clevermanka: default (circus)
Today's Tumblr is Tuesday, July 7: Gowns.

I know, I know, I know I link to Breaking Muscle all the time but oh my god you guys, I want to do this 90 day program so hard.

Either I misplaced my box of fandom calling cards or I gave them all away. In any case, I wanted to get more for Con*Strict. I ordered them late Friday evening and they're already done this morning. Local folks, I can't recommend Minuteman Press enough. I didn't even have to call them. You can do all your ordering online! So great, and $40 for 250 cards (full color with bleed).

I finished my badge for Con*Strict last night! It was coming together pretty well, so I decided to go ahead and make it double-sided so that when it flips over (as lanyard badges inevitably do), it'll still show the relevant information. One side is Mad Max themed and the other is Sherlock. I'll try to remember to bring it to work to scan tomorrow so I can post a picture of it.

Found on the Toast Link Roundup, here's a great Kids These Days article.

"Screen Addiction is a generational complaint, and generational complaints, taken individually, are rarely what they claim to be. They are fresh expressions of horrible and timeless anxieties. They are a tried and true form of advanced-age self-care. They apply to all children except your kids, who are mere victims of their degraded peers. They apply to the Snapchats and the sexting, but not to those Facetime conversations with your grandniece, who is too young to text and Twitter, or to turn away, and who is therefore perfect.

The grandparent who is persuaded that screens are not destroying human interaction, but are instead new tools for enabling fresh and flawed and modes of human interaction, is left facing a grimmer reality. Your grandchildren don’t look up from their phones because the experiences and friendships they enjoy there seem more interesting than what’s in front of them (you). Those experiences, from the outside, seem insultingly lame: text notifications, Emoji, selfies of other bratty little kids you’ve never met. But they’re urgent and real. What’s different is that they’re also right here, always, even when you thought you had an attentional claim."

And my favorite is the closing bit:

" A new technology can be enriching and exciting for one group of people and create alienation for another; you don’t have to think the world is doomed to recognize that the present can be a little cruel."

I don't understand why it's so difficult for parents to remove the technology when the presence of the technology is inappropriate to the situation. I understood when it was time to put down the book or the crayons or whatever. How is a tablet or phone different? That's not a rhetorical question. I honestly want to know. Is there a difference? How? Why?

I commented on The Toast that grandparents need to make themselves relevant and interesting. That's just courteous. I'm lucky. My dad's parents were fascinating people and I happily listened to their stories about throwing rocks at the National Guard when they came in to guard the scabs during a union strike. Or about how theirs was the first lunch counter in their city to seat Black people. Helping grandma in the kitchen and her telling stories about the people who bought her pies as she taught me how to make a good pie crust. I mean, I guess I didn't have the option of internet friends back then, but even today, if I had the choice to visit with them about their amazing adventures or scroll through my Tumblr dash, I probably wouldn't choose Tumblr. Old people need to get over the notion that they're deserving of time and attention just because they're old.

Tonight is my appointment with Dr. Jonah in KC. Tomorrow night is prep for Indy (making kale chips so we have a travel vegetable to go with the jerky so we don't have to stop somewhere for lunch), and also slicing up the jerky for Con*Strict (so it has four days to marinade before I put it in the dehydrator when I'm back from Indy). I'd like to make a couple more tops to take to Con*Strict. My first attempt at re-fashioning some thrift-store tees into a mini-dress was successful. I'd like to pack those instead of tops and skirts because I am all about minimal packing. Also because I need to leave enough room for my iPod speakers and yoga mat in my suitcase.
clevermanka: default (punch it)
My back is a bit better today. I can move around without cringing, at least. Still staying home from work, though. I have to lie down every half hour or so to avoid too much pain/strain.

Something I didn't mention in yesterday's post about the injury was something that Mike said. He's the HSES grad student who found and helped me. As I was getting my stuff together to leave hobble out the door, he said, "You know, these sorts of things only happen to strong people."

What a kind, wonderful, and inspiring thing to say. Because yeah, unfit people tweak their backs all the time. But they don't usually do it because they were at the end of their last set of 70% of bodyweight deadlift reps (if they're doing that and they're unfit, they deserve a good kick in the head along with the tweaked back).

When I told him about Mike's comment, [livejournal.com profile] mckitterick pointed out that it was also true that injuries like this are part and parcel of radical improvements to body strength. I suppose it's possible that someone could experience a lifetime of physical improvement and muscle building without ever injuring themselves, but I can't imagine that ever actually happening.

An active life is going to result in some injuries. It happens. I'm grateful to have the opportunity to injure myself on a heavy lift. I might be pretty immobile now, but I'm going to be active again. And soon.
clevermanka: default (bonecruncher)
Day four of the SCD experiment. I introduced my first new vegetable this morning: peeled, seeded, boiled, and pureed yellow squash.



I get to eat that once a day for four days and if I notice no ill effects, yellow squash (one of my absolute least favorite vegetables) is back on the menu. Hooray? At least it's something else besides carrots?

This morning I went on walk instead of going to the gym. A walk. I went on a twenty-minute walk. And I returned home tired and sweating. The sweating was probably due to the ridiculously high humidity, but the tired was All Real Tired.



I sent a message to Andrew canceling our Sunday session. With my current energy levels I'm having difficulty climbing a flight of stairs, so forget pumping iron. Although I did have a nice little moment yesterday when, for the first time, I replaced the five-gallon jug of water for my Culligan dispenser without propping the bottle on my leg as I flipped it upside down. That was pretty great.

A few people have recently commented about how unfair it is that I work and work and work to improve my body and my body continues to, well, not thwart me, but certainly it doesn't get better. And while that doesn't please me, obviously, I don't get angry or sad about how unfair or unjust that is. I get angry and sad that it happens, but I'm not upset by the unfairness of it anymore. Similarly, I don't look for a silver lining or a higher meaning or any sort of positive spin from my experiences. I'm merely engaging in a very small but involved science experiment of N=1. And experiments never really fail. Just sometimes they don't give the results we want or expect. I'll leave you with one of my favorite TV show quotes of all time:

“I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn’t it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe.” --Marcus Cole (Babylon 5)
clevermanka: default (angry)
From a quote on [livejournal.com profile] pointoforigin's LJ:

Every time a lesbian dies, every time a wife is widowed, every time a mother grieves the death of her child, every time rape is used to define a woman's character, it serves the story that the author wanted to tell--the story the author chose to tell. And I am no longer content with "it makes sense in the context of the story" as an explanation or an excuse. That "logic" is just as suspect.

TELL DIFFERENT STORIES.
Read entire post here.

FUCKING PREACH.

This is why I flipped Joss Whedon the nastiest bird I could after Serenity. Just...no. I mean, parts of Firefly were bad enough, but man he really capped it with Serenity. He creates women to be used, abused, and destroyed as plot devices and yet is still lauded as some Ideal Feminist Scriptwriter and just...no. SWEET JESUS JUST STOP. He's a mighty fine storyteller, sure, and he gets amazing performances from his actors but the man is an egotistical shit who so firmly believes that he's writing STRONG FEMALE CHARACTERS and has SUCH RESPECT FOR WOMEN that he can't/won't hear his critics.



Anyway.

Breaking Muscle has an article on being a quality fitness professional, but many of the points they make can be applied to other life activities and goals. Basically: 1. Have Something to Say 2. Put Forth Extraordinary Effort 3. Master the Basics 4. Never Make the Same Mistake Twice 5. Strive for Perfection 6. Don’t Be Weak With People 7. Be Responsible and Accountable 8. Become a Subject Matter Expert 9. Look Out for Your Clients 10. Do What Jack Would Do (by this he means model oneself on Jack LaLanne and be professional at all times) 11. Know You Don’t Know Everything 12. Learn to Write and Speak.

Yep. Good policies for life in general.

In other news:


UGH.
clevermanka: default (Default)
From a quote on [community profile] pointoforigin's LJ:

Every time a lesbian dies, every time a wife is widowed, every time a mother grieves the death of her child, every time rape is used to define a woman's character, it serves the story that the author wanted to tell--the story the author chose to tell. And I am no longer content with "it makes sense in the context of the story" as an explanation or an excuse. That "logic" is just as suspect.

TELL DIFFERENT STORIES.
Read entire post here.

FUCKING PREACH.

This is why I flipped Joss Whedon the nastiest bird I could after Serenity. Just...no. I mean, parts of Firefly were bad enough, but man he really capped it with Serenity. He creates women to be used, abused, and destroyed as plot devices and yet is still lauded as some Ideal Feminist Scriptwriter and just...no. SWEET JESUS JUST STOP. He's a mighty fine storyteller, sure, and he gets amazing performances from his actors but the man is an egotistical shit who so firmly believes that he's writing STRONG FEMALE CHARACTERS and has SUCH RESPECT FOR WOMEN that he can't/won't hear his critics.



Anyway.

Breaking Muscle has an article on being a quality fitness professional, but many of the points they make can be applied to other life activities and goals. Basically: 1. Have Something to Say 2. Put Forth Extraordinary Effort 3. Master the Basics 4. Never Make the Same Mistake Twice 5. Strive for Perfection 6. Don’t Be Weak With People 7. Be Responsible and Accountable 8. Become a Subject Matter Expert 9. Look Out for Your Clients 10. Do What Jack Would Do (by this he means model oneself on Jack LaLanne and be professional at all times) 11. Know You Don’t Know Everything 12. Learn to Write and Speak.

Yep. Good policies for life in general.

In other news:


UGH.
clevermanka: default (tongue)
Hi! So so so busy, but here is an article on compassion-baiting that I thought was important. I was once told that I had a problem "holding onto anger" and it was intimated that I was less of a person because I didn't want to associate with a person who had verbally and aggressively harassed a friend of mine over artistic interpretations of a tarot deck. So fuck a bunch of that "just let it go" and "everyone is fighting a hard battle so be kind" bullshit. I get angry about some things and I stay angry about some things. Honestly, I don't care if you think less of me because there are some things I won't forgive or forget. Actually, knowing that you think less of me because of that makes my life easier because I then I can write off your irritating flowers-and-sunshine ass.

Today's Tumblr collection is Tuesday, March 25: AU Gifsets.
clevermanka: default (Default)
Hi! So so so busy, but here is an article on compassion-baiting that I thought was important. I was once told that I had a problem "holding onto anger" and it was intimated that I was less of a person because I didn't want to associate with a person who had verbally and aggressively harassed a friend of mine over artistic interpretations of a tarot deck. So fuck a bunch of that "just let it go" and "everyone is fighting a hard battle so be kind" bullshit. I get angry about some things and I stay angry about some things. Honestly, I don't care if you think less of me because there are some things I won't forgive or forget. Actually, knowing that you think less of me because of that makes my life easier because I then I can write off your irritating flowers-and-sunshine ass.

Today's Tumblr collection is Tuesday, March 25: AU Gifsets.Hi! So so so busy, but http://www.buddhistpeacefellowship.org/5-big-problems-with-compassion-baiting/
clevermanka: default (ass2)
I had a realization a few days ago about bodies, body image, and how much I still care about how people perceive me. After a particularly frustrating encounter with a run-of-the-mill creep who thought I should be flattered by his attraction to me and his query about my ethnic heritage, I was struck with the realization that my frustration-anger-despair over my wobbly midsection was totally and completely dependent on what people like that (i.e. douchebags) think of me. I have been beating myself up for years (YEARS!) over the opinion of utter and complete jerks. The people who matter to me, who love me, whom I think are awesome--they don't care that I'm carrying an extra couple inches around my middle. They don't care that my thighs rub when I walk or that I have to wear bloomers or buy that anti-chafing stuff if I want to comfortably walk around in a dress on a really hot day. They don't care. Who does care? Who does care that my upper arms are not perfectly smooth and lean? Who does care that my belly is soft and hangs over the top of my jeans? DOUCHEBAGS. Douchebags care about those things.

It took me thirty-some years to internalize the knowledge that I've been caring about the opinion of douchebags in regards to my own body. WHAT A FUCKING WASTE.

In a glorious circumstance of serendipity, this post showed up on my Tumblr dash the very evening I had this epiphany.

And just like that, I decided no more. I don't fucking care about douchebag opinions of my body. I don't fucking care if they think I shouldn't be wearing these jeans or that dress or this bathing suit. Fuck them. Those people aren't important to me, so why are their opinions? Answer: THEY AREN'T ANYMORE.

This is not to say I'm quitting my efforts to relieve my continuing health problems, one of which is abnormally exaggerated abdominal swelling, because that shit is uncomfortable and physically exhausting and I'll be honest, it is a pain in the ass (also logistically difficult) to maintain a stylish and professional wardrobe that appeals to me in two different sizes. It's unfortunate, but I just don't like stretch pants or elastic waistbands enough to live in them every day.

But am I going to allow the opinions of people I actively dislike to determine how I feel about the shape of my body?




Fuck no. No. Not anymore. Not ever again.
clevermanka: default (Default)
There is a war on women in our society. Yes, there is. If you think there isn't, that systemic misogyny isn't a real thing, that women aren't an oppressed group, that things really aren't so bad for us, that we should be happy with the progress that we've made, and that we need to just settle down already geez, you can seriously GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY JOURNAL. I don't have the time or energy for that because I already spend too much of my time and energy FIGHTING OTHERS LIKE YOU EVERY DAY.

Okay, that said (whew!), here is a lighthearted but infuriating video clip that illustrates in two instances just how women and women's bodies are erased and/or objectified.

I had a realization a few days ago about bodies, body image, and how much I still care about how people perceive me. After I posted the thing about the creeps, I was struck with the realization that my frustration-anger-despair over my wobbly midsection was totally and completely dependent on what people like that (i.e. douchebags) think of me. I have been beating myself up for years (YEARS!) over the opinion of utter and complete jerks. The people who matter to me, who love me, whom I think are awesome--they don't care that I'm carrying an extra couple inches around my middle. They don't care that my thighs rub when I walk or that I have to wear bloomers or buy that anti-chafing stuff if I want to comfortably walk around in a dress on a really hot day. They don't care. Who does care? Who does care that my upper arms are not perfectly smooth and lean? Who does care that my belly is soft and hangs over the top of my jeans? DOUCHEBAGS. Douchebags care about those things.

It took me thirty-some years to internalize the knowledge that I've been caring about the opinion of douchebags in regards to my own body. WHAT A FUCKING WASTE.

In a glorious circumstance of serendipity, this post showed up on my Tumblr dash that very evening.

And just like that, I've decided no more. I don't fucking care about douchebag opinions of my body. I don't fucking care if they think I shouldn't be wearing these jeans or that dress or this bathing suit. Fuck them. They aren't important to me, so why are their opinions? Answer: THEY AREN'T ANYMORE.

This is not to say I'm not continuing my efforts to relieve my abdominal swelling issues, because that shit is uncomfortable and physically exhausting and I'll be honest, it is a pain in the ass (also logistically difficult) to maintain a stylish and professional wardrobe that appeals to me in two different sizes. It's unfortunate, but I just don't like stretch pants or elastic waistbands enough to live in them every day.

But am I going to allow the opinions of people I actively dislike to determine how I feel about the shape of my body?




Fuck no. No. Not anymore. Not ever again.
clevermanka: default (feh-muh-nist)
There is a war on women in our society. Yes, there is. If you think there isn't, that systemic misogyny isn't a real thing, that women aren't an oppressed group, that things really aren't so bad for us, that we should be happy with the progress that we've made, and that we need to just settle down already geez, you can seriously GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY JOURNAL. I don't have the time or energy for that because I already spend too much of my time and energy FIGHTING OTHERS LIKE YOU EVERY DAY.

Okay, that said (whew!), here is a lighthearted but infuriating video clip that illustrates in two instances just how women and women's bodies are erased and/or objectified.

I had a realization a few days ago about bodies, body image, and how much I still care about how people perceive me. After I posted the thing about the creeps, I was struck with the realization that my frustration-anger-despair over my wobbly midsection was totally and completely dependent on what people like that (i.e. douchebags) think of me. I have been beating myself up for years (YEARS!) over the opinion of utter and complete jerks. The people who matter to me, who love me, whom I think are awesome--they don't care that I'm carrying an extra couple inches around my middle. They don't care that my thighs rub when I walk or that I have to wear bloomers or buy that anti-chafing stuff if I want to comfortably walk around in a dress on a really hot day. They don't care. Who does care? Who does care that my upper arms are not perfectly smooth and lean? Who does care that my belly is soft and hangs over the top of my jeans? DOUCHEBAGS. Douchebags care about those things.

It took me thirty-some years to internalize the knowledge that I've been caring about the opinion of douchebags in regards to my own body. WHAT A FUCKING WASTE.

In a glorious circumstance of serendipity, this post showed up on my Tumblr dash that very evening.

And just like that, I've decided no more. I don't fucking care about douchebag opinions of my body. I don't fucking care if they think I shouldn't be wearing these jeans or that dress or this bathing suit. Fuck them. They aren't important to me, so why are their opinions? Answer: THEY AREN'T ANYMORE.

This is not to say I'm not continuing my efforts to relieve my abdominal swelling issues, because that shit is uncomfortable and physically exhausting and I'll be honest, it is a pain in the ass (also logistically difficult) to maintain a stylish and professional wardrobe that appeals to me in two different sizes. It's unfortunate, but I just don't like stretch pants or elastic waistbands enough to live in them every day.

But am I going to allow the opinions of people I actively dislike to determine how I feel about the shape of my body?




Fuck no. No. Not anymore. Not ever again.

Systemic

Mar. 7th, 2014 01:52 pm
clevermanka: default (angry)
There's some fucking (male) creep in the hallway outside my office who is eating a bag of potato chips and offering some to every woman that walks by. I don't know for sure that he isn't offering any to men, but I've seen him do this before, in a different part of the building and he never says anything to guys as they pass. He offered me some food once, after I had a chance to observe his behavior while I walked down the hall, and I gave him one of my infamous ugly-angry stares.

It makes me so angry because there is nothing I can do. He's not being overtly malicious, or calling after anyone, or doing anything untoward, so what can I say? "Hey, dude, what you're doing is uncomfortable-making, please stop?" Yeah, and then I have to engage with him and explain (probably) why he's being a fucking creep. Which, no. For many reasons, no. Plus, he's in a wheelchair, which makes the situation just that much more impossible.

This is on top of the fact that I had the following interaction with a douchebag on FB earlier today. He found me through someone else and I figured she's pretty okay so I friended him back (MISTAKE) and then this happened. I'm not bothering to fuzz out his name, because seriously, Fuck This Guy.



And I know I'm preaching to the choir, here, but this? THIS is why women hate/fear men. This is why I just can't with men in general most of the time. This is why I am sometimes heard to say things like "GAH! MEN SUCK!" Although more often it's just "People Suck." This is why, despite the fact that I have a wonderful, loving, supportive, and understanding partner in [livejournal.com profile] mckitterick, sometimes I just need WOMAN-ONLY SPACE. Because this shit is my life. It's the life of every woman walking the planet today. Some of us have it more, some of us have it less, but all women deal with a form of misogyny every day. Every God Damned Day.

And buddy, let me tell you--if you're not part of the solution, you are part of the problem. And it's an ugly, ugly problem.

Systemic

Mar. 7th, 2014 01:37 pm
clevermanka: default (Default)
There's some fucking (male) creep in the hallway outside my office who is eating a bag of potato chips and offering some to every woman that walks by. I don't know for sure that he isn't offering any to men, but I've seen him do this before, in a different part of the building and he never says anything to guys as they pass. He offered me some food once, after I had a chance to observe his behavior while I walked down the hall, and I gave him one of my infamous ugly-angry stares.

It makes me so angry because there is nothing I can do. He's not being overtly malicious, or calling after anyone, or doing anything untoward, so what can I say? "Hey, dude, what you're doing is uncomfortable-making, please stop?" Yeah, and then I have to engage with him and explain (probably) why he's being a fucking creep. Which, no. For many reasons, no. Plus, he's in a wheelchair, which makes the situation just that much more impossible.

This is on top of the fact that I had the following interaction with a douchebag on FB earlier today. He found me through someone else and I figured she's pretty okay so I friended him back (MISTAKE) and then this happened. I'm not bothering to fuzz out his name, because seriously, Fuck This Guy.



And I know I'm preaching to the choir, here, but this? THIS is why women hate/fear men. This is why I just can't with men in general most of the time. This is why I am sometimes heard to say things like "GAH! MEN SUCK!" Although more often it's just "People Suck." This is why, despite the fact that I have a wonderful, loving, supportive, and understanding partner in [personal profile] mckitterick, sometimes I just need WOMAN-ONLY SPACE. Because this shit is my life. It's the life of every woman walking the planet today. Some of us have it more, some of us have it less, but all women deal with a form of misogyny every day. Every God Damned Day.

And buddy, let me tell you--if you're not part of the solution, you are part of the problem. And it's an ugly, ugly problem.

Link dump

Jan. 25th, 2014 08:52 am
clevermanka: default (Respirator)
How Not To Care What Other People Think Of You.

What The Fuck Is Going On In Ukraine Right Now. A friend of mine who lives there posted this amazing video on his FB.



He has a lot to say about protesters working with the (fascist, neo-Nazi) Ultas, but I'm waiting on an OK from him to share things from his FB post since he's already vulnerable as an American living in Kiev.

I'm not saying Steven Moffat isn't a talented writer. I'm just saying he's a massive douchebag.

Have a truthbomb about how society views/values girls and women.

Link dump

Jan. 25th, 2014 07:58 am
clevermanka: default (Default)
How Not To Care What Other People Think Of You.

What The Fuck Is Going On In Ukraine Right Now. A friend of mine who lives there posted this amazing video on his FB.



He has a lot to say about protesters working with the (fascist, neo-Nazi) Ultas, but I'm waiting on an OK from him to share things from his FB post since he's already vulnerable as an American living in Kiev.

I'm not saying Steven Moffat isn't a talented writer. I'm just saying he's a massive douchebag.

Have a truthbomb about how society views/values girls and women.
clevermanka: default (post-dance)
I am so making these potatoes for my Day Off (the Whole30) at the end of the month. WOW.

I'm obsessed with food right now. Well. Maybe not obsessed with food. Obsessed with eating. I feel hungry all the time. No idea if it's the hormone supplements or the resumed exercise, but JFC starving. I wake up hungry. Two hours after eating, I'm hungry. The only time I'm not hungry is right after exercise. TEDIOUS.

[livejournal.com profile] mckitterick and I have noticed decreased swelling around my midsection. I'm putting off measurements until the end of the month and the end of my Whole30, though.

The final episode of Season 3 Sherlock aired in the UK last night. I've been streaming them all (dubiously legally) so I wasn't spoiled from Tumblr and other conversations and also I just didn't want to wait. I wasn't sure how I felt after the first couple episodes (it was a very different show than I'd come to expect), but now that the season has wrapped, I feel good about it. There's so much to process, though, and TBH I'm weary of the stress of it. Thinking about it, being emotionally invested, and then just the stress (for me) of the basic technological stuff of making sure I had a working livefeed because People Were Coming Over and Counting On Me. Getting a whole season--a season very different from the first two, with a different message, different style, different filming techniques, different everything--thrown at us in less than three weeks was a lot. I have a post full of meta that I'll put up after the season airs here on PBS (starting next Sunday). More for my own benefit than anyone else's since the few Sherlock fans who read me watched the shows with the UK, too. Overall, I'm happy with it and I thought the third episode was Good and Satisfying. I just can't say more about it right now because Exhausted.

Yesterday was my first session with Andrew in a month where we picked up heavy weights. First he was sick, then I was sick, and then the gym was closed (so I had to exercise at home, with limited equipment), but KU is offering KU faculty and staff a free pass to Ambler Rec Center this week so even though Robinson (the crappy old student gym which I can still use for free) is closed, I can throw around some iron at Ambler. So yay! But anyway, my point was I got to lift heavy things for the first time in a month yesterday and it was awesome.

Because Crossfit Lawrence is changing their classtimes around a bit, the trainers are moving around their schedules as well. Andrew and I didn't have to change ours, but we shared the space yesterday with another trainer and his client. He was putting her through a more WOD-like program and oh my goodness was she groaning and complaining. Andrew commented that he always found it funny and interesting how people reacted to WODs. When I was doing them, I never really noticed anybody else because my entire focus was on Not Dying while doing my own. But I guess this sort of thing is pretty common. She was like "oh my god, I can't do another set" and the trainer was encouraging her like "yes you can, come on let me see five more wall balls you can do this." Even Andrew chimed in on the sideline cheering. And I couldn't help but think "My god, you are an adult woman. If you don't want to do the WOD, don't do it." It was just So Weird to me.

That sort of thing is incomprehensible to me in the same was as complaining about something you can't or won't change. I don't understand the concept of simply venting to vent. I sometimes talk about frustrating things because I think the audience might find the anecdote amusing, or I hash out something bothering me because it helps me find a way to deal with or change the situation. But complaining just to complain and feeling better for it? Unfathomable to me. People are weird.

I'm already looking forward to my four day weekend coming up at the end of this week. COME ON, THURSDAY AFTERNOON.
clevermanka: default (Default)
I am so making these potatoes for my Day Off (the Whole30) at the end of the month. WOW.

I'm obsessed with food right now. Well. Maybe not obsessed with food. Obsessed with eating. I feel hungry all the time. No idea if it's the hormone supplements or the resumed exercise, but JFC starving. I wake up hungry. Two hours after eating, I'm hungry. The only time I'm not hungry is right after exercise. TEDIOUS.

[personal profile] mckitterick and I have noticed decreased swelling around my midsection. I'm putting off measurements until the end of the month and the end of my Whole30, though.

The final episode of Season 3 Sherlock aired in the UK last night. I've been streaming them all (dubiously legally) so I wasn't spoiled from Tumblr and other conversations and also I just didn't want to wait. I wasn't sure how I felt after the first couple episodes (it was a very different show than I'd come to expect), but now that the season has wrapped, I feel good about it. There's so much to process, though, and TBH I'm weary of the stress of it. Thinking about it, being emotionally invested, and then just the stress (for me) of the basic technological stuff of making sure I had a working livefeed because People Were Coming Over and Counting On Me. Getting a whole season--a season very different from the first two, with a different message, different style, different filming techniques, different everything--thrown at us in less than three weeks was a lot. I have a post full of meta that I'll put up after the season airs here on PBS (starting next Sunday). More for my own benefit than anyone else's since the few Sherlock fans who read me watched the shows with the UK, too. Overall, I'm happy with it and I thought the third episode was Good and Satisfying. I just can't say more about it right now because Exhausted.

Yesterday was my first session with Andrew in a month where we picked up heavy weights. First he was sick, then I was sick, and then the gym was closed (so I had to exercise at home, with limited equipment), but KU is offering KU faculty and staff a free pass to Ambler Rec Center this week so even though Robinson (the crappy old student gym which I can still use for free) is closed, I can throw around some iron at Ambler. So yay! But anyway, my point was I got to lift heavy things for the first time in a month yesterday and it was awesome.

Because Crossfit Lawrence is changing their classtimes around a bit, the trainers are moving around their schedules as well. Andrew and I didn't have to change ours, but we shared the space yesterday with another trainer and his client. He was putting her through a more WOD-like program and oh my goodness was she groaning and complaining. Andrew commented that he always found it funny and interesting how people reacted to WODs. When I was doing them, I never really noticed anybody else because my entire focus was on Not Dying while doing my own. But I guess this sort of thing is pretty common. She was like "oh my god, I can't do another set" and the trainer was encouraging her like "yes you can, come on let me see five more wall balls you can do this." Even Andrew chimed in on the sideline cheering. And I couldn't help but think "My god, you are an adult woman. If you don't want to do the WOD, don't do it." It was just So Weird to me.

That sort of thing is incomprehensible to me in the same was as complaining about something you can't or won't change. I don't understand the concept of simply venting to vent. I sometimes talk about frustrating things because I think the audience might find the anecdote amusing, or I hash out something bothering me because it helps me find a way to deal with or change the situation. But complaining just to complain and feeling better for it? Unfathomable to me. People are weird.

I'm already looking forward to my four day weekend coming up at the end of this week. COME ON, THURSDAY AFTERNOON.
clevermanka: default (made-up 2)
Earlier this week I talked with someone about my love of male singers with weird (or purposefully affected) voices. Placebo's Brian Molko. Muse's Matthew Bellamy. Circa Survive's Anthony Green. I love Thom Yorke's voice, but Radiohead's music just doesn't do it for me. Perhaps alas. A lot of these voices started in the fucking amazing early 90s Britpop scene with that culture's embracing and promotion of emo androgyny. That's, like, two of my favorite musical themes squished together. Bands like Elastica, Lush, and Blur were the only things I listened to besides rockabilly during that time period. I disliked grunge (still do, sorry, [livejournal.com profile] mckitterick), and didn't realize until years afterwards that Britpop was an active movement against it.

Recently, I was flipping through a Tumblr I don't follow (because NSFW) and I came across a song link she'd put up for the band Suede. I'd never heard of them (how I'd never heard of them is a mystery because apparently they were a founding band of Britpop), but holy crap this song.


I got all excited about it and checked out the full album on YouTube. But it was really meh. Why does the rest of the album have to be so...not great? DISAPPOINT.


God's truth, though, I never liked Oasis.
clevermanka: default (Default)
Earlier this week I talked with someone about my love of male singers with weird (or purposefully affected) voices. Placebo's Brian Molko. Muse's Matthew Bellamy. Circa Survive's Anthony Green. I love Thom Yorke's voice, but Radiohead's music just doesn't do it for me. Perhaps alas. A lot of these voices started in the fucking amazing early 90s Britpop scene with that culture's embracing and promotion of emo androgyny. That's, like, two of my favorite musical themes squished together. Bands like Elastica, Lush, and Blur were the only things I listened to besides rockabilly during that time period. I disliked grunge (still do, sorry, [personal profile] mckitterick), and didn't realize until years afterwards that Britpop was an active movement against it.

Recently, I was flipping through a Tumblr I don't follow (because NSFW) and I came across a song link she'd put up for the band Suede. I'd never heard of them (how I'd never heard of them is a mystery because apparently they were a founding band of Britpop), but holy crap this song.


I got all excited about it and checked out the full album on YouTube. But it was really meh. Why does the rest of the album have to be so...not great? DISAPPOINT.


God's truth, though, I never liked Oasis.
clevermanka: default (secretary)
Make your own sweater boots.

Don't judge other people's choices on how they experience life.

After an interminable meeting this morning (about an Actually Very Important Thing) in which I very nearly fell asleep (not joking, not an exaggeration), I am reconsidering my professional life choices in a very serious way. Do I really want to do this for the next thirty years? Hm.
clevermanka: default (Default)
Make your own sweater boots.

Don't judge other people's choices on how they experience life.

After an interminable meeting this morning (about an Actually Very Important Thing) in which I very nearly fell asleep (not joking, not an exaggeration), I am reconsidering my professional life choices in a very serious way. Do I really want to do this for the next thirty years? Hm.

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