Feb. 11th, 2011

marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
We are gadget people. When we put in our basement smoke detector, we got the fancy one that talks, and that tells you if it's smoke or carbon monoxide. And when we had our basement office put in just recently, we got a fancy dimmer switch for the lights, that has a little remote control so we don't have to do all that work of leaning over and pressing the switch on the wall.

Charlie loves the remote controller for the lights, and has figured out how to turn them on and off, and sometimes how to dim them. A couple of days ago he randomly pointed it out the door of the office, at the wall with the smoke detector, and pressed the big silver button. And the smoke detector went into its test routine. LOUDLY. "Alert! Alert! Smoke detected in basement, evacuate immediately! Alert! Alert! Carbon monoxide detected in basement, evacuate immediately! Highest level of carbon monoxide detected was: Zero!"

Charlie leaped into my lap as soon as the voice started, and he cowered while we did the whole routine again, since we had to make sure it was really just testing and that the light controller really had caused it. Now whenever he goes in or out of the office he gives the smoke detector a worried look and says "What's that?!" Once I explain what it is, and that it is our friend and that it helps us, he is appeased, until the next time he notices it and then the worried look comes back.

We could not figure out WhyTF a smoke detector would respond to a remote control, but apparently it's a feature for people who don't want to do all the work of reaching up to press the test switch. Ah, gadgets.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
After 2 weeks of sacrificing myself on the pyre of everybody-else-in-the-house-is-so-sick-OMG, followed by 1 week of I-am-so-sick-OMG, it looks like I may be well enough to do something this weekend beyond minimal self-care and pushing a piece of chicken around in a pan occasionally. Yay! Weekend! Mike is well enough to take the boy off my hands for some big chunks of time. Now I must decide if I should:

1. go to Capricon
2. work on my current 3d art project
3. draw some stuff
4. read a book (Among Others is the current front-burner book)
5. go shopping
6. clean the house and restock the larder
7. sit on my ass and not do a goddamn thing.

Right now #7 is very appealing at the moment, this being the last day of a long-seeming week of work, but by Monday I suspect it will lead to whining (by me) about how I didn't really do anything all weekend and now I have to go back to work waaaah.

Local yokels - is Capricon fun? Are you going?

ETA: I could also do some writing, ha ha hah ha ha like that'll happen.
marydell: My hand holding a medusa head sculpture (by me) that's missing its snakes (Default)
I just got a spam comment that's of the type that heaps effusive compliments upon one while deploying a spam link. This one concluded with "Thanks a million and please continue the gratifying work" and then had a link and address for a London escort agency.

I think they are confused because the gratifying work is theirs, not mine.

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