rosa_acicularis: (tempest)
We've been enjoying a week of almost sinfully beautiful weather in the City of Roses. Sunny and crisp and blue, blue skies, and like true Oregonians, we greet every strikingly clear morning the same way: "Oh. Well, it's definitely going to rain tomorrow."

Radio deejays, weathermen, the teller at my bank and the guy who spends the night at my bus stop each give this dire prediction every day, and next morning they are always proven wrong. It makes you wonder - just what does a city have to do to get a little gray, miserable weather around here?

A note on my continued adventures in Nannydom: I spent a good part of the day corralling a house-full of small children (and suffering defeat after crippling defeat at Candyland, but we won't go into that) and aside from sniffles and skinned knees and the occasional misdirected mudpie, everything went remarkably well. But just before dinner time, the situation got a little...wild. It reminded me of something my very favorite teacher used to say when our middle school science lab would get out of hand. "Tread carefully, Rose," he would say, voice just above a whisper. "The natives are getting restless."

(Actually, he called me Rosie, but that nickname and its associated angst deserves an entry of its own, I feel.)

In retrospect, I'm not entirely confident that this is the most politically correct way to express this particular sentiment, but now that I spend most my time surrounded by runny-nosed pygmies who cheat at Candyland and occasionally try to eat my hair, I find myself caring less and less about such things.

In the end, dinner was served and order restored. The parents arrived to collect their spawn and I returned to my apartment and my dog and other things that remind me just how very long ago it was that I sat on a rickety stool in Mr. Burroughs' science lab as I spent my free period dissecting owl pellets and chatting with my very favorite teacher (and the closest thing, I told him once, that I'd ever had to a father) about the skulls of rodents and maps of the stars.

Then I got online and checked my friends list, scrolling past entry after entry about fandom and Rose Tyler and the series that is to come, and I said to myself: "Tread carefully. The natives are getting restless."
rosa_acicularis: (master and peri)
Just finished Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile, and DAMN was that ever an awesome read. I don't read much in the mystery genre (obviously, as this was my first Christie), but I think I might be about to enter a new phase. A phase which involves considerably less Victorian children's literature and considerably more "And then a shot rang out!"

Also, a quick rec for the truly brilliant epistolary novel Which Brings Me to You by Steve Almond and Julianna Baggott. And don't let my use of highfalutin literature-type terminology fool you - this book is fiercely funny and mostly about sex. Well, it seems to be about sex, but secretly it has Deep Meanings and Reflections on Human Existence. And lots of sex.

And speaking of sex, I've just watched the most recent episodes of Torchwood, and I have a new dance. This dance is called the "Ianto Jones, I knew all along that you were secretly awesome - Risen Mitten, indeed!" dance.

I now sort of want to write Team Torchwood Year-That-Never-Was fic. From Owen's POV. I don't even read Torchwood fic.

Enjoying that show this much is just weird.

And speaking of weird (and of sex, unsurprisingly), I just heard George Michael's I Want Your Sex on the radio for the third time in as many days. Is the universe trying to tell me something? Is the universe hitting on me?

rosa_acicularis: (romana shoe)
I spent about an hour today discussing the work and lives of the Beatles with two four-year-olds.

I love my job.

In unrelated news, this sign recently appeared on campus. I know not why; I know only that my Freudian English lit lovin' brain thinks it the funniest thing ever. (Also, I love pink.)


rosa_acicularis: (Default)

September 2012

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