Belated post V: Esoteric sciences

Been to the Accademia today.

The advantage of being a student is that you know magic words. Today at 1520 the magic words were Did the group of professor T. already go in, I'm a bit late.Thus I skipped the queue, was let in via the exit door and nobody wanted any ticket.There's an exhibition on Giovanni da Milano going on and as soon as I recover from the miserable state of brokeness, I'll get the catalog. One of his Crucifixions just screams Master Theodoric, if nothing else. Not that I weren't aware (as almost anyone litterate) about the connections between Italian and Bohemian art in the 14^th century but this one was pretty apparent even to me who pretends more than actually knows.

Too bad that I haven't taken more (1) books with me. I could use Skaug (2), for example, just to refresh my knowledge.

(1) The bastards on Amazon have it for $28 and I coughed up like 100 euros for the copy of mine! Make the world fair, someone! Now!

(2) That book on punch marks. I'm getting to the dissertation mode but I'm not there yet.

Belated post IV: Practicalities

I got some sort of internet connection although I'll have to ask a few questions at the Vodafone place since the connection counter shows something in contrary to what I was told at the shop, shoud've had 300 hours of connection/month, not 50 and I didn't hear a single word on data limit. Better than nothing, though.

I cleaned this place. The kitchen lacked basic things, such as a knife worth its name – the best and only one was the one I left here three years ago, now it's blunted to useless; the only pot with a lid is the one I left here three years ago, the other pots as well as the pots and various containers reminded me of my grandma's late yard with all sorts of vessels from which the cats and dogs would eat, occasionally tossing them over, chasing them around or otherwise adding patina.

I decided that I need something non-repulsive to use. I know, I know, it may be my subjective feeling but I wasn't going to live with that lamp and those plates. I found out where Ikea was (using their 2006 catalog, atlas of Italy, particularly the higway map of Florence and surroundings and the old bus map of Florence which is still working pretty well) and set out for the shopping trip.

The troubles started at the main station from whose surroundings the 29 and 30 were supposed to go instead of the stop, there was a hole in the ground, as well as in surrounding streets. I went across the whole station to the information booth on which a map of provisional stops was stuck. Obviously, on the other side the stop was so I turned around and fought my way back across the station and two streets further.

Ikea says it is in Sesto Fiorentino but in reality, it's in Osmannoro. One way or another, I soon discovered where the poorer neighbourhoods are. I shared the bus with a stinky black guy and his foldable kiosk of Almost-Gucci sunglasses, several Romanian or Albanian but definitely Gypsy beggars who were off work, though, with a few people who felt a need to listen to loud music (no, I don't like Italian techno, neither I like something that sounded like Turkish pop. I don't like any loud music (where loud is defined as I can hear it but it's not my device making the sound) in pubic transport. Only if the heaven opened and the angelic choirs descended onto the board, I may not be pissed.

Well, the good thing about Ikea is that it's easy to see so with a huge relief, I spotted it, got off the bus, walked half a mile on a non-existent sidewalk along a stinky stream and then among closed-down shops to find out that there's a shuttle bus going to and from the main station. Fair enough, I looked when would it be going back and went to get my kitchen towels (the house provided something that I would use only as a so called Thing carried to the rubbish bin), bowls, silverware, table lamp and whatever may please my soul. The bad thing I discovered was that the silverware is sold not in the logic order of each of a knife, a fork, a spoon and a teaspoon but either by six of each or in sets of 24, six of each four elements. I don't need silverware, I have plenty back in the North, including the silver silverware so I made a fruitless effort to find sticks somewhere there but they are either so popular that they were sold out or Ikea simply has none. I'm bound to use the silverware with plastic handles that screams Disinfection! or rather Rubbish heap! until I find something sorta normal. At least I made the place sorta normal.

I got some tunnbröd (if I cannot eat bread, then I'll at least get the sort I like) and cookies and cloudberry jam enjoyed the absurdity of Ikea full of Italians, Italian language lacking decent names for cranberries, for example (red blueberries, they call them... stupid southern people, even we have a name for cloudberries although they are a polar relict in two or three localities on the mountain tops... but we had those scientists – language maniacs who invented names for things since they wanted to prove that ours is as rich as Latin or German, providing the posterity with interesting synonyms and many poetic possibilities).

When I got back home, I found out that there's no carving board. Damn.

In the evening, the landlord dropped by, to tell me that if there's no hot water in the bathroom, I should turn it on to the fullest in the kitchen so that the heater would work. How ingenuous, to waste water in such a manner. Resources crisis onto them!

Belated posts: Family holiday

I was offline so I just wrote down my rants and I'll try to publish them with a bit of delay - unedited so that you don't miss my erratic style.

Family holiday can actually be fun. Although I'm not a big fan of getting us three together for a longer time, it somehow turned out nice, without any arguments. We even stayed in a decent hotel and I didn't get any major indigestion.

First few days we spent only with my mom in Florence, wandering around the touristy places – sort of. We arrived at six in the morning so I got me a coffee (anything that contained more coffee than the dirty water they served on the train) and then went hanging around. The well-known fact of touristy places is that the tourists wake up around nine so before that, you can have space, natives and all the normal things. Like, Ponte Vecchio with no tourists. Or just any place without tourists.

While doing this hanging around, I discovered San Stefano of which I thought it was somewhere else and San Salvatore al Vescovo (make mental note to get inside on some occasion). At noon, we transferred our stuff to the hotel. Mom bought a new backpack, claiming that she cannot use mine because it's too small.... and then I was carrying her backpack and my bag because the backpack was oh so heavy and we got off the bus one stop earlier because I'm stupid and don't have a clue and... anyway.

The last time mom was in Florence was at the end of June when it was freaking hot. She thus got the impression that in Florence it's always hot. So, we stayed in a hotel with a swimming pool which we never used (I'm not much of a swimming person anyway) because oddly enough, even in Italy they have different weather than default hot. Mom got a cold, too.

We at least walked a lot. I didn't have my camera with me because it was at dad's car somewhere in the Nothern Italy so I'll flood the world with pics sometime later.

There's a little museum on Franciscan missions in Fiesole (free entrance, donations welcome, forgot about the opening times). I adore small local museums. This one lacked legible tags, had only basic system of organizing exhibits, there were no custodians or annoying safety measures and it was totally charming.

Progress.... somewhere

I packed a few things. Then I ended up tagging blog entries and got as far as ice ages.
To my great displeasure, I found out that some ofthe old posts received a dose of comment spam. I spent a considerable time weeding it out, I don't read my old rants too often. I'll disable anonymous comments.
Now, I need to pack something more.

Kitchen geology

Last winter was dry and warm. Or maybe the stars were badly aligned. Whatever the cause was, our house moved. The south part of the kitchen drifted away from the north part, creating a milimetre wide rift valley between the stove and the sink. In the bathroom, the west bit with the tub moved south whereas the east bit stayed in place, creating a bajillion of tiny cracks on the floor and the cement between the tiles fell out. The worst thing happened in the hallway where the same movement that lifted the Himalayas almost 9000m from the seabed to the today's peaks peeled off the tiles and created a miniature hill that effectively blocked the main door from opening properly.

After half a year of sneaking sideways in our own house, mom asked my cousin who is a locksmith and who knows people, to find someone to fix it. Cousin knows a guy who can do this type of work and since this type of work includes building safes or door frames in the walls, the guy is able to manage even without a major mess. He peeled off the tiles that stuck out and I was sent with him to get some matching tiles for the patch.

In the store, the shop assistant inspected the tile suspiciously, said that there's no way of having anything in this colour and that it's a porous tile and.... it's not a floor tile, it's a wall tile. Which explains why the floor in the hallway had been lousy ever since and why every dropped object caused a chip. I would like to point out that this is one of the less nice bits of living under the Commies: you bought what they had, not what you liked or wanted. And, since my parents are not idiots who would place wall tiles on the floor, notably on the floor that was expected to be used, it means that the idiot was the shop assistant.

I said that the tiles could be cobalt blue. It would be nice in the dark brown hallway. Mom screamed that cobalt blue is awful and dark and no, no, no way. We argued, she said that maybe some beige or gray would go nicely with the browns. Or orange or yellow. Erm, orange or yellow along with Vandyke brown would cause a creative diarrhoea effect, I explained in veiled terms. Then mom pointed to a ceramic bowl saying that this sort of blue would be nice. I said Indeed, cobalt blue, that's what I've been telling you all the time. No, she replied, not that dark one, the light blue one. Yes, cobalt blue, I said again. No, cobalt blue is the deep blue one. No, that's Prussian blue, I explained. It went for a while but the good point is that I had my way.

Life is sometimes fair so they had nice cobalt blue tiles with matching surface structure and I bet they'll be pretty. They should be laid when I'm back from work. Hopefully, no home version of the continental drift will appear too soon.

Rant time

No more organic matter today. Or, later on.

My book is out of print, hallelujah. Looks fine but the adrenaline surge of getting it finished is long gone. Hopefully it sells well. No pics, camera no worky.

Last week, relatives visited. My cousin with her new baby - well, the boy looked and behaved like any other 3-months old so no exciting story. The older boy spent quite some time chasing the cat and he was very disappointed that she didn't want to socialize with a screaming and stomping human kitten. After mz cousin left, auntie and other two brats cousins arrived. One spent a year in Britain, studying at University of Podunk. Before he went, I thought it would do him only good - a bit of detachment from mommy the emotional vampire, a bit of decent English, broader perspectives. Results: The boy wants to be an officer. He meant working in an office, not in the army, apparently. The boy never left Podunk because going those few miles to Leeds (or was it Manchester) would be too complicated and.... and anyway. All pics he made were his room,his kitchen, meals he cooked (I guess that for a mommy's boy, it was a grand experience. Aunt should get a high dose of feminist thinking. Or at least teach her sons to make bacon and eggs), groceries where he shopped - what an excitement, they have Tesco even in Britain. Yeah, and he bought a suit and a tie there, in which he spent most of the weekend. I wonder whether he was showing us, unworthy, his cultural superiority. The other cousin is doing his IT studies, wants to get his Bc. next year and then some nice job that would bring him, say, 1500 euros/month at the beginning. Brats, I said that.


I got my sanity back with M. and his trip to hunt some darn grass. He's a botanist, does his research, I go with him sometimes because it's fun, I learn things and.... and anyway.
The darn grass is called Brachypodium rupestre. Looks like grass - but I'm no good in grasses - and M. needs to know how many chromozomes it has.

I was told that I actually could go and study botany. That I ask much more sophisticated stupid questions than some 3rd year students ask:D

Right words at the right time

The words in questions were "But I've seen pretty many people with cats on the leash" applied by my father after a discussion about the cat, the dog and how to make them friends under some control, when I said that taking the cat out tied with a piece of string so that she wouldn't immediately run away wouldn't be a bad idea and mom claimed that only idiots walk their cats on the leash.
Now, I'm officially allowed to take the cat out on the leash in the neighbourhood but only when the parents are not around to witness this silly activity, meaning that the Meezer will be allowed out to her heart's content (to murder any small moving things, I must add; now she's the most vicious spider murderer and she keeps an eye on the rooks nesting in the shrubbery. No worries, she cannot climb).

Boiled alive

Heat wave struck and the air conditioning in the office is broken. I wonder whether I didn't care when I was younger, whether the summers were less hot or whether the humankind in general was less spoiled. Not that matters would change if I knew.

My laptop is still broken which works as an excuse for no blogging, no social life on Ravelry and general nothing happening.

I needed to do some photography out in the wild so I spent most of Tuesday glued to the train seats with my own sweat. Since life isn't fair, none of the pics was finally used. I however found out that the Kolin church is being repaired so the yard around is open (not for public, just for the construction workers but it's open so why the hell I shouldn't sneak in and check) and I discoverd that there's a French-style western portal even with leftovers of the figural decoration and I totally don't even remember it mentioned in books. My fault, after a while of digging in the library catalogue, I discovered a few quite recent publications that might touch the subject. My local journalist friend promised to take me wherever I want so I see a future art paper crystallizing (although something less controllable from the faculty folks would be more practical - I'll rethink it).

Is this a tradition?

It's Monday and I'm bloated and overcarbed again. This weekend I didn't have any major carb binge as such but it was my mom cooking so it's rice here, strawberry cake with a ton of sour cream there... To be fair, I have to add that mom generously gave me the probiotics she got with her antibiotics when she had her latest dental issues. The probiotics seem not to work, or not today. They however added to my despair because it was the usual allergy meds, ibuprofen (I know, I know, it's not the right thing for stomach pains but I didn't have anything else and I felt shitty) and then some good microorganisms.
I resorted to a thing that works - simple good ole fasting.

The weekend was exciting. There was the cake. We cleaned the attic - I've been stashing my fave mag since 1996 and as usual, mom threatened with throwing it all away. There's still my dad's notes from the university - compared to him, I'm much less annoying hunter and gatherer. And, you've never seen that many dead wasps. No, nobody collects them, they just get to the attic and die there. Tähti had enormous fun helping. And puking on the clean floor, I had given her the worm meds and they were a bit wild, I guess.

No, no funny story about feeding cats medicine. I tried - the stuff is a paste that comes in a syringe. I had some experience with force-feeding so I thought it would be easy. You lay the cat on your lap, open her mouth and push the thing to her mouth. The only problem is that Siamese are strong, fast and slippery. The result was obvious, I had the worm medicine all over my hand and the cat was sitting under the table complaining and happily licking the remaining paste from her paws. Then she came to beg for more. Why the hell did I bother?

Random link of the day: Do you want to know about the present state of storms in Finland?

On a whim

My mom bought me a piggy bank a few years ago. It's an inox (or rather chromium plated anything) slab that has a would-be cute picture of a shoe on one side and an inscription that says If the shoe fits, get it in every colour.

Yesterday I dropped at Debenhams department store in a vain hope that I'll find a decent bra there. They sometimes have unpadded, pretty, affordable and unpadded stuff there. They possibly did but they had also a Good Fit Week so I was approached by a lady who offered to pick the right bra for me. To cut the long story short, it was decided that my size is 85E because it makes the bit in the armpits nice and firm. When I objected that (a) I don't wish to wear a bra that covers me up to my neck (b) would have to buy two pairs of stockings because although the bra fits nicely in the armpits, there's some spare space in the cups (c) it looks like something my grandma would consider old-fashioned, I was told that it's fitting well, it's the basic bra I should wear under t-shirts (erm, I own one t-shirt. Guys' t-shirt in XL size by, erm, some company that makes snowboards and I wear it around the house when it's not cold enough for a sweater) and that the lace thing I'm wearing now is a type meant for social events.*

I ran away and went to the theatre. Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company was here on the dance festival and early in the afternoon, after not having won the ticket in the contest on the radio. It rocked.

Since my attempt to buy a bra somehow failed , the next day I went to one of the shopping hells, the one on my metro line. i actually needed most to return a book to the department of philosophy which was very long overdue so I did my part of sponsoring the university. But, on the way back I stopped to check one particular shop in the particular mall. I got a tank top there some time ago and hoped that I might get one more.

Remember, when it fits, plunder the store.

I solved my clothing and bra fitting issues till the end of summer, I guess. the next project is to sew a copy or ten of my fave dance top.

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*No, don't please be explicit in the comments in case you imagined such a social events.

Sick keyboard

On Thrusday I indulged in my usual passtime: eating and talking to friends.* I made some wilder gesture and spilled quite some lentil soup over my keyboard. With sausage. It wasn't the worst spill but unlike the previous one, this stopped my keyboard from working.
I tried to wipe the stuff with a tissue but the overboiled proteins wouldn't give way. I took of several keys and I actually discovered that the keyboard has hairballs. Maybe I should sometimes feed her the kitty treats. I pulled out the fibrous blobs out, dried everything as much as possible and tried to find some geek on the phone. I managed, was told to find the Keyboard on the screen gadget where I could type using the mouse but it totally spoiled my late-night chatting.
On Friday I went to buy a keyboard. I wanted to get the cheapest one but I found one in pale blue silicone and I couldn't resist.



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*note that most of my friends live in Internet

Floods, floods!

I went downtown without the least trace of enthusiasm. It was hot and humid. I however needed to copy something, namely Hugh of St. Victor's Didascalion. I did, I wandered around the neighbourhood where the copy place is (okay, there might be many others so I possibly don't have to go to the other side of the river and such but.. anyways) in a desperate effort to find a post office. There was none; I wonder how a busy neighbourhood can survive without one but maybe they use carrier pigeons, who cares.
I moved into another part of the town, went for a coffee and to read a bit of the Didascalion with it to a bookstore cafe. The personnel was discussing yesterday's rain, how it flooded the storeroom and destroyed a heap of books. When I was leaving, they were just piling them in front of the bookshop to be taken away.

The season of two tank tops per day started. Since I don't have that many clothes as to survive without being stinky for the whole week, I tossed a handful of laundry to the washing machine and went to the post office. Once in a long time I didn't check the hose, once in a long time it was fallen on the floor so when I came back, there was a centimetre of water in the whole place.

I see a pattern. Hopefully a new one appears.

Totally off-topic: One special link for Alpaca Granny. (I couldn't resist.)

Out in the wild

For years, I've wanted to take a picture similar to one Vilem Heckel made. Prague castle with picturesque clouds, photographed from the pear orchards, with blossoming pears. I haven't managed. Neither before, nor this year.
There's a pear tree next to this house so the things are positively blossoming in this area. I checked twice in the morning, looked at the sky which promised a promising mixture of the blue stuff and clouds and off I went. St. Murphy stood by my side so before I got where I needed to, the blue stuff was entirely covered by the clouds.
The area up the hill is freaking nice. There's a huge orchard that belonged to the monastery above and now it serves as a public park which means that it's unpruned. The area around is tourists, tourist traps, tourist crap, overpriced restaurants, hotels, cafes and other institutions that lack the basic politesse of addressing the public in the native language of the country - and then, they lack the basic knowledge of any other languages, thus committing unforgivable crimes on other languages, be it English, French or whatever else.
The only oases of normality are the occasional convents and churches and embassies. Quiet, peaceful and they have some sense and are useful for the world. Tourists are a nuisance.
I tried to take my picture but it's no big deal. Either Heckel had some advanced technology, basically a lens with immense depth of the field, or there was some nasty trick to it. He had well focused the pear blossoms and the castle. And, I mean in one picture. I should have taken the shift lens, that one is better than the normal one. I could get off with some photoshopping but that would be plainly mean. I know that people do it but.... it's no fun. You get blisters on your ass from excessive photoshopping and you lose the ability to make decent pictures, first of all. As you see, I decided that you'll get the picture of pear blossoms. They are cuter than the castle.
And, please, don't go to Prague. I don't want you here. There's around five million of tourists anyway and they've taken everything away so there's nothing to see and coming here would be a waste of time.

______________________________
For the guy on the tram: I appreciate your interest in my candies. No, I'm not a Finn, definitely from where they'd speak with such an accent so I have no clue what you told me. And that's the reason why I even didn't try to start a conversation. Moreover, you got off on the next stop.

I lost a loaf of bread.

I'm perfectly sane. I just had a loaf of bread in the freezer and I took it out to defrost and it disappeared. I remember it clearly, a huge loaf of bread wrapped in green trashbag- and now it's gone. I spent several hours checking all possible and then all impossible spots and didn't find it. I have no idea how can one lose a two-kilos loaf of bread.

Added later: I found it. It was among pasta. Must have walked there itself and close the door of the pasta cabinet from inside.

Otherwise I'm perfectly sane. I did some cleaning, some dyeing (check the etsy place) and read a bit for teh upcoming interview for the scholarship or what the hell to Italy. Mom is coming on Tuesday so I need to pretend that I'm less messy than what I really am.

Back to something called life.

I'm in the middle of trying to produce a short article about soil. I'm bored to death and unable to squeeze a single molecule of smartness from my tortured brain. Then I go and check blogs. I find nothing of interest so I turn to my own blog* and here I find the kind offer of Alpaca Granny to drop by and shovel alpaca shit.
I must say that it's the most compassionate thing that happened to me in weeks. How could she guess so well that after this personal crap and intellectual overload all I need to do is physical work around some organic matter.

But I'm just translating the fascinating and complex chemistry of humus to the brain capacity of a 4th grader. Poor me.
I guess I'll drop this whole thing. I'll go home** and felt the rug. Pics tomorrow.


______________________________
*one has to do everything on their own. Sigh.
**the one shared with parents.

Someone stole an hour of my life.

Yes, admittedly, I dislike daylight saving time. It feels like morning and it's midday. Or the other way round. I don't know, I'm temporarily lost.

For those who might be concerned about my wellbeing, then:
I'm alive and kicking. I feel fine. Sun is shining and the prospect of a week well spent in the office is enthralling... damn it. That's just the way the world works.
And yes, for some personal reasons not to be discussed here, I feel like shit. Send me some chocolate. Or yarn. Or not. Whatever. Just try to avoid me, I might bite.
I finished the rug and I pray with the full fervour of a devout atheist* that it doesn't come up as a total ugly tangle. To those who might be concerned about my rising idiocy, then be aware that I rolled the thing in two bedsheets and tied it. As soon as I lift my ugly lazy ass to go and make some coffee (I feel so shitty that I woke up two hours ago and didn't feel an urge to have a coffee), I'll check that it didn't tangle.

Five minutes later: no it din't.
I made some coffee, too. I was told to eat breakfast, that it's healthy. I was also told to wear shoes that would support my ankles and a few other things. But... I guess I'll stick to my ways.


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*my religious and philosophical views may be discussed on the blog but I don't feel like that now. This one is a figure of speech I like, that's it.

Postal odyssey

I might have mentioned (read: I did lots of cursing all over the place) that local post office has some issue with parcels. They are delivered by another bunch of people than letter mail. Don't ask me why, post office is just an entity on its own.

Well, the parcel guys have those nice blue pickups on which "You post today, we deliver tomorrow" is written in neat yellow letters. They should go, bang your door and when you don't open, they should bang your neighbour's door. When there are no neighbours around, they are supposed leave a notice in the mailbox. True, there might be an obstacle, in many apartment blocks, the mailboxes are behind the door, not outside, don't ask me why - only recently the houses are built in such a way that the mail can be thrown in from outside.* In such case, they leave a notice at the local post office and my mailwoman brings a notice two weeks later, which says Hey, your mail will go back the day after tomorrow.

It was September 2006 when I actually got a package delivered by a post guy. Since then, they must be happily having their snack somewhere warm because nobody ever bothers to bang my door. They would succeed, when I'm in Prague, I tend to be at home most days. So is the next door lady who is pensioned and another bunch of people in the house who are stay at home moms, pensioned and such. The mailwoman doesn't hesitate about leaving my registered mail at the neighbour, they are allowed to do that - so why not the parcel guys?
I always get the piece of paper that my mail will be sent back. It happened to me once that it actually did go back, I might be off home for more than two days. The last time I didn't pick my parcel was like two weeks ago and the little problem is that it's from the U.S. I was totally pissed. I wanted to make an angry call to the parcel centre but they never picked the phone. They might know their customers, it seems.
I contacted the person who was selling me the yarn (yes, yarn. Rare vintage) and told her that she might get the parcel back and that I'm not a jerk, the post people are.
However, today I came home and I had a notice in my mailbox that there's a registered letter left at neighbour's. It was from Uncollected Mail Central, that my parcel from the U.S. which I hadn't collected is waiting there. It's all across the town but, good enough. I won't complain anymore that life is boring. And, I'll update tomorrow on new experiences with the post.
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*I suppose that this could go along with typical foods, folklore and such. Indigenous culture.

Yawn

Of the last two days, I spent around 30 hours sleeping. The result is that I'm tired. It is still an improvement since the last days because then, I was totally drained.

Used cosmetic rabbit

Today I plan to do the baking. For that, it would be really advantageous to do some cleaning.. and wake up.
Technically I am awake... but despite antibiotics and corticoids my conjunctivitis is doing far too well. The eye drops that should cure it seem to be a fertilizer for the bacteria.
And how the hell one can feel awake when having one's eyes open is (a) difficult, since one's eyelids are so swollen (b) painful.
I have to try and be tough on myself. (Maybe I should have tried a few years ago......but this has really no point.)
Off shopping. For flour and stuff.

Social life

Since I hardly go outside and if I go, it's lifesaving missions for buying food or getting paperwork done, I decided to throw a party. I also applied for a knitting workshop to which I"m going right now.
So, yesterday I baked cheese sticks, apple pastries, made some salad and nothing happened. I was fine, I started cleaning and stuff - I admit it was needed. Katarina didn't show at all and I couldn't reach her on the phone, I just hope she's ok, Michal was very eager to meet her.
I got a big bar of Fazer chocolate with instructions like Hide it and eat it alone, Finnish chocolate is better than the Swiss ones. Sigh.
Anyhow, off I go, check this post later for pics form the workshop.