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breeden
ursulav

Nestwatch #2

The Mommy Wren (or possibly Daddy Wren, I don't know from birds, maybe they're like penguins or cassowaries or something) is brooding the eggs. If I'm out on the deck and glance into the nest from the right angle, I can see the little striped head. The butt is still probably jaunty, but the front end is definitely grumpy, and if I disturb her by thumping around looking for the trowel, she leaps shrieking out of the nest, and proceeds to scold me, non-stop, until I go inside, which, if I'm in the middle of repotting something, can be twenty minutes or more.

Were I a predator, this would be a pretty ineffective strategy--I'd know I was definitely onto SOMETHING because the wren is all but waving a sign that says "Get The Hell Away From My Nest" and if I hadn't known that there was a nest within a few feet, I'd certainly start to wonder. But being a benevolent sort of omnivore, I just refill the feeder and let it go.

In other news, I'm now an Elite over at GFXartist. I get nominated every so often, but I'd never paid all that much attention to the process--I'm not terribly active in that gallery, other than occasionally wandering by the forums, and I don't upload all that often because it's a much lengthier process than any of the other galleries I'm on. This month, however, there was evidentally a bit of a dust-up--I was the runner-up on the nominations, and then the winner turned out to be a plagerist and was kicked out, and then there was a forum debate (which I completely missed until Maggock pointed it out to me) about whether as the runner-up, I should get elitified. The staff said no, then decided that given it was the most recent nomination, on second thought, sure, if I didn't mind. I figured, sure, what the heck.

It's always a little weird to discover that you're a topic of heated discussion and didn't know it, though. But I suppose that's t'internet for ya. The whole thing isn't really bad or good, just sort of a weird internet drama that I am pretty well detached from. Such is life.

And now, back to my ritual burial up to my neck in work next to an arthill, so that the art can come and strip the flesh from my bones, or however that works.

breeden
ursulav

Nestwatch #2

The Mommy Wren (or possibly Daddy Wren, I don’t know from birds, maybe they’re like penguins or cassowaries or something) is brooding the eggs. If I’m out on the deck and glance into the nest from the right angle, I can see the little striped head. The butt is still probably jaunty, but the front end is definitely grumpy, and if I disturb her by thumping around looking for the trowel, she leaps shrieking out of the nest, and proceeds to scold me, non-stop, until I go inside, which, if I’m in the middle of repotting something, can be twenty minutes or more.

Were I a predator, this would be a pretty ineffective strategy–I’d know I was definitely onto SOMETHING because the wren is all but waving a sign that says “Get The Hell Away From My Nest” and if I hadn’t known that there was a nest within a few feet, I’d certainly start to wonder. But being a benevolent sort of omnivore, I just refill the feeder and let it go.

In other news, I’m now an Elite over at GFXartist. I get nominated every so often, but I’d never paid all that much attention to the process–I’m not terribly active in that gallery, other than occasionally wandering by the forums, and I don’t upload all that often because it’s a much lengthier process than any of the other galleries I’m on. This month, however, there was evidentally a bit of a dust-up–I was the runner-up on the nominations, and then the winner turned out to be a plagerist and was kicked out, and then there was a forum debate (which I completely missed until Maggock pointed it out to me) about whether as the runner-up, I should get elitified. The staff said no, then decided that given it was the most recent nomination, on second thought, sure, if I didn’t mind. I figured, sure, what the heck.

It’s always a little weird to discover that you’re a topic of heated discussion and didn’t know it, though. But I suppose that’s t’internet for ya. The whole thing isn’t really bad or good, just sort of a weird internet drama that I am pretty well detached from. Such is life.

And now, back to my ritual burial up to my neck in work next to an arthill, so that the art can come and strip the flesh from my bones, or however that works.

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


breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in an aquarium.

No, it's not any great transparency to my actions. It's that I have sliding glass doors, don't draw the shades, and at night, the light draws the bugs to beat against the glass. We live butted up against one of those we-can't-put-houses-so-this-is-now-green-space creek things, even for North Carolina, which is essentially a swamp, so we're talking a serious quantity of bugs, including some moths that look like they should be starring in really weird Japanese movies with tiny fairy women who are trying to save the world from MechaRodan by summoning Atlantis with a fuzzy animal that shits gold.*

Wander idily around the living room, as I restlessly do, and I find myself staring at the undersides of a fair number of bugs, although thank god, the giant june bugs of earlier days are long gone now that it's actually June.

The fireflies are out en masse, though, in the evening, and since it rained briefly this evening, there was a moment when it was cool and wet and the fireflies were a great wave of alternating Christmas light patterns under the trees. And this was good. I don't love North Carolina, I'll be honest--it has its high points, but I don't get the almost physical, hollow ache of affection and smallness that the desert had for me. It's only been a few months, so possibly that will change, although frankly, the Great Wiggler Invasion set the state back in my affections pretty hard. But I like it well enough. It's not bad. You can live here and be happy. On the one hand, wigglers, on t'other hand, fireflies. On the one hand, flying wood roaches up to two inches long that get in the house and buzz around frantically trying to get out again (they can't live in houses, particularly if they enter my line of sight), on the other hand, health insurance and as much of a social life as I've had in years. There are worse trade-offs to make, even if one does occasionally feel like they're living in an aquarium.


*This was an actual Mothra movie. I can't make things like that up.

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in an aquarium.

No, it’s not any great transparency to my actions. It’s that I have sliding glass doors, don’t draw the shades, and at night, the light draws the bugs to beat against the glass. We live butted up against one of those we-can’t-put-houses-so-this-is-now-green-space creek things, even for North Carolina, which is essentially a swamp, so we’re talking a serious quantity of bugs, including some moths that look like they should be starring in really weird Japanese movies with tiny fairy women who are trying to save the world from MechaRodan by summoning Atlantis with a fuzzy animal that shits gold.*

Wander idily around the living room, as I restlessly do, and I find myself staring at the undersides of a fair number of bugs, although thank god, the giant june bugs of earlier days are long gone now that it’s actually June.

The fireflies are out en masse, though, in the evening, and since it rained briefly this evening, there was a moment when it was cool and wet and the fireflies were a great wave of alternating Christmas light patterns under the trees. And this was good. I don’t love North Carolina, I’ll be honest–it has its high points, but I don’t get the almost physical, hollow ache of affection and smallness that the desert had for me. It’s only been a few months, so possibly that will change, although frankly, the Great Wiggler Invasion set the state back in my affections pretty hard. But I like it well enough. It’s not bad. You can live here and be happy. On the one hand, wigglers, on t’other hand, fireflies. On the one hand, flying wood roaches up to two inches long that get in the house and buzz around frantically trying to get out again (they can’t live in houses, particularly if they enter my line of sight), on the other hand, health insurance and as much of a social life as I’ve had in years. There are worse trade-offs to make, even if one does occasionally feel like they’re living in an aquarium.

*This was an actual Mothra movie. I can’t make things like that up.

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