I started like, two months ago. I'm practically done already because I want to avoid being trampled to death by throngs of Christmas-shopping zombies.

Jean-Claude is dead. From their website:

"Jeanne-Claude, 74, American artist and resident of New York City, died suddenly November 18, 2009 as a result of of complications due to a ruptured brain aneurysm.

Christo is deeply saddened by the passing of his wife, partner and collaborator and is committed to honor the promise they made to each other many years ago: The art of Christo and Jeanne-Claude will continue.

Christo is dedicated to completing their current works in progress: Over The River, Project for the Arkansas River, State of Colorado, and The Mastaba, Project for the United Arab Emirates, as Jeanne-Claude would wish.

Christo and Jeanne-Claude met in Paris, France in November, 1958, sharing the same date of birth and have worked together for 51 years creating temporary works of art.

It is Jeanne-Claude's wish that her body be donated to scientific research.

A memorial will be announced at a later date. Christo requests that flowers not be sent. Memorial gifts may be made to the charity of your choice."

I remember hearing them come to speak at Allegheny. It was a great presentation and getting a look behind the scenes and at some of their older work was really interesting. A few years ago, they were here in D.C., and I talked my parents into going to with me to the presentation. Again, a great experience.

I just feel the need to point out that if they're an "anonymous recepient" I wouldn't be choosing them. If I knew who they were, they wuldn't be anonymous now, would they?

I've taken a look at my yarn stash, and decided I need to do something about it if I want to keep it from conquering my space.

So, here's the deal: leave me a message (either in the comments, or via Facebook, or e-mail, or any other way you feel like it) with your name, address, etc and I'll knit and send you something at some point, hopefully within the next six months or so. Within reason, I'm willing to take requests. In other words: no sweaters.

I can't say anything about good pick-up lines, as I'm not really the type to try them.
I did put the question of the worst pick-up line to my friends once and they came up with the following:

"Excuse me, but does this rag smell like chloroform to you?"

So, I was up in Pittsburgh last weekend to see Jess, and mostly to spend some time with her poor little rat, Remy, who wasn't doing so well. Even in the 36 hours or so I was there, I could see him getting worse. He passed away Tuesday morning. He was a great little guy, even if he didn't get along with any of his animal brethren. He loved to cuddle, and give kisses. I miss him.

And then I spent Wednesday morning in the dentist's chair getting my first root canal. An unpleasant experience, but not as bad as I was expecting. It isn't hurting too much now, but it is annoying. I need to be careful about what/how I eat, so I just haven't been. Probably good for me to eat less, but it does mean I'm humgry all the time. I'm actually looking forward to going to the dentist next Thursday so I can get this tooth fixed for good with a crown and get back to eating like a normal person.

On the bright side, I'm planning on going to the MD Renn Fest with Joya this weekend, but it's kind of a bummer because the food is half the fun and I won't be able to enjoy it as much as usual. Also because, like an idiot, I made plans to go with Taryn and her friends next weekend without checking the calendar, and only later realized that my friend Sara is getting married on Saturday the 10th. Which I'm crazy excited about, but that means two years in a row that I've missed going with Taryn :(

This is tough for me, because 'most inspiring' is a rather nebulous criteria.

There was Ms. Moy, my first grade teacher, who was just absolutely fabulous and encouraging to our developing minds. Her class was where I learned to read, and her patience with me certainly helped instill a lifelong love of books, and of learning in general.

There was my 7th grade science teacher (I feel terrible, because I can't remember his name. But then, he couldn't remember mine, either, so I guess it evens out), who was a tough teacher, but made the class come alive, and made the subject actually interesting. That was the last year he taught, because afterwards, he got very sick and ended up in a wheelchair. It saddens me to think about, but he's probably passed on by now.

Mr. Perschbacher was my high school geometry teacher, and despite having actually taught me a thing or two about math in a way that made me actually enjoy it (which was largely believed an impossibility until then), what I valued most was his attitude. He never gave us 'tests'; he had 'opportunity days'. Yes, it's a cheap trick, and we all knew it, but that was honestly how he wanted us to think about it. It wasn't a test, it was an opportunity to show what we'd learned and boost our grade in the process. He taught me to try and see the positive side of things, which is certainly something I've used far more often than calculating the area of an irregular polygon or anything to do with radians.

The Bakkens, both Kerry and Chris, were my college writing professors. I don't even know where to begin to describe what they taught me. Looking back at what I wrote in high school, or even in my freshman and sophmore years at Allegheny, Some of it just sets my teeth on edge after having taken their classes and learned how to write well; how to choose the best words, and how to put them together to fully express what I want to across. I also learned the value of editing and rewriting-- somerthing I'd dimly been aware of, but never really applied until I'd taken classes with them. It doesn't matter how terrible your first draft is; it's just a first draft. That's the whole point of a first draft, tog et the idea out there on paper, and then change it around and make it better. And those are lessons that I continue to use, if not as frequently as I would like.

So, I'm reading The High Window, and I just came across a line that sums up part of why I love Raymond Chandler so much:

"From thirty feet away she looked like a lot of class. From tenfeet away she looked like something made up to be seen from thirty feet away."

His humor is dry and sarcastic, and delivered with absolute perfect timing to both remind us that L.A. is full of people pretending to be somebody else, and often to break dramatic tension. The man was a genius, and I feel bad for him because the genre he helped invent (noir), has become a total cliche thanks to--ironically--Hollywood. A movie can't give you the subtle humor, or the perfect turn of phrase that Chandler's novels are absolutely full of. For all his bravado and outward roughness, Phillip Marlowe is a very complex character, and that all gets lost on the screen because we don't get his narration and inner monologue, which is vital to the tone of the stories.

I've always liked Edvard Much. I did a project about him for an art class back in high school and realized that his life was by turns fascinating and tragic. It's a pity nobody remembers him for anything beyond The Scream.

"Help, I'm being held hostage in a fortune cookie factory!"

Does it have to be mine, or can I donate somebody else's organs/tissue that I, err... just happen to have in the freezer?

But seriously, I think I would, depending on who the stranger was. I mean, would I give a kidney to somebody who wrecked theirs with alcohol abuse? Probably not. To a cancer patient? I'd certainly consider it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtml5rWA9ZQ

I refuse to explain why.

So, here's something I was pondering earlier today, because I got bored and let my mind wander:

Which would be worse, having a limb cut off now, or being non-lethally stabbed every day for the rest of your life?

I have my answer, but am curious what other people think. I was considering using the dilemma either literally or metaphorically in a story I may write at some point in the future.

This is me feeling to need to post something.
This is an LJ post.
It has no real meaning or purpose.

Have some semi-random links:

http://www.superherosupplies.com/

http://dullegriet.wordpress.com/2008/05/23/hexagon-blanket-tutorial/

Have I ever not changed for somebody? My point is that I'm more and more discovering that I'm some kind of... sociomorph. That is to say, I find myself adapting and changing to whatever social situation I find myself in. Romantic relationships, being the strongest social situation, cause me to adapt the most. So yes, I contantly change as a defense mechanism, dapting myself to whoever I happen to be around.
Does it work? Sometimes. Often at the expense of my long-term mental stability, though.