Got several hours to kill?

Play Peekaboom, the game that teaches computers how to see.

It's actually an AI computer teaching tool. From their site:

"Gaming with a purpose." Peekaboom is a special kind of game, one that is not only enjoyable but also serves a higher purpose — teaching computers to see. By playing the game, you locate objects in images, which helps computers learn how to do so by themselves!

Addicting.

Crickets!

I meant to cover this ground yesterday, but I was far too busy being mad.

About a month ago, I pulled back my shower curtain to turn the water on, and I saw a cricket just hanging out in my shower.

Now, there are some bugs I can kill, and some bugs I can't. Included in the "can't" column are any bugs who can jump up at my face as we battle each other. Crickets are firmly in the "can't" category.

So I woke up the husband, and sheepishly asked him to take care of the situation for me. He rather sleepily got up and rid us of the scourge, then went back to bed. We agreed later that it must have been an incredible fluke. How could a cricket come in from outside (no outside doors or windows on this room) through the pipes to the bathroom shower? I even considered the shudderingly horrible possibility that the cricket had been on me and jumped off into the shower when I leaned over to start the water.

We put cricketgate behind us, and moved on.

Yesterday morning, I pulled back the shower curtain to turn on the water, and there was another bloody cricket. I closed the curtain, shuffled off to the bedroom, woke up my husband and informed him of our second cricketty visitor in as many months. He cleared my way for a cricket-free shower with minimal grousing, which is all I can really ask.

Now, I am forced to wonder...how are these things getting in where they are getting in? Are they really climbing through my pipes just so they can hang out for a few hours, tell me good morning, and then perish under my husband's shoe? Is this the same cricket logic that tells them to sit right next to the house where the master bedroom is and make as much noise as possible during the summer months?

Anyone have any ideas? I think this is what comes for buying a house out in the semi-sticks.

Two Haiku For a Co-Worker

youth, sadly, is gone
oh, how sad a thing that is
uniquely morose

addict to smugness
selfishly thinking you're right
so sorry, you're not

Sorry, those suck. I'm not good at haiku under "first letter of first line already determined" pressure.

On the list of things I'm sad to leave behind, you are not there.

I can do this without getting dooced mainly because I'm leaving anyway, and everyone else hates you too. Do everyone else a favor and retire.

Transformations

I've always been fascinated with butterflies. I'm terrified of insects, but I have no trouble letting a butterfly walk all over me. I spent a bit of time in a butterfly room at a museum with my mother-in-law once, and I absolutely loved it. Afterward, for a couple of months, I had occasional dreams that I went back there.

For someone so interested in a creature that can transform itself so radically, I certainly have spent a lot of time fighting changes. Part of me even had trouble with the transition after losing that 85 pounds a few years ago. I kept this image in my head of me at my old size and I was constantly shocked at my image in mirrors or windows as I passed by them. In a weird way, losing the weight wasn't as hard as getting used to it being gone.

I knew all along that the period of April through December this year would be an interesting, difficult time. I wasn't expecting, however, that merely being pregnant would change things so much so quickly. I honestly thought I might be a little tired and a little hormonal, but that most of the fundamental psychological changes would be reserved for after the baby is actually here.

Boy, was I a dope.

But back to the present. I spent quite some time in a car with my boss today, as we had a three hour round trip to make out of the office today. We talked about lots of things. Even though I've only known her since May, we talk very easily and on many different subjects, given the opportunity. At some point in that three hours, we talked about the different ways you can raise kids and what outcomes may and may not follow. I think we started by talking about the pros and cons of home schooling, but that led to other generic parenting principles.

The point that immediately crystallized for me was that I said something that I utterly believe (intellectually) and then realized that part of me isn't sure I will be able to follow through. I said, in a roundabout, circumloculatory (see In a Nutshell, upper right) way, something that was just stated very succinctly on Brat Camp, which I have on in the background here. (You see, when you get pregnant for the first time and a show comes on that deals with kids who aren't happy or motivated, how they got they way, and how to begin to fix it, it sounds more interesting than just a regular old crappy reality show, which is probably what it is to most people...)

On the show, one of the counselors told one set of parents that they had to let their daughter struggle. That this was the main cause of that child's issues; the parents always step in when she begins to struggle and she's never learned how to deal with problems on her own.

I said something very close to that myself, earlier today. I probably nodded my head with false sageness as I said it, and my boss agreed with me.

In practical terms, though, the idea that I will someday have to watch my own child struggle and do nothing about it is extremely difficult to wrap my mind around. I can't watch anyone struggle, really. If an actual adult around me is, say, trying to get a bag of chips open and they aren't succeeding, I usually reach to take it away from them and try to open it for them before I think about what I'm doing. I just don't know where this zen ability to do nothing, at least for a period of time, is going to come from.

For heaven's sake, I started feeling quickening ("Fetal movement felt by the mother that may resemble the feeling of gas bubbles, or feel like a light tapping or butterfly movement coming from within.") And before it turns from quickening into kicking, it's indistinguishable from the outside. I'm the only one who can feel it.

When it started, I checked my book and practically every relevant word ever written on the web about it. I knew it was normal—a relief, actually, as it really has to happen at some point if things are okay—but I had to make sure it was the "right sort" of quickening. It feels like the baby is restless, which seems for a moment like the baby is in distress somehow. However, the web has assured me isn't the case. I have this reflex response to put my hand there and reassure (hard to do this without pronouns since CK just reminded us that 'their' is incorrect) him/her, but someday, when I feel the same reflex as this poor child struggles with something alone (which will be both soon and not-so-soon) the right thing to do will be...nothing.

New Link

Newsflash: I have added a link to my list over there. ->

(collective gasp)

It's for Overheard in the Office. An aperatif or two:

Office guy #1: Dude, you're making me nervous with that letter opener.
Office guy #2: Why's that?
Office guy #1: Because you look like you played too much Dungeons & Dragons back in the day.

Speakerphone: So, we're filling out nametags for next week's meeting. What's Randy's title?
Receptionist: Well, he's The Boss.
Speakerphone: Okay, but what's his title?
Receptionist: "The Boss". He's The Boss.
Speakerphone: All right, he's your boss, but what's his title?
Receptionist: He's "The Boss"!
Speakerphone: Oh, well then...um, okay that's great. Thanks for your help.

Snicker.

More Found Art

Because I've never met a blog idea I didn't want to steal, here's my free verse comprised entirely of subject lines from my Bulk Mail folder:

take a peek
your policy could be
yours free

shed inches
let our experts help
save hundreds

discounts on popular
unwanted fat
enjoy

If you think this is silly, this post saved you all from a "How to Vomit At Work" post. So count yourselves lucky. (Then again, considering where some of you used to work, you may already know all about vomiting at work. It's hard to be a teacher without students who need you.)

Laughing At Myself

After watching Six Feet Under last night (no spoilers here) I decided to see what some other people thought of the episode. I figured HBO would have a message board of some kind, so I went there.

As it turns out, there is a pretty lively message board there. Many of the people startled me with what they wrote...how could you watch SFU for this long if you are still "sickened" watching David and Keith? I mean, why not toddle off and be closed minded watching something more mainstream? (But that's neither here nor there...)

Two of the posters, over several pages on the board, began to openly flirt with each other. Where I stopped reading out of boredom, they were beginning to sound quite serious. I caught myself rolling my eyes at them...

...and then I remembered where I met my husband. Those who live in glass houses, you know.