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You go to page 7 of your current work, skip 7 lines, and copy 7 sentences.

These are kind of long sentences because thius is a kind of 19th-century novel.

  Palachek had many stories in which he confronted immense dangers and always prevailed, saying "I am a man of earth and salt and the Wheel and I will do what I must."

Just now Yanek also felt that he was a man of earth and salt and the Wheel and he could do anything he had to.


####

Before anybody could eat or drink, Bulo's grandfather Ivek stood up on a bench and addressed the little crowd. Yanek couldn't understand much of what he said, but he got the important part. Ivek held up a pinch of earth and a pinch of salt and kissed the small bone Wheel he wore on a rawhide cord around his ancient neck. Then he said thanks to the Old Girls and especially the Sow of the Luh, and he poured out some of his drink on the ground and gave some food to Bulo to set at the edge of the village. Then be said, "You may pray to God and the gods of the hub, but the Old Girls have been here longer and they don't ask for your prayers, just your remembrance." He waved his hand and the women banged spoons together and the last-sheaf supper started.



This is from the first time Yanek gets to play his drum with the grownups in the villages. "Palachek" is introduced earlier: it's the name of a fairytale hero born as big as his father's thumb, and it also is Yanek's nickname because he is very small (not miraculously small though).

Notice I am using a simplified (and anglified) orthography, because these people are not actually Slavonic and I thought I might simplify the philological notes this way...turns out that, nope, it takes just as long to explain as it would if I spelled the names Janek and
Palaček. But it does allow me not to have to make certain decisions.

On another note, I got a bill in the mail for $202 dollars and some cents for my monthly fee for medical insurance. Since last year's was $22 a month, and since I cannot pay that much, I called to find out what was going on. The Blue Shield person was flummoxed,and came up with error messages, so she kicked me over to Covered California, where the connection was so bad that we had to try three times before giving up on that call, but the Blue Shield person said that the Covered California person had found a different name with my social security number. I called Covered California on my own a bit later and found out, as I suspected, that last was just a plain error. But other error messages persisted, and we decided it would be much faster just to run my application as a new customer (like, weeks faster, because the error message process takes up to six weeks). Upon doing this he discovered I don't make enough for Covered California, and I have to go to Medi-Cal. I now have my number for that, and my primary doctor takes Medi-Cal, but I have no idea about any of the other things that are in process.

So, uncertainty.

One thing that I notice and despise about capitalists is that they want to be liberated from any scrap of uncertainty by having everything guaranteed for them by the government, but they also want to get special privileges based on the idea that they take risks in order to advance the economy. On the other hand, workers are expected to live with the uncertainty of what their bosses will deign to pay and whether their bosses will even keep them working. And in their civic life they are expected to live with uncertainty about whether there will even be water to drink, because the capitalists don't want to pay into the the costs of the infrastructure.

On the
Žluta front, she has not had her morning walk yet because I got my Medi-Cal number.

7-7-7 game

Sep. 17th, 2015 07:27 pm
ritaxis: (hat)
So I don't even know where I saw this, but this is the latest version I've seen of "post a bit of your work:" you go to page seven of what you're working on, count down seven lines, and copy the next seven.

This is what I get if I consider the whole novel as one manuscript instead of the various chapters independently:





"I have breeches," Yanek informed his sister, "But Zhenny wouldn't let me wear them because I wore them yesterday when I played the drum."

This led to an enthusiastic telling of the events of the day before. Yanek confided that he had had beer and herb-liqueur the day before, and he relayed some of the more puzzling things he had seen and heard as if he had understood any of it. Ludmilla countered with some of the grander events at the palace, and Sasha announced that he also had breeches and he wore them all the time, and he had a drum, too, which had little rooster soldiers painted on it.




This is the best I can do if I consider the chapter I'm on: it hasn't gotten to 7 pages yet, so these lines are from page 6:



"It's just coincidence. It'll all go away when this is over," Yanek said. "A week or two from now I'll be back at work at the glass factory." If I live, he thought.

"You think you're getting back to Boem in two weeks?" Krenek asked. "Well," he added to Honza, "I can certainly understand why you don't want to come with us. Garlo stayed behind for similar reasons. But we'd better go now, the sun keeps moving even when we don't."

The other workers in the field had already started loading the wheat into the wagon, so after embraces for all the soldiers, Honza turned back to join them. Yulaida lingered a little longer.



The strikeout words are going away because thanks to [livejournal.com profile] heleninwales I now know I did all the harvests in the book wrong and I have to go back and correct them. I didn't realize about stooking: I thought it was just hay that got that treatment. Definitely not "writing what I know" here. Just "learning about what I write." Also, the second passage looks boring to me on its own like this.
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We all know that I am not a language peever, but I reserve the right to hate the word meme anyhow.

So anyway, this week's game is to grab the book nearest you and read the first sentence on page 45: it is supposed to explain your love life. I did it yesterday and the nearest book was 400 Czech Verbs and the first sentence was some damned thing about the accusative case or something and I forgot. But today I was reminded again and the nearest book was the Czech dictionary (don't get me wrong, I've totally been slacking on studying Czech all year, it's altogether unusual for these books to be anywhere near me). On page 45 there are actual sentences, in a sidebar about distinguishing "breast" from "chest." The first sentence is

The pain spread across the chest.


Being that we are in fact fifteen days from the 6th anniversary of the nice fellow's death, it's actually kind of apposite.

Though I tend to feel it in my head (my physical head, not my abstract mind), not my chest.

.........

How to rescue this post from the abjectly emotional? natter on about my living family.

I think I have convinced Hana and Frank to go to Chemnitz with me. Hana has quit her jobs in preparation for following Frank to the UK whenever his paperwork gets approved, so she's available. At any moment Fank may have to duck out and go to the UK for a last-minute job posting, but I don't mind the uncertainty. He's the reason I have developed a habit of flying to Prague, but he is not the only thing in Prague. I'm flying Norwegian Air from Oakland on the 20th of August, which is a strange day for me but it's good to be busy on it.

Emma has gotten a job with Happy Hollow Zoo as a "temporary" relief zookeeper. It puts a limit on her hours and benefits, but it doesn't preclude her applying for a permanent position, of which there are one or two coming up. She's as happy as she has ever been, her husband Jason said yesterday.

This is after a tragedy: their sweet doofus rescue bulldog got her wires crossed and leaped at Jason's throat, nearly killing him in the process. She had to be killed: and grief for her was almost as strong as the terror around Jason's brush with death.
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There's not much point in this report. I'm still reading Reamde in bed and The Hundred Thousand Fools of God in the bathtub. It will take me forever to read these.
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I can't even remember what I read in the weeks I didn't post, which is why I have joined this little game.  Anyway, my bathroom book is A Hundrede Thousand Fools of God which is not about religion especially: it's about everything to do with ethnic music in ex-Soviet Central Asia since before it was ex-Soviet to roughly now. It comes with a CD to which I have not listened yet. It's more of my father's ethnomusicology trove. It's really interesting, and the author's point of view is one of the least annoying and most nuanced ones I have read when assessing Soviet history. Even things he hates (like the Soviet penchant for inventing large-ensemble music styles for each nationality, whether the instruments and the musical styles were suited for it or not) he is able to look at with open eyes. It's refreshing to read something that is neither an apologia nor the usual dumb, uncaring knee-jerk anti-sovietism that you see around the place.

My bedroom book is Stephenson's Reamde which I am having trouble with. It's very, very scary, because he's got this whole normal, benign world that people are moving through and then -- people who view large amounts of murder as a simple, sensible business strategy get involved. It is very long, and very detailed -- not loving graphic details of murder, but it doesn't need it to be unsettling and even occasionally disgusting (I don't mean that the writing is disgusting, but ddisgusting things happen).

I seem to have inordinate amounts of trouble with all sorts of things lately. I haven't really finished very many of the books I've started this year.

On another front, I got deferred for giving blood today. My hemoglobin was 11.5. It needs to be 12.5 to give blood. Last time it was low and then it came up enough when they re-tested it. I do not like this development: I used to have remarkably high hemoglobin, and now it is below the normal range (it should be 12 to not be considered to have anemia or something). I am pissed off. My diet is normally high-ish in iron. I have a reason at hand for why I might be dropping hemoglobin levels, but I do not see an immediate answer for what to do about it. Also, I still have no health insurance, so I'm looking for self-treatment first. I will go see the doctor but first I will do whatever I can find that is obvious so as to be able to come in with that information and make the most efficient use of his time.

On still another front, a PSA: too many livejournal users are using the automatic location finder thingy and they are publishing the exact address from which they are posting. This is a dumb move, folks. If you want to post a location, use some kind of cute shorthand instead of your whole address.
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- for some reason it delights me to discover that I will be in Prague on Jan Hus Day (July 6)

- it's premature to say more, but it's really likely I'll be working by the end of next week

- they built some really cool minimalist statuary at the Highway Nine end of the levee: they are exercise equipment. Some of them have moving parts and others are various kinds of bars to pull yourself around on. They are beautiful to look at and fun to use. I tried a couple of them today (as many as Truffle had patience for) and I got a little light-headed (motion sickness?) but they were actually quite fun and only hcallenging enough.

- I filled out the Army of Women questionnaire for breast cancer research and I am not happy with how I answered some of the questions. I answered that my health limits various activies "a little" but what I wanted to say was "my health doesn't really limit my acitivities but it makes me think about them really hard and it sometimes makes things uncomfortable"  Also sometimes they gave you radio buttons when ticky boxes would have been better -- as to why I'm not using birth control, for example. And it was surprisingly moving to fill out the consequences of all my pregnancies.

- I skipped two weeks of reading report, but I like doing it, so here it is again:

Recently read: Madeleine Kamman's Savoie which is a travelogue and cookbook, and some book about Rebetika which was sitting in my dad's stuff in xeroxed form

Reading: (continuing the dad's bookshelf project): Francisco Garcia Lorca, In the Green Morning: Memories of Federico: Hanif Kureishi, The Balck Album: Steven Feld, Sound and Sentiment: Birds, Weeping, Poetics, and Song in Kaluli Expression (another instance of how Making Up Improbable Culture is the New Guinea national sport), and re-reading The Cheese and the Worms by Carlo Ginsburg.  Why yes, I am reading four books at once. I thought I'd stopped that nonsense. But none of these have grabbed me in a way that makes me want to just read page after page until it's finished.

Will be reading: I don't know, some random books or other.

- - writing: it's getting there. Really, really getting there. The war is over, Yanek's getting reunited with people one by one, he;s going to meet the trees soon. But I'm going to have so much work to do in the revision to get this set up better, because I look at it now and it's not set up properly at all. This is because when I started this story it was going to be a different thing entirely. It was kind of a romance at first and now it's not at all.
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Reading: A Simple Haban Melody by Oscar Higuelos (bathroom book)
was going to start What is the What but I can't handle it right now, any more than I can handle Those Bones Are Not My Child: I guess I need something less harrowing at the moment.

Just finished: Periodic Tales (you can have it now, Emma and Jason) and The Handbook of American Folklore

about to read: I'm not sure, I have this immense pile of books from my dad and stepmom.

writing:
I got my guy into a situation I've been planning for a year and suddenly it's like I can't imagine how this would actually go.

Having a Mr. Earbrass moment anyway. Just re-read a bunch of earlier chapters for reasons and they read like a dull biography to me.
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1. What are you reading? Periodic Tales by Hugh Addersley (bedroom) and A Simple Habana Melody by Oscar Hijuelos (bathroom)

2. What did you recently finish reading? Hallucinations by Oliver Sachs and The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell.

3. What will you be reading in the future? What is the What? By David Eggers and something ethnomusicological from my dad's library

It's not that I have such fine literary tastes, but that these are the books I brought home from my father's stash, plus two books Emma gave me for Christmas.

also, I am as always, reading several million words of amateur online fiction every few days.  My mother used to read murder mysteries and thrillers when she was depressed. I read mensch romance when I can find it.
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Personhead [livejournal.com profile] pantryslut posted this reading thing and unlike most things it appealed to me. Originally it's from Should Be Reading (I think that's what it's called).

It's three questions:

1. what are you currently reading? Hallucinations by Oliver Sachs.

2. what did you recently finish reading? Karen Joy Fowler's Sister Noon. And Barbara Kingsolver's Pigs in Heaven.  I must admit that most of the rest of the year I was only reading amateur fiction from the web.

3. what will you be reading in the near future? Periodic Tales by Hugh Aldersey-Williams.

#1 and #3 were christmas presents from Emma.

I have become a slow reader of real books because I have become conditioned to fall asleep with books. . .
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So personhead [livejournal.com profile] julesjones did this and I want to also, so, simply, here it is. I adjusted some of the questions, comparing her version and Justin Bog's original.
1. What is the working title of your book? Drummer Boy.  There's no reason to change it that I could imagine. Though in my head I refer to it as not-Poland.

2. Where did the idea come from for the book? Several sources.
(1) There's an unfinished story on fictionpress called "Unrelated Royalty," which has the situation of a king marrying a pregnant widow who subsequently dies, leaving her son growing up in the royal household without any actual status. I used a duke, and then because I have a realistic bent I started thinking about why the kid wouldn't have the status he should get from his father, and so on.
(2) Landscape and Memory, which is about Greater Lithuania, which greatly overlaps Greater Poland: Language Hat's running discussion of the polyglot nature of Eastern Europe, The Golden Bough, and everything by Carlo Ginzburg.
(3) All the military history discussions I'll never have anymore with the nice fellow I married, and especially certain bits I recalled from things he told me when he was alive: the Polish cavalry meeting the tanks in battle, the general perfuckedness of the World War One eastern front, the persistence of the use of drummers in battlefield communications well after the advent of telegraphy . . . the earworm phrase the law of uneven development.
(4) My own family background is four ways not-Polish, so there is a certain symmetry to me writing a book that is not-Polish.  -- Do you want to know the ways?  a. Though my father's father's family identified as German Americans, my surname is Sorbian, which is a Western Slavic language that overlaps Poland,Germany, and the Czechoslovakian region. b. My great-grandmother's mother was from the Amber Coast, which is sometimes Poland and sometimes other countries in history, but was apparently German at the time she left it to be a hurdy-gurdy girl in the California Gold Fields (she didn't get that far because of --)c. My great-grandmother's father, the ship's carpenter the mother eloped with instead of going on to the gold fields, was from Gdansk during a period when it was called Danzig, so therefore not Polish. And d.My mother's family was all Jews from Vilnius, which they pronounced Vilno and spelled Wilnow, and which was supposedly in Russia at the time they left there, but they always said it was in Poland (glances at historical atlases leave me with a headache and more questions than answers).
(5) When I figure out why I suddenly discovered that my protagonist has green markings on his skin in the shape of a willow tree, and that he is special to the trees, I will be surprised, or something.  Honestly, I don't know where that came from.  I wasn't thinking about The Lorax at all.
(6) Everything I write is influenced by Jakobowski and the Colonel, so.
(&) Friday night folkdance class, especially monthly live music night where I just stare at the drummers all night.

3. What is the one-sentence synopsis for the book?
The son of a prince, sold by his foster brother the Duke's son to be a drummer in the imperial army, survives the trenches against all likelihood, to become an urban Lorax according to his true familial destiny.

4. What genre does your book fall under? Either it's a fantasy or magical realism. Is it steampunk? When you read about the mobile telegraph transmitter on a crudely self-propelled wagon, you might think so.  Despite the prevalence of dukes and princes, it is not at all a silver fork novel.

5. What other books would you compare this to (inside your genre)? Well, it's nothing like Ash or Grunts -- other fantasies with archaic warfare in them --  and it's nothing like The Lorax. It owes a little revulsion-effect "I want to write the opposite of that" to The Painted Bird.
Well, none of that is inside the genre except the Mary Gentle books.

6. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?  There's a bit of a romance, though it is not central: talking animal earth dieties (a sow, a cow, and perhaps a bear! Triple Goddess!) -- a pile of scary folklore, class interactions, some upstairs-downstairs stuff, a couple battlefields, culture class, juvenile misunderstandings, plague, delayed industrial revolution, a fading empire, many different kinds of music, and of course drums and drummers. Also fiddles and the occasional bagpipe.
And also pirogies and an appalling local liqueur.

I left out questions about actors to play the characters, publishing plans, and other things that apply to finished work. I do plan to submit it through traditional channels, because I do think of it as a regular print book.
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So, like others, here I am with page 77, lines 7-14.  (It would be line 7 if the piece were shorter) "No cheating" means I have to cut off in the middle of a sentence.

.>>
Pushing open the schoolroom door, Mr. Glazky sighed. "No one is ever good enough," he said.  "We always have to be getting better.  Especially anyone whose position is ambiguous --"
    "I'm not a bastard!"
    "No, you are not.  But you've been disowned anyway, and your very life depends on the goodwill of your foster family.  Do you understand that? Even little Master Sasha, who you condescend to and barely allow to tag along with you, who worships the ground you walk on, will one day have absolute power over you--"
    "Of course he will, he'll be the Duke."
    "Even before that.  Do you know?  He comes into relative majority at fourteen and he can only be overruled by his father."
    Yanek still couldn't find it in his heart to be afraid of an eight-year-old, who was sometimes<<

It's odd that it actually comes up with a crucial little bit.

edit.  Seems that several chapters were set to 10 point which is an annoying thing that Word Perfect does unexpectedly sometimes when saving in .rtf.  When that's fixed, line 7-14 of page 77 is considerably earlier and less revealing and more confusing.

..
The Feast of Daodo came and went.  In the country, there was literally a feast on this day, but well after dark, and the people were expected to fast all day beforehand. This year, however, the old castle only kept the first part of the tradition.  There was no feast at night, no special lighting, no congratulatory songs about making it through another year.  Just a big vegetable pie for all of the inhabitants of the house. Yanek hadn't known what to expect, though, since Zhenny had all but banned him from the kitchen.  After the pie was set down on the servants' table and nobody went back for more things, Yanek asked if he should go and get the rest.
<<
of course there is nothing more. This is when they literally starve for several months.

I wonder, though, when people do this, is it at all interesting to their readers?

I'm not in the most confident mood today.  I wish it hadn't fallen to me to write the obituary and I wish that we had met about it a week earlier and I wish that the notes I got from our little meeting didn't look like I was suppsoed to write a full-length autobiography and weren't full of remarks about how this person or that person ought to be called for more information.  To hell with it: the memorial's only in a week and I have already missed the SUnday papers and I am going to send in something that barely scratches the surface because I do have to work today.

I think later I will write my own obituary and keep it on the computer clearly labelled and my survivors can amend it as they see fit because this is a pain in the ass.
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1. Climb a tree.

2. Roll down a really big hill At UC Berkeley on a lawn that I think doesn't exist anymore.

3. Camp out in the wild

4. Build a den

5. Skim a stone   -- you do mean skip a stone, don't you?

6. Run around in the rain

7. Fly a kite

8. Catch a fish with a net

9. Eat an apple straight from a tree

10. Play conkers -No, but we made candles out of sky lupines, and dolls out of flowers,

11. Throw some snow -- I think so. I don't remember for sure, but my experiences with snow before my 12th birthday wer few until we went to Philadelphia, where we arrived with mostly worn-out California clothes in the coldest winter in many years. I was eleven,

12. Hunt for treasure on the beach

13. Make a mud pie

14. Dam a stream

15. Go sledging -  what is this?  We made sleds and raced them on dry grass hills.

16. Bury someone in the sand

17. Set up a snail race - We made snail hotels instead

18. Balance on a fallen tree - Or, perhaps, climb all over it and pretend it is a spaceship?

19. Swing on a rope swing

20. Make a mud slide -- but we made dry grass slides all the time

21. Eat blackberries growing in the wild -- well, wildly growing on the roadside, anyway

22. Take a look inside a tree and make a little house in it

23. Visit an island -- Brooks Island in the middle of the San Francisco Bay, where my father was a worker on an archaeological dig.

24. Feel like you’re flying in the wind

25. Make a grass trumpet -- does this mean a grass harmonica?

26. Hunt for fossils and bones

27. Watch the sun wake up

28. Climb a huge hill

29. Get behind a waterfall -- how about float down a river instead?

30. Feed a bird from your hand

31. Hunt for bugs

32. Find some frogspawn

33. Catch a butterfly in a net

34. Track wild animals -- I had a kit to track wild animals but I mostly did dogs and one or two raccoons

35. Discover what’s in a pond

36. Call an owl

37. Check out the crazy creatures in a rock pool

38. Bring up a butterfly

39. - Catch a crab

40. Go on a nature walk at night

41. Plant it, grow it, eat it

42. Go wild swimming

43. Go rafting. on inflatable rafts, on a calm river. Okay?

44. Light a fire without matches -- it was a feeble little fire.  But I made pretty good chert and obsidian tools.

45. Find your way with a map and compass  -- and I made maps too, showing rocks my best friend and I were finding in the wild part of neighborhood.

46. Try bouldering (rock climbing outdoors but with safety mats and short drops) -No safety mats, though, just my adult cousin Lynn.

47. Cook on a campfire

48. Try abseiling -What the hell is this?

49. Find a geocache (use GPS and other navigational aides to locate hidden containers.) -  I couldn't because there was no GPS.

50. Canoe down a river -- I rafted in a river and canoed in a lake.  Good enough?

This is by way of personhead[livejournal.com profile] madwriter and ultimately from the National Trust which I assume is in England.

Given the fact that so many of the things are directly related to the English countryside and wilderness, I am surprised that I was able to say I did so many.
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Every so often somebody decides that the best way for us to express our support for a political position is to repost a statement in its entirety along with a button urging everyone else to do the same.

I do not believe this is the case.

So do not think that because I have not reposted the entire statement of some other person, therefore I am insufficiently appalled by the Mississippi personhood amendment.

I have more to say about both those things, but I have used up my morning on solitaire and my outline. I am so, so screwed, with the outline: I haven't even started writing this book and it has gotten away from me. It was supposed to be 25 chapters and end with the reunion and my guy's refusal to return to the duchy, but I have gotten to 37 chapters -- several days past that point -- and the story refuses to end. I am sure I am doing something wrong.
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Mine's pretty boring.

2011. Me, a dog and a cat, in a two-bedroom house in the "South of Laurel" neighborhood in Santa Cruz.
2001. Me, the nice fellow, a 22-year-old son, a 14 year-old daughter, a dog and a two cats (different dog, but one of the cats was the same), in a three-bedroom house in Santa Cruz. The same house.
1991. Me, the nice fellow, a 12-year-old son, a 4 year-old daughter, a cat(the older of those same two cats), in the same house. One of the bedrooms is in a different part of the house than in 1981.
1981. Me, the nice fellow, two year-old child, a roommate I couldn't stand and her wonderful three year-old daughter, in the same house.
1971. Me, the nice fellow, and a shifting collection of roommates one to three at a time, in a three-bedroom house on the East Side of Santa Cruz.
1961. Before or after September? Before: Me, my father, my mother, my brother, two dogs, in a three-bedroom house on the downhill side of a weird little street in El Sobrante, California. After: Me, my father, my mother, my brother, one dog, in an eleven-room house in Powellton Village, a transitional neighborhood between University City and Mantua, in Philadelphia.
1951: not born for two more years.

What doesn't show, of course is the years I lived in San Francisco, the summer I lived in Pine Ridge, the year on campus, or any of the houses I lived in in Santa Cruz before 1971 and between 1971 and 1977, or the first two years of my life which were mostly spent in an apartment in Berkeley.
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<a href="http://autopope.livejournal.com/634670.html#cutid1">Charlie Stross</a> spent, apparently, more than three months away from home this year.  Another person, who I will not name because he has it in a locked post, says he spent 39 nights away from home this year.  As far as I can remember I spent no nights away from home in 2010.  In <i>2009</i> I spent two weeks in Prague and a few days in Florida.  But not this year.  I didn't take any actual vacations (I took some days off here and there). 

Supposedly by the end of the year I'll spend a few days in Southern California, and I'm planning to go to Prague again in the Spring.

I could list all the reasons I didn't sleep away from this year but I won't.
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I was tagged by personhead [livejournal.com profile] ocotillo_dawn  and that's the only reason I'm doing this.  It's that book sentence game again, this time with somewhat different instructions.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4-7 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest (unless it's too troublesome to reach and is really heavy. Then go back to step 1).
6. Tag five people.

It's a tossup between the phone book (boring) and <i>The Vegetable Bible</i> which I believe actually belongs to Emma's friend Kelley but she left it behind when she moved back to the City.   This book is nothing but sidebars strewn decoratively around the page in vague reference to brilliantly lit and probably heavily oiled gorgeous vegetables largely undergoing some kind of processing.

 Pull off the skin from top to bottom with a kitchen knife.  Cut the bell peppers in half lengthwise, taking care not to squash the soft flesh.  Remove the stalk, including the base, from the bell pepper halves, and cut out and discard the core and seeds, leaving just the flesh.  The prepared bell pepper halves may now be halved again, quartered, or cut into strips or cubes of any desired size, according to the recipe.

Signs of freshness in a bell pepper are smooth, firm skin and a crisp, green stalk.  At one time bell peppers were often broken off the plant, but they are now usually cut in order to avoid damaging them.


It's not a game if you don't tag people, so here are the personheads I am tagging (chosen by the expedience of their having posted today and by me seeing their names right now: there is no real criterion):
[livejournal.com profile] birdsedge 
[livejournal.com profile] thomasyan 
[livejournal.com profile] deborahjross 
[livejournal.com profile] fivemack 
[livejournal.com profile] pnkrokhockeymom 

That last one?  You have a really hard personhead name to spell correctly, [livejournal.com profile] pnkrokhockeymom .
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I like this one.

I played five times. It guess Huckleberry Finn, Gregor Samsa, and Raskolnikov correctly, and I stumped it with Njal from Njals Saga and Jakobowski from Jakobowski and the Colonel.
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They actually sing it pretty well. Emma sent this link to me so I'm sending it to you:
"There's no one as Irish as Barack Obama"
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You are a dog
Or maybe you are a mosquito, you certainly can't be human.

The highest pitched ultrasonic mosquito ringtone that I can hear is 21.1kHz
Find out which ultrasonic ringtones you can hear!


Actually I wonder if there was anything strange about it -- like maybe I was hearing undertones -- because they didn't sound so very high-pitched to me.

okay.

Mar. 8th, 2008 11:51 am
ritaxis: (Default)
Haiku2 for ritaxis
are known to happen
unless i know who read this
i mean really
@
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