While I was in Zambia, my mother rented out my room, so I came home to piles of boxes and a great deal of unpacking, which necessitated going through everything even more thoroughly than I did two years ago. Among other things, I found some pieces of paper that I didn't want to throw out because they amused me, but don't really need sitting around, either, so I decided to share them with the internet.

( Okay, some of this is mostly-grown Miriam )
The dialogue amuses me, and I remember the letter box, which was a great big ornate gold affair affixed to one of the walls. As I recall, several of the plot points were inspired by the geography and furnishings of the hotel itself, but beyond that I'm with Van Helmsly: I don't have a clue what it all means.

Looking over it, I think it's clear why I enjoy the WWI-era romances by Eva Ibbotson (I stayed up too late last night finishing The Reluctant Heiress, which was a romp, as usual), although it should be pointed out that I don't think Van Helmsly was ever intended to be a love interest.

I rode a motorbike for the first time today. (Not as an operator; as a passenger.)

In the dark.

Quite aside from the complete and utter lack of ANYTHING protecting you from the entire outside world, there's something rather terrifying about being on a motorized vehicle that small and not being in control of it. I don't know that motorbikes involve any more leaning-to-steer than regular bicycles, and perhaps less (at least at the speeds one uses on poor dust roads in the dark, when it's cold and the driver has not protective gear other than a jumper (not even hair to keep his head warm, poor guy; I was very grateful for the scarf and gloves shoved in the pocket of my fleece), I don't think about the leaning when I'm riding a bicycle, because at this time it's second nature to me, but it's much more obvious when someone else decides about the leaning and you don't know when it's going to happen.

Also making this more fun, I'd never met the guy before tonight, and probably wouldn't recognize him in the daylight unless he was wearing the same jumper. (Not that I had any doubts about the character of someone Monica enlisted to drive me home, but . . .)

And, of course, there was the fun half-hour or so of getting on the bike, the bike failing to start, discussion about "Wamana battery" and "Brake fluid Kabotu," standing around outside in the dark and somewhat chilly, watching the guys pushing first the one bike (and it failing to start) and then the other bike, taking the other bike off around the block, the other bike not starting, despite a few hopeful coughs, dumping cooking oil in the goodness-knows-what of the first bike, Monica's husband hopping on the bike, eventually the distant roar and headlight illumination of that bike ("It's his, and he knows it better").

Conclusion: Motorbikes seem more temperamental than cars, but also more persuadable.

Am I glad to see you.

Long story short, yet another disadvantage of un-air-conned server rooms is that if you don't shut the windows and it rains over lunch, it can rain on the equipment. But so far as I can tell, things seem okay (there is internet, the lights on the wired routers are flashing, and my Moodle server has booted to the login screen).

So that was fun. But I was very glad not to have been the last person out of the building before lunch (so the fact that I usually don't shut the windows when I leave for lunch was not an issue), and very, VERY glad to see the polkaspots login screen.

Me.

This is a new one.

"You'll be my lunch-ee, you'll be my supper, ah-ah, very delicious . . ."

I don't think that it makes it better that one of the verses is something about "want you to marry me," or "want to marry you."


I think that this song would disturb me less if I heard it in the context of my SSFFS friends, rather than my Zambian neighbors, because then I could just assume that it was ironic, or intended to be disturbing and creepy, or something. As it is, I'm suspicious that it may be intended to be a serious love song.

Did you learn to macramé when you were a kid? Where/how/from whom? Could you still do it?

My really-not-at-all-boss (who nevertheless is the person with the clearest ideas for what I'm supposed to be doing here) has told me that he wants the Network Operations Center to look futuristic, science-fictional, like a space ship. Because what LinkNet, what Macha Works, is doing here is as much about the idea of what technology can be in Zambia, as any of the actual implementations.

So my question to you is, what does the future look like right now? If you had a huge budget, how would you build something that looks like a space ship? What about a modest budget?

Ubuntu is clean and friendly. I think I like it.

Of course, I've been using it for all of twelve minutes, which isn't really enough time to figure out how it's annoying, but at least I don't sit down and find it immediately annoying, the way I do with Vista and Seven.

Not all of my keyboard shortcuts work, and I need to readjust to ctrl instead of cmmd. But you can tab to checkboxes and check them with the spacebar!

I think that working on the Ridiculous may be spoiling me for reading. At least, some reading.

I started Michelle Sagara's Cast in Secret this morning, and it's not bad, but some of the literary devices are clumsy, and I notice. Perhaps clumsy isn't quite the right word. Some of them seem so transparent. Descriptions, infodumps, settings . . . I've noticed this with other books, too (although I'm noticing pretty strongly with this one). Not everything, but more than I used to. I've become more sensitive to the technical aspects of writing, now that I do more of it myself, and I'm more aware of when someone is handling them suboptimally. I don't know if I would have noticed the weaknesses in this book if I'd read it a year ago, when it was first given to me. (Maybe I would've. Some of them feel pretty obvious. But I wouldn't have noticed as much, and it wouldn't be such a trial to my suspension of disbelief.)

I am hopeful than there's less of it when she's finished setting the scene and characters. I hope so. I only have four paper books with me, and I'm much more inclined to be dubious of one of the others than I was of this one. (When your mother, who doesn't read sci-fi, says, "Hey, Miriam, this is sci-fi, you might like it." . . . )

What with the whole PREPARING TO GO TO ZAMBIA thing (I leave for orientation on Thursday), this is an issue of relevance for me. A printout of this webpage is going to live semi-permanently with my knitting stuff (and I'm not sure that I won't buy an extra set of Size 1 needles at the yarn store on Wednesday, just to be safe, in case someone decides to confiscate mine, or they break, or something.

But for your reference: http://www.tsa.gov/travelers/airtravel/assistant/editorial_1252.shtm

It doesn't say anything about sewing needles or safety pins, though. Luckily none of my imminent projects need stitch markers, so I guess they can live in the checked baggage.

Our dinner dessert guests guest Tuesday night (otherwise known as my tenth grade English teacher, her husband, and their adorable 18-month-old son) brought a bottle of coconut rum. Now, we haven't opened it yet, but I'm fairly certain that the only member of this household who might possibly be interested in drinking it is the one who's underage.

So what would you do with a bottle of coconut rum that you weren't intending to drink or burn in a bonfire to signal passing ships?