is the case with all else in life amirite? So-ah, if you could go ahead and get on top of that for me. In appreciation I will … do something radical… like post a video of myself doing something that makes you feel better about your life. Go!
davinox comments on Tips for young writers, anyone?. (Reddit link – r/bestof)
I just wanted to share this in place of a forced post today.
Also, I wanted to announce that I am working on a possible second blog that I hope will be of interest. Sometimes I feel a bit narcissistic only writing here about things like my picture-taking preferences or hashing out how to avoid my cats’ excrement in vehicle rides. So, I have decided to try to see an idea for a supplementary, more focused blog to fruition. I have no time frame for when the launch will be, but I am keeping this blog as well. Don’t go binge drinking in depression tonight. In fact, better let me hold on to your liquor for you, you know, just in case.
In the meantime you could check out the Better Blogger Network. The featured member looks a lot like me, and I feel scared that someone has cloned me. Plus, you should join if you are a blogger and add me (or clone me) as a friend. I have all of about five friends, and I think one of them is secretly my cat on a fabricated profile. You could also grab a button while you’re at it to flare out your page all Office-Space-Chotchkie’s style.
- The Plight of the Girl Tech Blogger (theatlanticwire.com)
- More Intelligent Life (huffingtonpost.com)
- Writer’s Tip #18: Yeah, You Have to Force Yourself to Write (worddreams.wordpress.com)
My trip marked my second time ever flying in an airplane, my first time traveling out of the south as an adult, and my first big vacation that I have funded entirely on my own. Naturally, I anticipate taking photos of my time there.
I know what you are thinking. Does she not have an omnipotent smart phone or something? Of course I do. What am I a cave woman? In fact, some would say I qualify as a camera phone abuser as I even take pictures of pictures. This is where the problem exists, and upon admitting my denial of said abuse, I did reach an epiphany. Read the rest of this entry
It is eerie to think about just how much of the ocean man has yet to explore. Creatures that must exist out/down there are probably inconceivably bizarre, scary, and fascinating all at the same time. At the same level as it is incredible, it is equally as ominous. This reminds me of another shady habitat. The abyss that is my keyboard. Yes, I am comparing my keyboard to the ocean. What of it?
Like most, I spend the majority of my days behind the computer screen with my fingers hovering the keyboard. It is your standard basic hardware. My sips of morning coffee take place directly above it, and the crumbs from my morning snack find their way to the caves between the H and J or W and E or… well you get the point. I often think about all the food matter, various liquids, dust, and bugs(?) that have ventured down below the glossy top surface of the alphabet decorated squares. At this point, I imagine there is a new strain of disease brewing down there, that if released from its enclosure will surely off me.
I once watched a very informative YouTube video that clearly described and showed how to properly disassemble the keys of your keyboard in order to clean out the trash trap below. Basically, one option is to use a can of air to blow debris out from underneath the keys. The problem with this, I assume, is that it is much like trying to floss around a permanent retainer. Or, like trying to use only water pressure to clean a dirty plate that has been sitting in the sink for days. It’s simply not going to do too much. You may feel like you are at least giving an effort, but come on. Who are you kidding?
The more efficient option explained in the video, is to just pop those keys off one by one. You can reveal a whole year and a half’s worth (in my case and probably a lot longer) of accumulated heaping compost. I actually attempted to complete this horrifying task once. It may look easy enough to pluck out those keys, however, I personally felt a sense of panic each time one gave way to my prying. It doesn’t feel like they are supposed to be removable. Don’t worry if you get this sensation (assuming you even have the stomach to try this disgusting task), the keys will snap back in to place.
I personally never made it past the shift, A and Z keys when I threw in the towel. I am very much in denial/oddly and aggressively freaked out by the junk under there, so I put the keys back in their place and tried to bleach my mind of the experience. I wont go in to detail of what was under there, partly because it was a collection of unrecognizable mutant spawns of whatever materials initially fell in, and partly because I still want people to think I have some sort of respect for my computer’s hygiene. But, before you judge you should take a look under your own keyboard’s hood, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.
- What Are the Advantages of Silicone Keyboard? (tomtoplulu.wordpress.com)
- How to get my laptop’s keyboard to work after a beer spillage? (ask.metafilter.com)
- Spike case with QWERTY keyboard for the iPhone (geeky-gadgets.com)
[Am I hallucinating again? Does that really say hot air balloon rides? Aliens may have abducted my blog yesterday, but I don’t think they abducted me and messed with my noggin. Maybe they erased my memory. Either way, yay for massive balloons and me inside of one.]
Next week brings Independence Day. This obviously brings with it celebrations, pyromania, and most importantly one much-needed day off of work. A certain conveniently placed party will be going down in my neighborhood. A neighbor of mine gushed about the annual fireworks show over the pond a few weeks ago in a Pilates class, and naturally, I have been impatiently waiting to enjoy the spectacle from my third story balcony ever since. I like it there. It is safe there. Just because I love fireworks doesn’t mean that I am not pathetically terrified that they are all defective and will somehow turn in to
heat Becca-seeking missiles as soon as they leave the cannon. There is a chilling childhood story that explains the origins of this fear, but it really isn’t chilling at all… at least not to anyone besides myself. I’ll keep that one in the vault for now.
Speaking of fear, I’ll get back to that balloon thing. Assuming that wasn’t an epic typo, this 4th of July is starting to look up (literally). Read the rest of this entry
[I finally captured Jack (front right), Ace (distant middle), and myself (part of me) all in one oddly angled and slightly blurry photo. Man, why am I even trying to become a writer when I am so obviously a photography prodigy.]
My mind has been trying to wrap itself around a certain obstacle I will eventually have to overcome. I will assume that you have caught on to the fact that I plan to move oodles of miles away when the time is right. I will also proudly say I believe to have determined the general region for my relocation. I’ll elaborate on that a little later. I can’t tell you specifics right now. You already know too much. What I can tell you, is that the region is well over a day’s drive from the
end of the world tip of the boot.
My point? Well, I want you to take a good look at the animals in that picture up there. One of them is a seasoned and serial car pooper/vomiter/demon noise maker. I refuse to take Ace half a mile down the road let alone half way across the country. So, I did a little research to find out just how I would pull off the biggest kitty voyage ever attempted and what tools I would need to get me through it. Let me just put on my cat whispering gear.
What I assumed the solution would be: Fork over a ridiculous amount of money for some extra strength cat roofies and try to explain to hotel staff and onlookers at pit stops why I am waltzing around with two limp balls of fur like it is some sort of fashion statement, all while my cats remain in a coma for two days straight.
What I learned after a good old fashion Google session: Do not roofie your cat(s). Instead, I will follow the plan of action below. Read the rest of this entry
[Look! I have a really cheesy cover, and I am cheap, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right? Click my obnoxious cover to buy me on Amazon. Yay!
[Also, the title says “for grown-up girls”, but that shouldn’t stop the fellas from checking it out. Would I steer you wrong? Well, not intentionally at least.]
I returned to reality and a Sunday of cooking stuffed bell peppers with a new addition to slide onto my make-shift bookshelf. In her normal fashion, Booger handed down a book to me as an early Birthday present. Its title is The Merit Badge Handbook for Grown-up Girls by Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas. Her name makes my jaw hurt a bit, and I didn’t even attempt saying it out loud. Filled with activities, projects, goal ideas, and new learning/experience opportunities, you could think of this book as a sort of generalized bucket list and guide. My initial appreciative reaction was quickly followed with eagerness to start flipping pages. Upon doing so, something unexpected happened.
The beginning of this year had me sulking in the realization of all the things I have yet to do in/with my life. I have a hard time being patient when on a quest. Nothing was helping, especially not seeing all the cool stuff other people around me were doing. Then, I began writing again and went from sulking to basking in the new-found determination I had to start doing things. New or different or scary or silly or constructive or whatever kind of things, it didn’t matter. No more ruts. Read the rest of this entry
[Awww yeahhh 1993. What a bright pink bathing suit I’ve got there. Wait a damn minute, was that really almost twenty years ago?!]
Sometimes I forget about things. Sometimes I get lazy. Sometimes I do both simultaneously.
As I was driving down the highway, I could hear the ice chest in the trunk sloshing around. It sounded like I had a dead body back there. We were close enough to the next stop we were making on our way to Denham Springs for me to ignore it for a few more miles. We finally pulled up on the curb of a friend’s house. The caravan of cars ahead of us had filed neatly into the driveway.
I peeled myself from the driver’s seat and went around the rear of my car. I figured I would investigate what was causing my ice chest to slingshot around my back seat like a bouncy ball. My friend had initially loaded the ice chest. Since I frequently stash things in my trunk (don’t worry, nothing that’s alive… wait that didn’t sound right), I knew there was no telling what I would rediscover when I opened that door.
Whew, it was only an old box. A half-opened old box labeled memories. Read the rest of this entry