Hearing people are such crybabies

"It's too loud! Tell me later!" Yeah, trying to have a conversation using spoken language when you can barely hear anything is a lot of work. Suck it up, whiners. Pay closer attention! Use more of your energy trying to figure out what words might make sense there! Think harder about cues like facial expressions and prosody! WORK HARDER, you spoiled, lazy brats! Oh, I'm sorry, are you tired? Does the baby need a nap?

I swear I'm a nice person most of the time.

Do I get extra credit for two double-dactylic words?

Lexical vexical
Wanton Logomachy
(reckless misuse of a
word or a phrase)

Hypergrammatical
overperfectionists
rarely admit their
erroneous ways.


more double dactyls:
Ivan T. Sanderson
Goldilocks
Tom Swifty
Sad Scruffleupagus

Why is a raven like a writing-desk?

Here I am in Maryland. I finished my summer of driving all around forcing people to let me sleep in their guest rooms, and made it back to the east coast where I have a new apartment and a new job and all sorts of new ideas. Many of which involve where to get some more bookcases, and where I might have put the pegs that hold up the shelves in the bookcases I have.

Living in a State is okay so far. I mean, I get nervous still sometimes, about all the responsibilities that come with having a real vote and a Representative and everything, but I think I'm handling it all right. I'm trying to do lots of deep breathing and mental walk-throughs so I'm ready for the actual election. At the same time, I kind of miss the old Constitution City political scene. What are all the Vincents up to these days, anyway?

Meanwhile, do you need any artwork for that huge blank wall that's been bugging you? Have I got a deal for you!

This metaphor only goes so far.

I just spent an hour doing an Exciting Bureaucratic Adventure Game that involved finding hidden offices and decoding mysterious administrative titles and asking the correct questions in the correct sequence in order to obtain the correct piece of paper, and then bringing that paper to a different office and trading it for a valuable prize or a password or a piece of candy. There was lots of walking around in endless hallways where each doorway leads to another identical hallway and you can find the target by trial and error if you're lucky, but it's really better if you have some song lyrics from a dream sequence to guide you, because if you take too long with the wandering and the dead ends then Ghost Pirate LeChuck will probably appear and stick a pin in a voodoo doll he made of you and send you to a different random section of identical hallway and you'll have to start all over.

I don't have a thesis, I have a research question

I am bored of my dissertation. So, so bored. I have been working on it every day since the Founding Fathers created the world and I will keep working on it every day until Ghost Abe Lincoln comes back to destroy us all. I get excited about it every once in a while when I try to describe it at a party or something (I'm so much fun at a party!) but then the next day I sit down in front of it all and am bored again.


It's not a feature, it's a bug.
There are several aspects of the productivity-type software suite* that I am using for said dissertation which make me angry. First, in Numbers, there's no text-to-columns feature. I really need to do text-to-columns, basically five times every day. I gave up completely and switched to a separate open-source spreadsheet editor instead because this makes me so furious.

Second, you can only alphabetize things in Pages if the things are in a table. I don't want it in a table, it's my bibliography! Let me sort the lines, you stupid program! I use some sort of nerdy add-on download thing instead, but what a rip-off. What kind of word processor can't sort alphabetically? A stupid one, that's what.

Third, the ways that you are allowed to specify where figures go, in relation to each other and to text, do not please nor satisfy me. Plus I think there is some sort of fault in either my computer or my edition of the software, so that half the time when I check a box, it checks or unchecks itself repeatedly in defiance of my wishes.

Far from becoming accustomed to these inconveniences, I find my anger grows each time I encounter any of them. I would switch to something else if they weren't all just as bad or worse. Woe, woe is me.

*not the big main evil one, the secondary next-most evil one with the irritating capitalization in its name. I was using LaTeX (which also has irritating capitalization but is otherwise much nicer) for a while, but the rules and regulations and personal preferences of my Dissertation Reviewing Institution are such that this was unworkable in the long run. I will switch back as soon as I see Ghost Abe Lincoln swimming up the burning Potomac and I know my dissertation is over, for sure.


It's not funny, it's dangerous
I moved everything into storage (or into the back of my truck). Step One: Accomplished. Also I injured myself innumerable times due to heat and fatigue and clumsiness and spite (the spite being on the part of various corners and edges, not me). Fletcher, while discussing the differences and similarities between our physical appearances, remarked that "we both got yellow hair and we both got lots of booboos". Indeed we do.

Then I hit the open road! Or if not exactly that, then at least I hit the slow-moving very full road to Arlington where I stayed last week, before getting back on the same not-so-open road to come crawling back to Constitution City.

Now I'm back to the District, which is such a relief because it made me very anxious to spend so much time in an actual State. What if someone expected me to vote about something? How would Ghost Abe Lincoln know where to find me if the end of the world were at hand?


This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
Which it probably is. All things considered, the signs have been pointing more and more firmly towards Apocalypse for at least the last several thousand years. The sooner the better, I say. I'm tired of writing this dissertation.

Petty complaints dept.

1. My downstairs, where I hang out with my friends, is very freezing. My upstairs, where I sleep, is very hot. This is the opposite of how I would prefer things to be.


2. My printer ran out of paper halfway through so I went to school, where one printer is busted and the other printer is very low on ink and neither printer prints color. My final printed product was unevenly inked and colored, which displeases me.


3. Then the post office was closed so I had to drive to a different post office and people in traffic did things of which I did not approve.


4. Now I feel like I'm done doing things. I have accomplished enough. Sadly, there are still things left that other people are expecting me to do.


5. I think I'm getting a sinus infection, and I have to get on bunch of planes on Thursday. Two thumbs down, Sinuses.


6. This list of complaints is way more "whiny and annoying" than "funny" or "provoking others to large amounts of sympathy and/or gifts", so I'm probably not even going to get anything out of it.

Whatever. I am almost done with the semester. Almost. See you soon, internet.

Dear internet,

Oh, hello.

This semester may well be the death of me. I am doing way too much of some things, and not nearly enough of other things. The first category doesn't really include anything I think anyone wants to hear very much about. The second category includes everything that is nice and good.

So far, it has been this semester for one (1) week. Maybe after some other weeks pass by, I will get a better attitude and think of something funny to tell you about.

your friend,
Cecily

This is totally related to linguistics. And awesomeness.

I am super obsessed with this video lately:



It is an Italian music video from the olden days of the 1970s, in which the Italian pop star singer makes up words that he thinks sound like American English. And does extremely, insanely great dance moves to them.

Here's why it's related to linguistics: Those words are gibberish! But, people have brains that like to see faces in clouds and hear words in noises. So there are a bunch of versions of the video with "English" "subtitles". And, depending on how much you can hear, when you listen to the [same] song and you see [different] words on the screen, your brain totally thinks you can hear whichever words are up there. It's like magic!







One day soon I am gonna spend an entire weekend practicing all these dance moves. Watch out.

Dear Constitution Gods,

This is getting stupid.




your friend,
Cecily

Who I is

Google tells us:

Cecily is the director of the Forest.
Cecily is slated to arrive at 7pm.
Cecily is a doll!
Cecily is no exception.
Cecily is such a tease.
Cecily is a dainty fascinator.
Cecily is not a quirky, ditzy free-spirit.
Cecily is no Donalda Trump.
Cecily is not a member of any Causes.

These things have been happening to me: (1) freezing rain (2) stomach flu (3) conference prep.

Now, of course, it is like 60 degrees and sunny around here. Will there be another 30-degree jump in temperature by tomorrow? Will I need rainboots or snowshoes or sunscreen? Will I want the windows open or closed? Will I ever grow tired of complaining about the totally whacked out weather in DC? Only time will tell, my friends. Only time will tell.

I'm hoping to stay in this chair for a few days solid

I'm in Billings. The tale of my journey was really stupid and long and sad, starting with how the NWA people "forgot" to tell the flight crew when they were supposed to be at the airport, so they were all still asleep in their hotel rooms when we were supposed to be boarding the plane. So, that flight was 3 hours late, and before we had even left DC I had missed my connection to Minneapolis. I kept trying to get someone to just put me on a different flight to Minneapolis (there was one RIGHT NEXT DOOR, as well as many others) but they were too stressed out and just made everyone go to Detroit on the premise that "they will rebook you there, we promise".

But, then, Detroit was full of all these people who needed to be rebooked. (NWA had also just cancelled some huge flight to Hawaii, plus many others were late. I was in line next to a kid who had been in Detroit since Saturday morning). So it took 2 hours to get to the front of the line, and then there were no seats available to Minneapolis until 7 pm.

I kind of wanted to go to Missoula anyway (and was planning to drive over there today to hang out with my other brother and with Heebie Geebie) so I kept suggesting that I be sent to any place! Any place in Montana! Bozeman! Butte! Kalispell! I don't care! What about Spokane!

But all the flights were full.

So I sat around in Detroit for a lot of hours, feeling sorry for myself and reading stupid books about vampires.

Then I went to board the flight. Except it wasn't there. The gate agent told me to go to a different gate, where my flight was on the marquee, with an estimated departure of 8:30.

I was supposed to be arriving in Minneapolis at 8:30 to get on the VERY LAST PLANE EVER to Billings, which was supposed to board at 9.

So I was going to miss that flight. And I had been awake for a really long time, and if I was going to miss it anyway I wanted to go to bed RIGHT NOW.

So I went up to some random other gate agent and was all pathetic and "please can you please help me? I am really, really tired, if I'm going to miss the flight anyway can you put me in a hotel here please". And he started looking at flights and told me that (a) if I didn't get on the flight to Billings that night, I was not going to be able to fly to anywhere in Montana until Friday, and (b) I was going to miss the connection and all the other flights to Minneapolis were full.

I might have started crying a little bit at this point. Just a little! I said, whatever, okay, I'll go to Minneapolis and figure this all out tomorrow when I am more coherent, sorry I'm crying! I'm just really tired.

Then he looked at all the "mechanical problems" and "crew problems" and how I had been so sorely mistreated by fate all day, and also how I was kind of crying (JUST A LITTLE) and magically decided to put me on his plane anyway. Which was leaving for Minneapolis in 30 minutes and which 10 minutes previously he had said was "completely full"

Whatever.

He put me in an exit row, which I am not allowed to sit in because I am deaf, but I didn't say anything to anyone because I am so selfish and irresponsible.

Then I got to Minneapolis, and my plane to Billings was also late (they had to replace a wheel. Or something.)

So, I got here last night, at midnight. Which is 2:00 AM in DC. And I woke up at 4:00 AM in DC yesterday morning. So I had been awake for 22 hours. That is too many hours for me. I like to only be awake, like, 12 or 14, at most. Also I don't get to go to Missoula any more; time and weather were not on my side.

But, I had gigantic brothers to meet me at the airport and carry my bags and fawn over me, and put me to bed. I slept for 13 hours and now I'm drinking coffee. It is snowing. Everyone is off doing things at the mall and the gym and the grocery store and the pottery shop except one brother who is reading a magazine at the table with me. All is relatively right with the world.

strangers talk only about the weather

Apparently there's a big storm coming. Sadly, I am out of popcorn, or I could just watch movies wrapped in a quilt for the next 48 hours.

I'm really glad I live in a new fancy house though, because my fancy new house has a roof that is watertight and walls that do not rub off on your hand when it's rainy.

I have a headache and nothing else to say. Somebody bring me some popcorn!

tiny felt patriotism

My advisor's three-year-old daughter is all about the presidents. Specifically George Washington, with whom she is on a first-name basis. Also, she dresses up like him and goes to Mount Vernon for a treat.

And makes her mama play "sign the Declaration of Independence", a game in which players must sign as actual signers. Not, for example, Martha Washington, because did Martha Washington sign the actual declaration? No, my friends, she did not. Stop trying to rewrite history.

Anyway I offered to make a tiny felt animal of the child in question's choosing. The child in question requested George Washington, being uninterested in other nonpresidential animals. Although she was also interested in the horse. Whose name she knew and color she specified.

I like a challenge, so I went ahead and made Tiny Felt George Washington and his Tiny Felt Horse (whose name I forget. and the internet is not being helpful).

UPDATE: The horse's name is Nelson.








Then I made a flamingo for Lindsay. Because, no, actually, I do not have anything better to do, and please never ask me that ever again.

p. s. you want to hear a really hilarious joke about George Washington? Well you'll have to wait until you see me in person, because it is the kind of joke that requires face to face interaction. By which I mean, it is the kind of joke that I find so funny to tell, it doesn't even really matter if you think the punchline is funny, because I am laughing so hard by the time I get to it that you can't really understand it anyway.

especially what?

Lately my bedroom is a frightening pit of chaos. Some people would say that this is not a new or noteworthy state of affairs, and they would be kind of right. But not totally right, because when I say "frightening" and "chaos" I am using my own frame of reference, in which the baseline is more like "turmoil" and less like "lived-in". And even by these standards, my room's a little out of control.

My desk has: mail; modeling clay; syllabi from last year; a water bottle; vitamins; headphones; some other cords; a set of keys to my uncle's house.

My sewing table has: sewing machine; can of root beer; photo albums; box full of beads; large can of blue glitter; tube of Primary Magenta; sponge; box of thread.

My floor has: (indistinguishable jumble of things). The jumble includes a variety of iridescent and metallic fabric, from when I was making a disco outfit for a costume party. It includes a large pile of dirty clothes and a smaller pile of clean clothes. Two pairs of cowboy boots (one fancy, one everyday) are in there somewhere, and a scratching post for the cat, and a vacuum cleaner, and Alyssa's hair dryer, and a yoga ball.

There are many books (linguistics, murder mysteries, etc) on all of these surfaces, as well as piles of paper that I need to go through at some point. BIG piles of paper. That chore is #1 on my list of things to avoid doing. Procrastination for all!

My favorite way to while away the time when I'm bored (so often!) is to play a guessing game. This guessing game is not Twenty Questions, although it is similar. In my version, one person thinks of something, and then the other person guesses what it is. They don't ask questions about it; they guess. Then the first person thinks of a comparative adjective to describe the difference.

Here is an example, from when I was playing this game with two of my brothers one time.

Will: (thinks of something)
Matt: a fork
Will: bigger
Cecily: a plate
Will: more flexible
Matt: spaghetti
Will: less edible
Cecily: a helicopter
Will: less organized

...and so on.

in the end, the answer was "Matt's hair" And this is how I prefer to think of my room, and my general methods of housekeeping. Less organized than a helicopter. But really, who isn't? Helicopters are very organized things. So of COURSE I am less organized than one.

No, I don't have any plans to clean my room this weekend. Thanks for asking.

Education, thought control, dark sarcasm

Hello! It is time to go back to school again!

Yes, that means it is time for another round of staring and glaring contests with the people in the offices in the school. This time I am going to bring flowers to everyone and smile sweetly and do as I am told without complaining.

Ha ha!

I don't actually have any classes until Wednesday. Which is good because it gives me lots of time to run around campus signing things, drink coffee, and complain loudly and in very big signs to anyone who will listen.

Meanwhile, in other whining-related news, it keeps being over 100 around here. With all kinds of dewpoints and humidities that make it all worse. These Founding Fathers were not all that bright, building the capital in a swamp. If you ask me. Which no one really has done, yet, but preemptive action is the new black, so let's not get all bogged down in details.

Okay. I'm off to deal with school, books, and dirty looks. See you.

Weather. Yum!

Here's what I like: when the overnight low is 76 degrees.*

My favorite!

UPDATE: Tonight? 88! 88 is the low!


*by "like" I mean "don't like at all"

Grrrr...

I accidentally got into an internet fight last week (with someone I don't even know! Man, I fight with EVERYBODY these days). Here is the result:

(be careful! This funny cartoon involves unladylike language!)
d

NOTE: My roommate says he thinks it looks like the dinosaur is just throwing a violent tantrum. This is a fine interpretation, but I was intending for him to be walking along. Oh well.

Red Tape

*

I'm in a pretty cranky mood today.

For one thing, it's 98 degrees outside. For real. That is too hot.

For another thing, I'm once again involved in a lengthy and extremely dispiriting battle with Gallaudet officials. This time it's more or less with the Registrar's office. The story is long and it just keeps getting longer, and it is tedious and asinine and full of me being angry and other people being unhelpful. It's pretty much the same as all my other stories about trying to get anything accomplished at this school.

Why, yes, I would love some cheese to go with that. Thanks so much!

*via despair.com's DIY motivator generator

I Spy

Well, my brother (among others) really did say something to Our Dear Leader. They said it in a letter format, and very politely too. Good job, Scholars!

My brother also said something directly to old GW about "having more respect for human rights", to which he apparently got no response at all.

Yesterday we (me and the brother, not me and GW) went to the Spy Museum. It was fun. Or it had its moments at least. I was really cranky because of the deathly heat, already, and then I became even crankier because of the dumbness of their "accommodations". I asked if they had captioning on their video things, to make sure they had it turned on, and instead the front desk guy gave me a little device to wear on a (very fetching) lanyard around my neck. I asked him how it worked and he was vague. "Just wear it, you'll see."

Well, I didn't see. Nothing happened. The first room where we all got shepherded in had some video and some audio going on, and when I asked the staff person THERE what was up, she seemed taken aback, and went to ask someone else. After that, we were sent into another room to watch a movie and the doors were locked behind us. Again, no captioning. I fought my way out of the theater and was told to "sit closer to the screen".

That seemed to work okay (apparently the screen needed to be able to sense my presence via the little lanyard device), although I was annoyed because it meant I was not sitting with my brother, and why didn't someone explain it ahead of time?

But after that, my proximity to the screens made no difference. And after that, there was no way out of the museum and no staff member in sight. I seriously went all the way through it to the end and back, looking for someone because maybe I am just doing something wrong with this little device item. Maybe it needs a new battery. That's fine, I will accept a replacement, I will just ask some friendly museum worker to assist me with this issue.

Or I would have, but there was NO ONE to ask. I have never seen a museum with so little supervision.

There were a LOT of videos and audio things. A few of them had transcripts hanging on nearby pegs, but not anything like all of them, and by halfway through I was so focused on being upset about access that I sort of quit paying attention anyway.

Which was too bad for me because there was a lot of good stuff to look at. WWII army jackets with cameras hidden in the buttonholes and 19th-century revolvers hidden on jeweled rings. Nice.

One especially great item, I thought, was a big ornamental decoration that a bunch of schoolchildren in the USSR presented to the US Ambassador in the days of the cold war. And it had a bug in it! Those crafty Soviet schoolchildren. I wish the Presidential Scholars would have hidden a practical joke or something in the Oval Office, just to keep old George on his toes.

Anyway, at the end of the museum I went and complained for awhile and got apologized to and was given comp tickets and a promise that next time it will be better. So we shall see. Who wants to go to the Spy Museum with me?

I may not have gotten enough sleep lately

Today, I am sneezing a lot, and this song is stuck in my head:

d

I am the sick Cebu. Achoo mumu achoo mumu achoo mumu achoo mumu cebu. (Because of the sneezing only. I think it's allergies really. Stupid spring.)

I turned in all my schoolwork and immediately became embroiled in yet another battle with the geniuses in the Student Accounting Office. They have something against me, down there in that office, and their attempts to thwart me are unceasing. I may or may not actually graduate, depending on who is victorious in this current tussle.

Regardless: I am finished! Hooray! Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the celebrating! I am going to run around doing all kinds of fun activities tonight: My one favorite friend is gathering a crowd at Madam's Organ for dancing and making merry, and my other favorite friend is having a Mustachio Bashio (it's a party, a party where everyone must wear a mustache) and it is time to start work on the 48-hour-film-project costuming. Plus mostly, it is time for general giddiness because did I mention I am finished? I am finished!