No significance to this being post #3,333––I noted the nifty number this morning, then realized yesterday was l'astronave's twelfth birthday! Born October 7, 2007.
I don't think of my blog by its name––"starship" in Italian––I think of it as "my blog". Or even as gugeo--its url name--short for "guerrilla geography", a name that was already taken when I started this blog, a name I wanted because I was tired of writing geography books for middle school libraries at the time, and wanted to go a bit rogue.
I didn't though––go rogue––I still write as if I'm an editor who has to footnote everything I say.
I like that, mostly. It can slow me down, but when I read wrong "facts", I wonder, why didn't someone fact check this?
I remember when it was hard to look stuff up--you had to go to the library--but now it's the work of seconds to google it.
I'm not too picky about casual writing (like emails), but published?
The other day I started reading a Dean Koontz novel on the rec of a customer, and I stopped after DK describes his hero––a man who supposedly knows spy tactics––as "unavoidably" leaving wet footprints on a carpet.
Unavoidably?
Wouldn't a spy know to take his wet shoes off, if he wanted to avoid leaving footprints?
Cranking this stuff out top speed, are we, Mr. Koontz?
I put genre books like Koontz's out for .49 each at work. People buy them in piles. I get the appeal--it's like eating candy--doesn't have to be great--but I don't enjoy it.
I cashier from 10 to 2 today. I just took my CBD in preparation. Yesterday I didn't take it, and I felt super annoyed at the store. I was muttering to myself, "Why am I putting up with this for minimum wage?"
Just the usual, relentless mismanagement.
For instance, someone accepted a load of books that had been stored in a basement. You could see the mildew on them, and you could smell the odor from a couple feet away,
though the worker who is, of course, entirely untrained, said he couldn't smell it.
I hate to handle books with mold and mildew--even carrying them as far as the Dumpster--it can infect your lungs...
Oh, well. Other than that, my life is going well. House sitting is nice--far from feeling displaced, I like being in such familiar surroundings after one month in a new and foreign neighborhood.
My new homeowner messaged me a photo of the three girlettes I left there. "They are waiting for you," she said.
I don't think of my blog by its name––"starship" in Italian––I think of it as "my blog". Or even as gugeo--its url name--short for "guerrilla geography", a name that was already taken when I started this blog, a name I wanted because I was tired of writing geography books for middle school libraries at the time, and wanted to go a bit rogue.
I didn't though––go rogue––I still write as if I'm an editor who has to footnote everything I say.
I like that, mostly. It can slow me down, but when I read wrong "facts", I wonder, why didn't someone fact check this?
I remember when it was hard to look stuff up--you had to go to the library--but now it's the work of seconds to google it.
I'm not too picky about casual writing (like emails), but published?
The other day I started reading a Dean Koontz novel on the rec of a customer, and I stopped after DK describes his hero––a man who supposedly knows spy tactics––as "unavoidably" leaving wet footprints on a carpet.
Unavoidably?
Wouldn't a spy know to take his wet shoes off, if he wanted to avoid leaving footprints?
Cranking this stuff out top speed, are we, Mr. Koontz?
I put genre books like Koontz's out for .49 each at work. People buy them in piles. I get the appeal--it's like eating candy--doesn't have to be great--but I don't enjoy it.
I cashier from 10 to 2 today. I just took my CBD in preparation. Yesterday I didn't take it, and I felt super annoyed at the store. I was muttering to myself, "Why am I putting up with this for minimum wage?"
Just the usual, relentless mismanagement.
For instance, someone accepted a load of books that had been stored in a basement. You could see the mildew on them, and you could smell the odor from a couple feet away,
though the worker who is, of course, entirely untrained, said he couldn't smell it.
I hate to handle books with mold and mildew--even carrying them as far as the Dumpster--it can infect your lungs...
Oh, well. Other than that, my life is going well. House sitting is nice--far from feeling displaced, I like being in such familiar surroundings after one month in a new and foreign neighborhood.
My new homeowner messaged me a photo of the three girlettes I left there. "They are waiting for you," she said.
Jayne, Bubblepop, and Opal
