Huh. I just now noticed that somebody who unfriended me lo-these-many-months-if-not-years-ago not only unfriended me, they deleted one or more (haven't bothered to check, past the one where I noticed it) comments they'd left on my LJ. The one I noticed was a totally innocuous comment, along the lines of "I never seem to hear about interesting local stuff — how'd you hear about this?"
These days, and at the current state of my practice, I'm in a place of not erasing public stuff. Did I post that in the past, even if it's something I disagree with now, or related to somebody I no longer wish to associate with? Well, that's where I was and who I was associating with and what I was thinking at the time.
If my past actions, opinions, and associations are enough to make you want to repudiate me… Well, okay. Bye! Not quite sure I'm awakened enough to say "been nice knowing you", but I don't wish you ill.
As I sit here pinning gathered ruffles onto a skirt (OMG I HATE GATHERING I AM BUYING A RUFFLER FOOT AT THE EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY) I find myself reflecting on how much of sewing is like Xeno's Paradox: pin halfway, then halfway, then halfway, then halfway, then halfway, then halfway, then WTF IT'S ONLY $40 FOR A RUFFLER FOOT WHY THE HELL AM I FUSSING WITH THIS.
People who aren't bike-oriented sometimes have a very hard time understanding that for bike-oriented people, being on the bike is not a hardship.
I went to a party tonight with some work friends and had a very nice time, but did wind up bumping into this.
"Oh, it's so late — you should just put your bike in the back of my vehicle and let me give you a ride home!"
Hey, thanks, but it's cool. I like riding home.
"But it's dark! You shouldn't ride home when it's like this! Put your bike in back and I'll drive!"
Um... thanks, but really, it's not a problem. We've been car-free for four and a half years now. You know what I do when it's dark and I need to get somewhere? I ride my bike.
"This is Oakland. It's just not safe. I'll wait outside the garage while you unlock your bike and you can put it in back."
HNGGANGGNAGGNAAAA!!!! *deep breath* Really, truly, I appreciate your concern for my well-being. It is FINE. I will be FINE. I know where I'm going and how to get there and how to look out for myself on the way. And, in fact, considering it's Friday, after five days of eight-plus hours under the fluorescent lights with people around me all the time, one of the things I look forward to is being able to stop on the way home and spend some time in a deserted park ALL BY MYSELF getting some introvert recharge time.
But I didn't feel like making an issue of it, so I wrestled my bike into the back of a co-worker's minivan and let her give me a ride home.
I am grateful for their concern for my safety, I really am. And I wish I'd gotten to ride home and stop on the way. :-(
I finally got to read Neal Stephenson's latest book, REAMDE. (I had put a hold on it at the library shortly after it was released, but the wait list was forever.) It's only out in hardback at this point, and it's massive. I put it on the kitchen scale. 2.8 pounds. Undaunted, I lugged it all the way to Irvine last week for a work trip. And back, of course.
Spending the weekend trying to fight off a cold give me a good opportunity to read it, and I finished it Sunday night.
What I'm left wondering is, how can 1036 pages feel so thin? When I finished reading Snow Crash, and when I finished reading Diamond Age, my mind was all a-ferment with ideas. The burbclaves. The philes. The Rat Thing (poor Rat Thing!) The Feed, and what does it mean to be an artisan in a world of mass-produced items? All kinds of ideas and issues and nifty concepts to play with and think about.
Ending REAMDE left me with a feeling of "yeah, okay, whatever. Oh, that character survived? And that one didn't? Eh, whatever."
Color me cranky, and not exclusively because of this cold.
In the discussion thread on MetaFilter, one commenter said, "I closed the book, walked into my husband's office, thumped it down on his desk, and said, 'I cannot recommend you read this book.'" I have to agree.
Another commentor on MetaFilter said, "I should remember that when mainstream reviews call something an author's most accessible work, it means the people who actually like that author's work probably won't."
So I downloaded Anathem from the library as an e-book, and I think I'm going to take it (and my cough syrup, and another jumbo handful of Chinese herbs) and go to bed. From what I've read about it, Anathem is anything but accessible. Excellent. At the moment, a book with heavy inclueing and as little exposition as possible is what I'm in the mood for.