October 19th, 2005

Takeshi-bored-by pear_icons

Stuff stuff stuff

More unrelated odds 'n ends. Shut up; you love it.

I. Had blood drawn yesterday in the standard test for gestational diabetes and anemia. No reason I should have the former; but, for the record, the glucol solution they feed you beforehand tastes and looks like Orange Crush. (Do they still sell that?) Anemia is likelier, since it's common in late pregnancy, due to the excessive amounts of blood the body needs to make. This despite the heavy iron content in prenatal vitamins--iron that, in turn, may not be all that effective since it's in the same pill as calcium, another mineral you need, and calcium blocks iron absorption. Argh. It becomes a vitamin-supplement juggling act. Which makes me wonder: how did nature happen to design it that way? Either: a) in Prehistoric Times, women got the right amount of iron, calcium, and everything else just by chewing on mastodon bones and gathering wild berries; or b) nature intends us to be somewhat anemic for a couple months, and it's no big deal. Otherwise, c) things are screwed up for no good reason, and I never like to believe that. Anyway, will find out in the next few days whether these issues apply to me personally.

II. Around this time of year, I always get a hankering for Gothish music. Recently picked up Clan of Xymox's "Medusa" album, and am liking it very much. (Sounds exactly like something Sinter would listen to, for those of you who know Sinter.) Though for Halloweeny/spooky-mystical atmosphere, nothing beats Dead Can Dance's "Within the Realm of a Dying Sun" album. A favorite for lo these many years. And yes. I'll take recommendations, with the condition that I'm not obliged to do anything about them if I don't feel like it.

III. Yet another reason to like George Eliot: she was obviously fond of dogs. Dogs are in all her books, and are given special narrative affection. Example I just encountered from Adam Bede, in which a man is talking to his female dog Vixen:

"...And those pups--what do you think I'm to do with 'em, when they're twice as big as you? For I'm pretty sure the father was that hulking bull-terrier of Will Baker's--wasn't he now, eh, you sly hussy?"

Here Vixen tucked her tail between her legs and ran forward into the house. Subjects are sometimes broached which a well-bred female will ignore.


IV. Amusing randomness: An open letter to the crackhead who keeps stealing the sparkplug tops off a guy's motorcycle, from San Francisco's CraigsList.