Fox. Moon. Winter.
Mar. 21st, 2018 07:00 pmRuth: ... and Fox has really gotten into that traditionally two-year-old phase of saying 'No'.
Me: Where they may not even actually mean No, but it's just that they can say it?
Ruth: Right.
Fox, who has been theoretically asleep for at least fifteen to twenty minutes in a space twenty feet from this moderately-voiced conversation with a solidly closed door between them and us: NO!
Welp.
I have been meaning for some time to mention the object Ruth got me for Valentine's Day, because it is amazing. It is a 3D-printed model of the moon, about the size of a hand wrapped around a closed fist, and it is accurate to an astonishing degree of detail. It is also a lamp, and it glows either a lovely blue-silver or a gorgeous gold-white, and each option has a dimmer.
I was showing it to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rax at one point like a day after we got it, and saying that much as I love it, it would be nice if it glowed red occasionally for no particular reason, Just Because. You know, once in a.
And I went to turn it on to show off the colors, and it was out of charge (it goes I think six to eight hours), so I got out the cord and plugged it in for the first time.
It glows red while it's charging. I'd had no idea.
We can all therefore content ourselves with the knowledge that there exists, in this world, at least one perfect object that is not the Winged Victory of Samothrace: an upgrade on the previous conditions by one.
The fourth nor'easter blizzard in a four-week span seems, at least in my neighborhood, to be lurking somewhere offstage waiting to feel secure enough in itself to go on. We had fairly apocalyptic-sounding predictions for today, and it is not yet even snowing.
Now, of course, we have fairly apocalyptic-sounding predictions for tomorrow. I am not sure whether I had rather that happen, or whether I hope it will snow an inch-and-a-half and the storm will have to write an apologetic note to everybody, blaming its nerves.
Seriously, though, four nor'easters in four weeks is ridiculous. @!#^&%&(^ climate change $&*^*^$ depressed mumble.
Me: Where they may not even actually mean No, but it's just that they can say it?
Ruth: Right.
Fox, who has been theoretically asleep for at least fifteen to twenty minutes in a space twenty feet from this moderately-voiced conversation with a solidly closed door between them and us: NO!
Welp.
I have been meaning for some time to mention the object Ruth got me for Valentine's Day, because it is amazing. It is a 3D-printed model of the moon, about the size of a hand wrapped around a closed fist, and it is accurate to an astonishing degree of detail. It is also a lamp, and it glows either a lovely blue-silver or a gorgeous gold-white, and each option has a dimmer.
I was showing it to
rax at one point like a day after we got it, and saying that much as I love it, it would be nice if it glowed red occasionally for no particular reason, Just Because. You know, once in a. And I went to turn it on to show off the colors, and it was out of charge (it goes I think six to eight hours), so I got out the cord and plugged it in for the first time.
It glows red while it's charging. I'd had no idea.
We can all therefore content ourselves with the knowledge that there exists, in this world, at least one perfect object that is not the Winged Victory of Samothrace: an upgrade on the previous conditions by one.
The fourth nor'easter blizzard in a four-week span seems, at least in my neighborhood, to be lurking somewhere offstage waiting to feel secure enough in itself to go on. We had fairly apocalyptic-sounding predictions for today, and it is not yet even snowing.
Now, of course, we have fairly apocalyptic-sounding predictions for tomorrow. I am not sure whether I had rather that happen, or whether I hope it will snow an inch-and-a-half and the storm will have to write an apologetic note to everybody, blaming its nerves.
Seriously, though, four nor'easters in four weeks is ridiculous. @!#^&%&(^ climate change $&*^*^$ depressed mumble.
