A rare moment: Mahoney is tolerating Sassafrass’ advances.

Mahoney is well aware that when Sass says, “please be my friend,” it inevitably turns into a game of “chomp your neck,” so this moment of cuteness didn’t last long. 

Last night I dreamt that Chris Herdt and I were attending a black-tie gala fundraiser at the building that keeps showing up in my dreams. It’s a combination shopping mall, hospital, and transportation hub, and very easy to get lost in. Chris was totally prepared for this, he had his tux all ready to go, of course. I wasn’t. I walked into some department store, handed them my wallet and said, “I’m going to this gala fundraiser, it’s black tie, I have nothing, make me look appropriate for this.” 

I ended up in a black or navy sleeveless sheath dress with a chiffon cape and my hair was all Sophia Loren, so I looked good and I trusted these people. The shoes were light blue faux crocodile stilettos. They said, “Okay, we’re going to do your makeup, trust us, this is the style that everyone at the party will be wearing.” I said okay. I liked the shoes, so what could go wrong? 

The right half of my face was covered in glitter, with a fin of pink and orange wired ribbon flames in a line from my forehead to my chin. The left half was made up like Peter Criss from Kiss. It was as if Peter Criss’ cat face were exploding into flames. They said it was perfect for a black tie gala fundraiser because it was a tribute to the California wildfires. 

Damn if there weren’t other people at the party with glitter and ribbon flames glued to their faces. 

Edited to add: still sick. It's 100% fatigue, feels like a fever. I managed to shower, dress, practice piano for half an hour and eat dinner. I'm hoping that going to bed early will solve things. Or at least provide interesting dreams. 

Just 100 years and several minutes ago, World War 1 ended. Every single person who served in that war has passed away.

"...They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them." - Lawrence Binyon, For the Fallen

Did you ever notice how in Akira, Kenada's motorcycle has a huge Shoei logo on the front hub, but nobody, not even Kenada, wears a helmet?

This article came across my radar yesterday and I found it fascinating. 

Illicit Love Letters: Albert Camus and Maria Casares

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2018/04/11/illicit-love-letters-albert-camus-and-maria-casares/

I know next to nothing about Camus, but the idea of this love affair cropping up at the end of WWII, ending abruptly, then continuing for decades, almost entirely by post, has me riveted. It makes me wonder if they were really in love with each other, or more in love with the act of writing and reading? Would it have been as exciting if it weren't a secret? 

The problem is that the book hasn't been translated into any languages other than French yet. I don't speak or read French. 

There's a play that's very similar to this story, called Dear Elizabeth, about the correspondence between the poets Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell. Unfortunately, it's written by Sarah Ruhl, who I dislike. 

The Camus & Casares story interests me more. It has Europe, war, absurdism, Camus' suicidal wife, the train ticket in his pocket the day he died. And I can't read it, damnit. 

I voted.  I am nervous and my sinuses are exploding, but I voted.

I hope the rain didn't discourage people from exercising their civil rights.

I have broken apps at work that are confounding me, probably because the issue is on a machine that I don't have access to, but it's hard to convince the people who do have access that it might be one of their settings that's breaking my apps ... story of my life.

If you are in the USA and didn't vote early, I hope you voted today too.

We've had a nice run of sunsets.

The last two years haven't been as travel-intense as prior years, which is great for my laziness and introversion, and crappy for my love of flying and desire to hoard frequent flyer miles. 

Right now we're on a plane to Denver, where I will have to accept that it really is fall and approaching winter; it's been easy to forget that in Delaware.  

We'll be in Denver until Friday, and my days will be packed with teaching a new client, and my nights will be spent recovering.

I first got my travelly job in 2007 and I told myself how exciting it would be to get to see all of these great cities... but the reality is that I know what the airport and the hotel of that city looks like. I can count on one hand the number of times I ventured out after work to explore the city I was in... but most of the time I'm just too exhausted. When I teach, I'm essentially delivering a 7-to-8-hour monologue, and when the day is done I just want to go back to my hotel room, order room service, and be in bed by 8. Not very exciting, I know. 

When I travel to a city where friends of mine live, I don't even bother telling them I'll be there, because I know I won't have enough gas in the ol' tank to hang out. Sad. Lame. All that. 

Tomorrow is the mid-term election day, and Matt and I submitted our absentee ballots a week or two ago, so we're all set there.  I'm kinda curious how the Pennsylvania districts will vote now that they re-drew so many districts because they were gerrymandered for so long. 

I have so much work to do between now and November 17th-- I'm kinda overwhelmed.  I need to learn a ton of music for this tribute to The Who that we're doing on 11/17 (but I have to have the music learned by the 11th so I don't sound like an ass at rehearsal-- I'm singing, percussioning, and playing trumpet); plus I have to read and fully grok a 215-page book for work by 11/14 because I'm headed to DC on the 14th to attend a Train the Trainer class on the 15th and 16th and I'll be taking the exam for it on the 16th, and I MUST pass it. I have to be able to write courseware for it and teach a class based on it by the end of the year, and I can't teach it if I'm not certified in it.  It'll all get done somehow, but right now it just feels impossible. 

OK, gonna make use of this flight time and start working on chipping away at some of this stuff.

In other news, I hate being cold. Denver in November is no place to try to be warm.

Ok bye.

I got invited to a costume party that was delayed from the prior Friday. So, post-Halloween, I had to gin up a costume and my ax wasn't back from the cleaners yet.

So, I re-treaded an old costume. The chestburster from Alien. Yes, I have one. He doesn' t eat much and things are fine as long as he stays inside the containment field and power doesn't fail.

I realized that this is the only costume I have that I could wear to cosplay at Comic Con, were I to ever brave the perils of the introvert-destroying event. Someday, maybe, if I go insane.

Decided to repack the four remaining bins (reminding we ate two and lost one) to put in the fridge and stop fermentation. Just seemed wise after two months. Threw one of them out as after rinsing they were a little slimy and very mushy. The other three were fine. I put them in fresh bins submerged with a bit of salt, a splash of vinegar and a trace of sodium metabisulfite. And into the fridge. 

I tasted them all, very nice. The batch with the split chile pepper was excellent, just a step above. Not obviously hot, but leaving a few tingles on the tongue. 

I doubt they’ll last out the year until next pickle season. But I also doubt we have a place to ferment and store a whole bushel next time. Half a bushel is kind of pushing it. 

By any measure, it was a successful experiment. I brought some to a party last night and those that tasted them were keenly delighted. It was cheaper to make them than buy finished pickles, even with the losses. The only downside is storage. 

So that’s where we leave the pickle story.

Destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical starting at 5am because they can't believe they will get fed at seven.