While assembling my breakfast this morning (vanilla yogurt and strawberries and granola) I discovered four string cheeses in my bag. I know I grabbed a couple this morning for snacking purposes. The last time I used this particular bag was on Tuesday so I'm pretty sure the old string cheese is toxic. However, I can't tell which is old and which is new. What should I do?

Six cups of chopped basil...





(so pretty)



A pile of Parmesan cheese...



Olive oil...



Pine nuts...



Blended together for a bowlful of happy.



Yum!





I stood up this morning and something in my back went "OW" and the ow-ing hasn't stopped. Urgh. Luckily I have ice cream and a couple of episodes of Angel left on Hulu.

With Angel. I thought I wouldn't like this show because Angel's all tragic and brooding on Buffy, but this is fun. Slightly creepy, but fun--like Early Edition, but with vampires and demons and stuff.

I need Buffy icons...

Poll #1419015
Open to: Friends, detailed results viewable to: All

You are naked and getting dressed. What do you usually put on first?

I think it's time to hunt some elusive geocaches...

My laptop shows cyan where it should show white and red where it should show black. What does this mean?

Oh man. I have no words for how happy I am to randomly come across Still Alive while listening to my iPod at work. Maybe I will actually get to play Portal today...

Yesterday I learned a Life Lesson, and I'll share it with you so you don't have to relearn it on your own. The lesson is: when you are preparing marinade for a stack of lovely veggies you will grill in the future, do not, I repeat, DO NOT work on autopilot and use the jar of oil sitting on the counter just because it's next to the wee bottles of spices you have assembled. It is olive oil, not canola oil, and that is a Bad Thing. Nothing will seem odd when you pull the veggies out of their baggie with tongs and arrange them artfully on the grill, but your mishap will become apparent after you put the lid down and go inside and glance out the window after a couple of minutes and see the clouds of dark smoke pouring out the sides of the grill. You will then say FUCKSHITDAMN and run outside and turn off the grill and propane and pull the food off and disconnect the hose from the propane tank and close the lid and run back inside because you are coughing and your eyes are starting to tear up from the smoke. You will stand at the window, on the phone with your version of a Nathan, and describe the smoke billowing off the balcony and laugh at yourself. You will feel a little bit dumb, because you have successfully grilled dinner for the previous three nights in a row. But you are not a total failure! Prior to the unfortunate incident with the olive oil you cooked two ears of corn on the grill and made a tasty cucumber salad, so you sulk and eat your unsmoked veggies for dinner and tell everyone on IM how dumb you really are. So, yeah. Watch your oils, people.

In other news, nothing crawled up my leg last night and I am going to a picnic at a brewery for lunch. So there.

I was laying in bed all asleep and stuff when suddenly I decided something was crawling up my leg. I leaped out of bed and yelled "FUCK" and almost knocked a bottle of massage oil onto my laptop in my quest for the light switch. Then I realized I was hungry and ate a cheese stick. Now I'm trying to convince myself that shaking the sheets out once was enough and sleep is a priority. Urgh.

Author et. al. or Author et al? I'm working on my last assignment for my last formal class of the quarter (and possibly my life).

And now, to the farmer's market!

The sunburn has blistered and the blisters are starting to pop! I discovered this in class this afternoon when I prodded my back gently in hopes of relieving an itch and pulled my hand away to discover damp fingers. Oh boy!

Sunburn. Shoulders. Back of legs. Ow. Even given my spectacular paleness, I would not have thought that laying in the sun for an hour with a good book (A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon) would have resulted in this much unpleasantness. Obviously. Ow. Owowow. I have slathered on toxic-looking green aloe gel and gulped down a couple of ibuprofen. I may apply a layer of vinegar next so I can get some homework done. Anyone have another remedy for sunburn pain?

I just learned that I will not have to actually defend my thesis in a seminar-style setting! Instead my adviser and another professor sign off and I present at student seminar, which is very low-key and involves delicious treats. Finishing this degree is going to be even more anticlimactic than I thought...

I kind of want my Facebook status to commemorate the upcoming 2-year anniversary of when I stopped shaving my legs, but I feel like that might be too much information for Facebook.

And now, to Trader Joe's!

I've started writing thesis stuff! So far I have an outline, notation, and a bibliography, which admittedly isn't much. However, because I'm working in LaTeX I feel compelled to build a PDF and take a look after each sentence. SQUEE!

I have a theory about skirts and Star Trek. First let me state that I know practically nothing about the Star Trek universe because I can rarely be bothered to give a damn about classics unless I think I will actually, y'know, enjoy them. However, I have read that the Federation was presented as a fairly -ism free (but still imperialistic) society, and the show was quite progressive for its time. Based on this, let's assume that the reason Lt. Uhura's uniform on Enterprise involved a miniskirt instead of trousers had nothing to do with Dude Nation's penchant for displaying capable professional women as sex objects and/or accessories to men. This is the future in a progressive society, after all--surely miniskirts would not be part of military (?) uniforms unless said skirts had some technological or tactical advantage over trousers. If skirts are preferable, why are they not part of men's uniforms? I thought about this for approximately three seconds before reaching a viable conclusion: men of Starfleet have uniformly giant dongs which would be revealed by miniskirts! (Also, Kirk couldn't sprawl in the captain's chair, legs akimbo, and maintain much in the way of dignity.) The miniskirt advantage would surely be lost if a fellow had to run and his schlong entangled his legs. Imagine hand-to-hand combat with exposed male dangly bits! Trousers provide a convenient dipstick holster, and only the extremely well-endowed would need to make a special effort to secure Mr. Winky. Women are really quite lucky to not be burdened by an extra floppy appendage.

Also, the delightful writer of Tiger Beatdown has a post on Comment is Free about the new Star Trek movie which summarizes my complaints about this (enjoyable) sausage-fest of a movie in a very tidy fashion.

If you're on Dreamwidth and looking for reading, foxfirefey and I set up a Bechdel Test community!