Better than fruit salad

It sure feels decadent to spend the morning setting up another blog: playing with code, tweaking existing images, posting an apologetic note on OldBlog and a welcome note on NewBlog.

Nothing to do with this — I’ve upped my CSS subscription here for another year, so I’ll stick around for a while. This was for my art blog, which is now here. I’m a little mixed on the whole thing — it seems to defeat the purpose of “establishing Google-able credentials” when you start from scratch. But I can’t afford CSS subscriptions for both this and poliwog, and ultimately after working with blogspot with Goose I have come to really like it.

However! I like to keep this one on the quasi-DL, at least for now. And you can’t do that really when you share a blog with someone on a server that features a profile page listing your every blog. So I will continue this straddle for a bit, methinks.

Every time I move a blog, which has happened a lot over the years, I think about the implications of such things. Not so much the Crisis of Conscience(tm) thing regarding writing an online semi-public type thing, because weirdly having done it since my formative years it seems only natural to me at this point. No, I think more about this weird need to move blogs. People do it all the time for all sorts of reasons, and then some people NEVER do (refer again to exhibit A — it will be a cold day in hell when Ms. Mimi moves, and that is fine by me). For me it all comes from wanting to try out the different platforms. It’s like being into film or wine — you need to try a whole bunch of stuff to know for sure if what you’ve been enjoying is really the best fit for you. (Hmm. Didn’t seem to follow through concisely on that metaphor. Ah well.) Usually this “trying” for me is just that — I set up a page, run a few tests somewhere, and then shut down. I outlined this a bit on my “intro” page, which was originally my first post.

But then you move away from places. I left diaryland for something else, went back and started about three different things (two for extreme thoughts, one for a more public thing), then tried to streamline again, then came here. I left diaryland for things like labels and categories. I have failed to use this as much as I thought I would, and now l look wistfully backwards (to diaryland) and forward (to blogspot). But mostly, I just stay here because of laziness. And because really, once I figure out how to make the archives usable, this will be just fine. Until something really big and new happens.

But I do at least string you along, right? This does not make you hate me right? You still want to know what I’m up to right? Right?

Ah, butter your own toast. I don’t care if you read it or not.

Because I’m an addict.

ANYWAY

Silly kitten things

The cake I just made. Pretty good. Can’t go wrong with Clotilde’s cakes, that’s what I always say.

This is, I think, a good idea in theory, but also probably a little over the top. I also worry about the implications of a product like this. A culture that has fast food, too much work, and now can’t even be bothered to actually hold their to-go cups of expensive lattes? Though I may try and modify a design like this for the coffee-whilst-biking problem I’ve been having lately. Can’t stick that mug in the water bottle holder.

Dude! Polenta! Where have you been all my life? I guess what I mean is the real polenta, dried and requiring a dangerous period of bubbling and spurting over the stovetop. Not the freakish tubes of yellow mush I saw on my first polenta encounter.

I’m a bit shy when it comes to food. I can encounter nonstop blog-ravings over something — Quinoa, lately — but I can’t just come to a new food like that. Not usually. I need to get there with a dish, preferably one that is served to me in a restaurant, cooked to perfection, so that I can go home and have a goal in my mind of what the thing should taste like. Which is why I’m a little proud of myself coming to Polenta, since it wasn’t something anyone had given me. I just came to it like a grown-up person.

WE PAUSE TO ACKNOWLEDGE CAT PROXIMITY

Six days. Six days until Anthony gets here, with Spike the cat. Oh my God. Did I mention Spike? Spike the cat? I guess I’ve mentioned it in passing, but I think it deserves it’s own little moment right now. Pretty soon there will be a cat living here, in my apartment. I had a couple horrific dreams about this about a week ago — a crushed kennel, a house completely unprepared — so that day I ran around town stocking up. I am mostly all set now. The bowls are out and the litter box is in place, although these receptacles are not yet filled with the appropriate things.

I’ve considered renaming him, and indeed I considered what sort of name he SHOULD have when we were bottle-feeding his orphaned litter. Teague [teeg] really suits him, as does something sensible like David for some reason. However it seems wrong to rename an animal when he’s had a name for two years, and since he’s practically a gift from Nicole’s family I really don’t want to insult anyone by changing his name the moment he arrives in a new place. And actually it’s interesting he’s named Spike, since there is some borderline-uncomfortable significance for me with that particular name and falling completely and instantly in love. M’epine. So he will not be rechristened. Spike is really not a Spike though. Not a playground bully, a pit bull, nor a frowning Harley enthusiast. He’s more like one of those felt tubes you place in the cracks of the window. I keep telling Dani I feel like I’m inheriting a skinny little throw pillow instead of a cat.

STUFF I DIDN’T MENTION ABOUT MY OUTING A WHILE BACK

Because John is gay and Rose is coming off relationship crisis, (she may be like a straight Dani, in terms of drama. Uh oh!) both of them Notice the way guys look. A lot. Vocally. Our wine server in particular, who I just thought was really chill and gave us a lot of good pointers for our wine selection (and also confirmed that the people over at stark naked pizza are always kind of out of it, so it wasn’t just us!), was reportedly very attractive. Because I’m happily all taken care of as far as a relationship goes (ha which is putting it lightly. Oh yes it is.) and because I tend not to gawk at attractive people anyway (since I have that artist problem, what the hell is attractive?) I didn’t contribute much to this conversation. Which later into the wine led someone (John?) hinting at setting me up with someone, to which I just laughed and basically said oh perish the thought. But kind of left it at that, since then the conversation went to Tarot cards which was much more interesting. So basically, I’m in this nice nebulous world where no one has any idea about me in that department, and it’s funny. And because I’ve been spending the last four years or so hanging out with mostly guys and lesbians this is a big change in gears for me. People oggling men. And expecting me to follow suit. A very different dynamic.

I guess part of it too is: having been in a circle very aware of my relationship with Anthony, I haven’t been overtly flirted at in a while. Not with any seriousness. Not with Intent. And twice now I have hung out with people who seemed to be making Overtures, which is another very different thing for me. Not necessarily flattering or exciting, just kind of amusing I guess is the word. I will have to go root around in some old mental boxes and dig out my Not A Snowflake’s Chance In Hell hat for such occasions.

ALSO

John is the second person I’ve met who reminds me of someone on QC, right down to the discussions of what makes hipsters hipsters. John’s gay and Martin isn’t, but otherwise the similarities are astounding. I need to get out more.