March 20th, 2004

breeden

(no subject)

Yesterday, my right arm hurt.

I thought, as most artists probably do, "Oh, sweet lord, the tendonitis cometh," and glumly called it a sick day. I spent most of the day bummed, as my faithful appendage, 'pon whom my livelihood relies, had betrayed me. I looked forward to a grim, if distant, future of pain and misery and learning to paint with my left hand. I sulked.

Then, 'long about eight in the evening, I picked up some Chinese food, and my brain went "AHA!" because holding the bag set my arm on fire and I realized--it's not drawing that did it, it's that I'm a moron. The day before, I had gone to the store, and rather than get a cart, I was all macho and picked up a basket. Except that I had about twenty pounds of hardcover books in there from visiting the used book store, and then I got milk and cream and eggs and pasta sauce and frozen crap and the end result was that the basket was insanely heavy to lift, and I really needed both hands, but I made my right arm do it anyway while I wandered aimlessly around the store looking for things I'd forgotten, because I'm an idiot. (I'm not just wussing here, it was really heavy. Who'd've thought two books of Morrocan photography would weigh so MUCH?)

So my faithful limb did not shirk its usual duty, it was rebelling against overuse. It's not the drawing, (although the six hours of painting on top of the strain probably didn't help matters much) it was a one time misery. And I feel much better today, so all is right with the cosmos, and I will be very gentle with my poor abused arm this weekend, and hopefully it will forgive me.

I am just now getting to the age where if I abuse my body, there is a reaction. And I am really not used to that--my body was such a stoic taker of grief in my youth that it's hard to get used to.
  • Current Mood
    relieved relieved
breeden

(no subject)

Yesterday, my right arm hurt.

I thought, as most artists probably do, “Oh, sweet lord, the tendonitis cometh,” and glumly called it a sick day. I spent most of the day bummed, as my faithful appendage, ‘pon whom my livelihood relies, had betrayed me. I looked forward to a grim, if distant, future of pain and misery and learning to paint with my left hand. I sulked.

Then, ‘long about eight in the evening, I picked up some Chinese food, and my brain went “AHA!” because holding the bag set my arm on fire and I realized–it’s not drawing that did it, it’s that I’m a moron. The day before, I had gone to the store, and rather than get a cart, I was all macho and picked up a basket. Except that I had about twenty pounds of hardcover books in there from visiting the used book store, and then I got milk and cream and eggs and pasta sauce and frozen crap and the end result was that the basket was insanely heavy to lift, and I really needed both hands, but I made my right arm do it anyway while I wandered aimlessly around the store looking for things I’d forgotten, because I’m an idiot. (I’m not just wussing here, it was really heavy. Who’d've thought two books of Morrocan photography would weigh so MUCH?)

So my faithful limb did not shirk its usual duty, it was rebelling against overuse. It’s not the drawing, (although the six hours of painting on top of the strain probably didn’t help matters much) it was a one time misery. And I feel much better today, so all is right with the cosmos, and I will be very gentle with my poor abused arm this weekend, and hopefully it will forgive me.

I am just now getting to the age where if I abuse my body, there is a reaction. And I am really not used to that–my body was such a stoic taker of grief in my youth that it’s hard to get used to.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.

breeden

Not-All-That-Deadly Snakes

Animal Planet keeps running these ads--"King Cobra! Anaconda! Two Deadly Snakes!" and I keep grumbling to myself about it. So damnit, I'm gonna bitch.

King cobras may well be deadly snakes. I have no problem with that. I think they probably will leave you alone if you don't accidentally step on 'em, but I wouldn't neccessarily want to live in the same room with one for an extended period. I have a great deal of respect for things with poison. But I feel indignant on behalf of the anaconda.

Everything I know about snakes I learned from my father, who raised boa constrictors for many years and taught me that snakes are not scary, but should be respected at all costs. (Occasionally you may want to respect them from across the room and behind glass, mind you.) And one of the things that I learned, via an endless succession of bunnies vanishing down slow pink maws, was that even a really enormous contrictor, while it may be able to squeeze you uncomfortably, just can't eat all that big a meal. A fifteen foot boa, while weighing rather a lot, is generally content with a bunny. Yes, a reticulated python (one of the ones best respected from a safe distance) can be a cantankerous snake and may sink a tooth into an idiot human who has been recently handling rats and smells of prey, but they don't eat 'em. They couldn't even begin to get one down. And anacondas, by all accounts, being boas, are much more mild-mannered than reticulated pythons.

So I kinda resent the characterization of anacondas as deadly. Yes, they can eat an immature tapir or a capybara, yes, wild pig, sure, and if you threw a hungry one a toddler, I can't say it wouldn't be able to eat it. But if we're going by "Could eat a toddler if it was hungry," then practically everything's deadly, especially dingos, and I don't see Animal Planet running "One Deadly Canine! Baby-eating dingos attack!" Yes, there have been a few reports of people attacked by anacondas. However, there are rather more substantiated, well-documented reports of people killed by ostriches every year, and no one begins advertising the ostrich as a feathered killing machine.

So that's my gripe on behalf of the poor anaconda, which really doesn't deserve the rap, damnit.
  • Current Mood
    grumpy grumpy
breeden

Not-All-That-Deadly Snakes

Animal Planet keeps running these ads–”King Cobra! Anaconda! Two Deadly Snakes!” and I keep grumbling to myself about it. So damnit, I’m gonna bitch.

King cobras may well be deadly snakes. I have no problem with that. I think they probably will leave you alone if you don’t accidentally step on ‘em, but I wouldn’t neccessarily want to live in the same room with one for an extended period. I have a great deal of respect for things with poison. But I feel indignant on behalf of the anaconda.

Everything I know about snakes I learned from my father, who raised boa constrictors for many years and taught me that snakes are not scary, but should be respected at all costs. (Occasionally you may want to respect them from across the room and behind glass, mind you.) And one of the things that I learned, via an endless succession of bunnies vanishing down slow pink maws, was that even a really enormous contrictor, while it may be able to squeeze you uncomfortably, just can’t eat all that big a meal. A fifteen foot boa, while weighing rather a lot, is generally content with a bunny. Yes, a reticulated python (one of the ones best respected from a safe distance) can be a cantankerous snake and may sink a tooth into an idiot human who has been recently handling rats and smells of prey, but they don’t eat ‘em. They couldn’t even begin to get one down. And anacondas, by all accounts, being boas, are much more mild-mannered than reticulated pythons.

So I kinda resent the characterization of anacondas as deadly. Yes, they can eat an immature tapir or a capybara, yes, wild pig, sure, and if you threw a hungry one a toddler, I can’t say it wouldn’t be able to eat it. But if we’re going by “Could eat a toddler if it was hungry,” then practically everything’s deadly, especially dingos, and I don’t see Animal Planet running “One Deadly Canine! Baby-eating dingos attack!” Yes, there have been a few reports of people attacked by anacondas. However, there are rather more substantiated, well-documented reports of people killed by ostriches every year, and no one begins advertising the ostrich as a feathered killing machine.

So that’s my gripe on behalf of the poor anaconda, which really doesn’t deserve the rap, damnit.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.