mrissa | Entropy.

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household minutiae

Entropy.

I strongly suspect that the apricot preserves I put in my brother-in-law-in-law's crockpot apricot chicken recipe were The Wrong Kind, because I am not at all sure we have something salvageable here. We will try again later with a different kind of apricot preserves, but not tonight, for heaven's sake not tonight. This is why they have these cunning little shops that manufacture pizzas to suit.

I know entropy wins every day. But today is a day that feels more like entropy is winning. Even though much of my desk is cleaner than it was 24 hours ago. Rooms dusted! Thank-you cards written! Story notes sorted! Magazines filed or bagged to send away! Buttons sewn on! And when I sew a button on, it stays sewn on. Unfortunately, often this means that a good yank such as a casual person might do to their trousers casually will shatter the button rather than merely pulling it loose. But never mind that. I have done my part with the sewing and can do no more.

And still the entropic feelings. Bah, entropy. I think it's because of the door thing falling off my desk. Did you know they used to springload typewriters in these things? True story.

lydy explained it to me. (...so it must be true, right?) The light is bad in this corner, but I do need to get in there and Make It Go, or determine that it won't and figure out what to do from there. This was my grandfather's desk. I love having my grandfather's desk. I also love having a functional desk. So there you have that.

Or it might be the malfunctioning post office machines, or it might be the lack of humidifier parts at our Home Despot, or it might be sheer perversity on the part of my brain (never to be underestimated). I don't know. Anyway, I am going to try to wrestle the feelings of entropy into submission by writing some more of "The Snow Queen and Milady de Winter." It's not the winning, it's the trying, and all that.

How are you wrestling entropy? Who's winning?

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I've learned mostly to not wrestle entropy. Entropy and I have discussions. As long as I sacrifice certain amounts to it willing each year it generally keeps the shockers to a minimum. Take this year for example. Only one death and a minor surgery for me. I can handle this. :)

mostly

Hmmm. We seem to have sacrificed plenty, but perhaps entropy is regarding these things more along the lines of battles won. There may be a renegotiation called for.

Did you know they used to springload typewriters in these things? Yup. That way the typewriter could be swung/lowered out of the way when not needed. Typewriters were fairly large and mechanical and tended to make the office look … I dunno … not neat and businesslike* … or at best less than perfectly orderly. The bonus was the typewriter was thereby somewhat protected from dust as well. [I didn't realize lydy was old enough to know about such things; whereas I am not only old enough, there have been times in my life when I have earned my keep as a Kelly Girl typist using an actual typewriter—back before we used computers for such things. Not to mention all those fanzines I typed onto mimeograph stencils and/or ditto masters. (I'm a fuddy old romantic packrat—not only do we own three typewriters, one of them is an old Royal upright manual office machine. With a microelite typeface.)]

If you would like help Making It Go or figuring out what to do from there, I offer my assistance—workarounds are one of my specialties. I reckon you're perfectly capable (I've been reading your LJ for a bit now and it becomes obvious) but sometimes extra heads and hands can be useful. I like it when I can be useful.

_______________
* Although why an office which looked as if no work were ever done in it was (and sometimes still is) considered to appear more businesslike is something I'll never understand.

Oh great, now I feel old too! My mom had a desk like that at home that she did keep an old beat of an IBM typewriter in. If you let the spring go without the typewriter on the shelf, you better be standing back! And when I took a typing class in high school, it was on actual real typewriters, ones that didn't even have memory. There was just one room of computers back then, too.

When I was in highschool, we were unusual in having a computer. An IBM 1620, with 20,000 decimal digits of memory, and a console typewriter, and a card reader-punch (IBM 1622).

It was next door to the room typing class was taught in, and there was a glass window between them. It was also my unofficial hangout spot when not actually in class or the darkroom. Back then, typing class was for secretary-track women (although it was understood that college-bound people needed to know how to type, somehow; they weren't supposed to take the class). The typewriters there were mostly big office electrics (pre-Selectric, or at least *not* Selectric).

Even at the time, I could definitely type much faster than they could.

(I couldn't resist the juxtaposition of highschool, computers, and typing classes, I guess.)

…typing class was for secretary-track women…

Hmmmm. 'Tis true that everybody else in my typing class was a girl (as we called them back then), but the authorities did let me enroll and take the class. It was in summer school, between 8th and 9th grades, if I remember correctly. I was just getting involved in fandom and I figured it might prove useful. Turns out it did—it gave me something to fall back on.

Oh great, now I feel old too! Sorry about that! But if there was even one room of computers you can't be that old. At my school, we were lucky enough to get one teletype which was connected up to a time-share computer when I was a Senior. And we had to get up before we went to bed…

And walk to school uphill both ways...

And shout ones and zeros out the window to the neighbor if you wanted to play World of Warcrack. Yes. The bad old days.

Ah, the no work done thing: this I can explain. (You may disagree, but I can explain.) If it's pristine and utterly untouched by anything that looks like work, this is a sign that the office is so very efficient that your work will get done without leaving a trace.

I'm not sure

lydy would say she was old enough, but she did know about it anyway.

We are not trying to make the typewriter thing spring up. We just want the door that used to cover it to go back on its hinges, and some of the wood involved is wearing badly with age. So we shall see. Step one is to make a better effort myself and/or with the Mark's help. Step two is to enlist my father. Step three is to determine whether, if one and two fail, I would rather enlist a professional or buy a new desk. On the one hand, it's my grandfather's desk. On the other hand, that means it's not optimized for computer work at all, or for computer work by me in particular. So there will be thinking, if we get to that point.

But thank you for the offer; much appreciated.

A few possibilities include: drywall anchors to better hold the screws; wood filler (available in hardware stores in little cans but be sure to by the kind make for this and not the plasticwood made for filling brad holes); and chiseling away some wood where the hinge attaches (if it's inside/in back where it doesn't show) and gluing in a new bit of wood. Ah. Er. But you declined the offer. Sorry. Nevermind. So:

You're welcome. Any time.

Hee.

It's not so much with the screws just now. It's got tongue and groove issues.

Um. Not … the screws. Tongue and … groove issues. Right. I will not say. I won't, I won't, I won't. … must … resist …

I once started an e-mail to a friend, "Well, we screwed all afternoon and got pretty sweaty, but the bookcases are finally up."

Hee. Of course you did, you clever person you. You just do that to people, don't you?

With a bland, innocent, sometimes slightly quizzical expression, yes. Because I am -- just ask me -- a Nice Girl From Minnesota.

Some of us ain't buyin' it.

You know … I think I'm beginning to like you…

I don't think I've been wrestling entropy, but I have made the mother of all laundry bags, and now I have some weird numb spots on my fingers. The last time this happened, a few weeks ago... actually, that spot still feels a little weird. It is not a pretty laundry bag, but I think it'll hold just about every bit of fabric in my apartment, which means someday, moving will be easier. Also, I don't have to worry about the now-retired laundry bag barfing clothes all over the place.
Does that count?

Knitted? Crocheted? Sewn?

In any case, it certainly looks like fighting entropy to me!

Sewn, and the next time I decide to sew something, I'm buying a sewing machine first. It went faster than crocheting would have, but that would have been a big crocheting project anyway. I went to Hobby Lobby, indulged in remnant-bin-fu and found a length of big heavy canvas, almost two yards by five feet. Double that over, run to another store to buy heavy-duty thread and some specialized needles, rig up a thing on my drying rack to support the pounds of canvas, and a few hours later, laundry bag! Big enough to fit me, if I can curl up a bit, and probably a friend if we're that close.
The weird thing is that I do my laundry with baskets instead of dragging the bag into the laundromat. The new bag is mostly for moving and to replace the old one.

How on earth did sailmakers do it?

I can curl up a bit, and probably a friend if we're that close.

And gosh doesn't that sound exotic and enticing! "Hey, babe! Wanna come curl up with me in my laundry bag?" :)

(For years and years I used one of Her Majesty's Royal Mail bags as a laundry bag. Don Blyly gave it to me. Seems he'd get shipments of books from Great Britain in them, and the U.S. Postal ~~Dis~~Service wouldn't take 'em back. "Too much trouble," they'd say. So he had stacks of them laying around Uncle Hugo's.)

That's lovely. Some of our friends are with the State Department in Cambodia, and apparently their mailbags are bright orange. So for Halloween people put black jack-o-lantern face pieces on them, to the delight of our friends' two small children.

Some of them were very, very motivated: "If you don't sew up that sail, you have to walk home from Nova Scotia!"

Probably it. And having tougher hands and actual experience.

And in entropy-always-wins news, my bathrobe is beginning to fall apart on one seam. I can fix it, but I wasn't expecting to need the heavy needles quite so much in the week after buying them.

That's exactly the sort of thing here, too -- not major things like the house burning down (God forbid), just one more seam falling out, one more screw coming loose.

Anyone who knows us knows we have plenty of screws loose here.

Trying to find a new job, or even the energy to find a new job. Accepting the recent situation with friends and family. I just want to hibernate and wake up in spring once all my problems are gone.

Oh, and the yard. A constant reminder that things will as they will and not as I will.

Even with the last few days feeling entropic, I'd rather hibernate through spring than until spring.

Yes, I believe you're right. This is a week battling with entropy. Explains a lot about how we've felt as a household.

I treated myself to some Tom Lehrer tonight and Applebee's. Solid meal cooked by someone else. Funny music. Read way too much trivia about Tom also. It was fun.

Entropy probably feels like the true victor to itself - but things are better right now than they were 12 hours ago. :>

Sending shiny thoughts your way. Much luck with desk and all. The apricots will learn not to revolt against Milady!

Ahem.

- Chica

Milady is having enough trouble with humans right now, and dwarves. I certainly don't need to throw apricots at her, and I don't think they'd work in the story.

(On the other hand, if I get stuck, I may throw apricots at her. The mice got me out of a jam in "Swimming Back from Hell by Moonlight." So you never know. Although sometimes you have strong suspicions.)

Apricot preserves could be the weapon of choice versus dwarves and humans...

:> Now I'm fascinated by the mice. You have very cool titles.

But I really want to read Milady's story now. Also the mice. I want to know who's doing the swimming!

- Chica

coppervale's book has a theory on virtue and produce in it, specifically blueberries and turnips. You might enjoy it.

It's probably because I've just been working on Lifelode where it literally works like that, but clearly the entropy tides were high yesterday -- I failed to cook some pork in time for dinner, and while I managed to improvise dinner anyway it's years since I've made that sort of mistake. And then this morning I cut my thumb cutting some of the now-cooked pork for

rysmiel's sandwiches.

I'm hoping the tides decrease. Maybe I could make them do so by setting something in order. Perhaps tidying the table. Or, looking at it, perhaps not.

But I'm envious of your skill with buttons. You can come here and sew mine on anytime.

If I manage to come for your Ha'party if it happens (not entirely out of the question on my end, but I don't want to apply pressure on yours), you may save your buttons for me. It'll give me something to do with my hands while other people say clever things.

The last couple of weeks have seen me shouting several times "Why can't things just work?" And no kidding, but my Mrs.' response was "Entropy, dear. Get used to it."

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Entropy.

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Entropy

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