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You know, despite how much we complain about the health care system... I really appreciate being able to say "something is wrong", leave work, go to the clinic, see a doctor (in less than 45 minutes!), and get treated.

For free.

How great is that?


Dec. 8th, 2008 11:10 pm
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Promotions? Kinda rock. :)
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Gah. Migraine again.

I haven't had one in a while, which I'm terribly pleased about, but I'd forgotten how much they hurt. And the meds aren't kicking in, and I've taken the max dosage already.

Right now, I'm only functional in the sense that I'm horizontal in the most scent-less room in the house, and I've lowered the light from the computer monitor to bearable levels. If I can manage to not move my head, I can tolerate the pain. Moving my head makes me nauseous, though, so I'll just stay perfectly still, and hope the meds eventually kick in (they should have by now, but for some reason, they're not).

People who don't get these are so very lucky.

EDIT: The meds kicked in. I'm feeling slightly woozy, but lack of pain is one of the most beautiful sensations you can possibly imagine. I don't say this often, but thank you, Pharma.
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So, really fun choir concert. Interesting evening with old friends. We'll see.

In the meantime, bed. SO tired.
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Dear Harper,


No, seriously, WTF?

That no-confidence thing? Isn't actually getting better, you jackass.

No love (no, really, no love at all),
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From [ profile] otterdance, the Otter theory of writers. Because I can definitely think of a few people on my flist (and myself, occasionally) for whom this applies:

This is a variation on Teresa Nielsen Hayden's Otter Theory of Writers. Apparently, she read somewhere that it is not possible to use traditional methods of training animals on otters. When you train a dog, for instance, it does something you want, you give it a treat, and the dog thinks "She liked it! Great; I'll do it again!" When you do the same thing to an otter, though, the otter thinks "Wow! She liked it! Ohboy, this time I'm going to do something /even cooler!!!"/ Which of course is nothing at all like whatever you're trying to get the otter to do. Writers, says Teresa, are just like otters that way.)

We laugh because it's true.
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Has everyone read Neil Gaiman's latest blog post regarding freedom of speech? If not, you should, and it is here:
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In other news, Boing Boing apparently had a poetry competetion, and out came a sestina about copyright (??). I'm somewhat amused, and I figure some of my f-list might be as well, so here you go (there's a bunch of other ones in the comments, and some are amusing) First published here written by SpatulaLilacs.

Sestina of a Reluctant Copyfighter
(in iambic pentameter)

I download stuff. Not all of it is "free" --
Or meant to be, at least. But people share.
It's alright if you take what I create.
I'd never copy-shackle my own art.
I have a hankering for the obscure,
And I will stay obscure as well, by rights.

I know, of course, i haven't got the right:
no "information-wanting-to-be-free"
or any other jargon can obscure
the fact that when we, as we put it, "share,"
we replicate another person's art.
Are copies something I should not create?

But in the past, we couldn't just create;
the learnéd men who scribbled out our rights
did not foresee this replicable art,
which makes another of itself for free.
And if they did, why tell us not to share?
Conspiracy? Some purpose more obscure?

I know, the artist's needs are not "obscure."
But I don't see the people who create
receiving, from the middle-man, their share --
they've all too often signed away their rights,
and found themselves endeavoring for free
to do a deed that's less and less an art.

But certainly this isn't all of art;
just most of art that isn't so obscure.
The margins (blesséd margins!) leave you free,
uncensored and unhindered, to create.
But on the margin, who protects your rights?
Forget your rights. Embrace your fanbase. Share.

If just a thousand, seeing that you share,
decide they love you and they love your art,
then you won't need to sweat about your rights.
You can be happy, healthy, and obscure,
as long as you remember to create
at least a couple things that aren't free.

So free your mind before you grab your share.
Don't litigate, just go create some art!
And let the lawyers sort obscurer rights.
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I've been seeing this pop up on my f-list regularly, and I'm somewhat curious.

The problem with LJ: we all think we are so close, but really, we know nothing about each other. So I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about. Ask away.
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Signs that a deep breath is needed: you clean the house on Tuesday night because it needs to be clean for Sunday and you're not actually intending to be home and awake until then.

... Hee! My co-worker just came by and dropped a clementine off on my desk. Sweet!
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Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
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I love my life.
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Correction to the earlier post: the headache, while not an actual migraine, has been expanding into the Headache of Doom.



Oct. 15th, 2008 09:51 am
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Right. This is a call-out to Montreal people.

There's a poetry reading on Thursday that I want to go to. The person I'd usually go with just moved across the continent. Anyone interested in coming with?


Sep. 29th, 2008 04:14 pm
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... Not a bad day, overall, but I've been working on timelines for a few hours and I think my brain is going to turn to mush. This weekend was remarkably busy, but very fun - thanks to everyone I saw; I had a great time!

So, [ profile] mousme has a meme that I think is kind of interesting:

Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about.

Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it.

Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other. Or not.


Sep. 26th, 2008 05:00 pm
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Dear People Looking for Volunteers,

You are looking for people to volunteer during the week. You are, in fact, looking for a fairly large number of people for a fairly substantial number of hours.

When I tell you that I'm available after 6:30 every night and that I'd love to help out, it isn't really good policy to respond that you need people who can start at 5, thanks for offering, and proceeding to hang up. Dude. I have an office job. More to the point, A LOT OF PEOPLE have office jobs. How exactly do you plan to get people who can start at 5pm promptly, since most of us work until then? If you can manage this, I'm sincerely impressed. Since I'm rather doubting that, well... good luck?



Dear US,

Please, do something about the train wreck that is the Palin/McCain campaign. No, really. Schadenfreude has been exhausted, and I'm cringing in pity. I don't know if they're embarassed, but they should be, and I'm embarassed for them!




The Arts are for the Elite? Really? F'koff, already, would you? Also, would you stop trying to imitate the US? We can see how well THAT's working out, hmm?

Anticipating elections, now-ish, thanks,
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Now, it's no secret that I'm not a fan of Margaret Atwood. The Edible Woman was pretty good, granted, but I dropped a bunch of her novels after a few chapters, and Alias Grace made it out the window (3 times) before I finally gave up.

However, this essay? Is good. Thanks, Margaret - I agree.

To be creative is, in fact, Canadian

Also, while I'm at it? Elite isn't a dirty word, in and of itself. In and of itself, the word implies excellence, it implies intelligence, and it implies superior ability. Check the thesaurus, and stop using it as an insult. "Ordinary" shouldn't necessarily be a compliment, either, BTW, and while I might like "the guy next door" just fine when it comes to having a beer or two, I'd like slightly more from a national leader. Use some sense, people.

Note to self: Stop reading about elections, especially the American one. It'll only depress you more.
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On [ profile] sarahcarotte's rec, I've been reading Garth Nix's Sabriel.

I'm only about two chapters in, but I'm favorably impressed, so far. Well-written, beginning of actual plot, well-developed characters, strong female character, strong writing style and general respect for grammar... If you're looking for a YA novel, this one is pretty damn good. Thanks, Sarah!
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GIP, because my sister made me read Twilight.

Thanks to [ profile] stoney321 for use.

Oh, gawd, we need better YA literature. As a starting point, the Enchanted Forest Chronicles, but really? Twilight? You're killing me, people.
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