Days of Shades

I complained via twitter about two Chinooks -- the dual-rotor cargo helicopters -- shaking my building this morning. Naturally, when I said "low flying chinook" two people immediately thought of the salmon. So I did a little painting at lunch today.



Oncorhynchus tshawytscha subsp CH-47.
Male, freshwater phase.

The tandem rotors of this subspecies allow easier travel to shallow stream beds for spawning. With this advantage CH47 would be expected to out-breed the straight species under natural conditions, but this seems to be cancelled out by increased avian predation -- osprey can often be seen waiting by waterfalls during the spring run. In addition, lab experimentation and careful observation in situ suggest that most female Chinook actually prefer the bruised and battered males which had to swim up the falls, perhaps for their more macho appearance.

Note that the adipose fin has been replaced by the hind rotor housing. With the adipose unavailable, dorsal fin clips are used to mark hatchery fish.

Towards the end of January I went up to Vancouver to visit my friend B. She was busy Friday, so on a whim I spent pretty much the whole day hanging out at the Vancouver Aquarium with my sketchbook*. My much-belated new year's card is going to be a beluga, so I spent most of the time with them.



When I was a kid we lived in Tacoma, and the three belugas were my absolutely favorite thing at the Point Defiance Zoo. In retrospect I guess we spent quite a lot of time at the zoo; at least, that would help explain why there are so many things about animals I assume are common knowledge but are totoally new information to others**.

The first "C'mon people, really?" moment was while I was drawing in the under-water viewing area. A whale relieved itself; cue the entire room going "Ewwww!" Kids of a certain age'd be one thing, but even the adults were saying "Wow, it lives in that water! That's gross! It could, like, drink it!"

With great self control, I did not throw my pencil to the ground, leap on the bench, and shout "What'd you expect it to do, hop out, grab a towel, and use the pool-side potty? IT'S A FUCKING WHALE."

Never let anyone tell you that I have poor self control. I have excellent self control -- and I am using it all.

After a break for some salty poutine because it's not just a crappy zoo food stand; it's a crappy zoo food stand in Canada!, I watched the seals for awhile and then checked out the rehab tank. There was an awesome Harbor Porpoise there who'd been stranded, and she really like to bounce around right in front of the viewing glass, so I hung out sketchin' for quite awhile. Long enough to see a lot of people walk straight past the "This is a porpoise!" sign and say "Honey, look at the dolphin!"

Okay, I told my inner pedant, they're closely related. You may correct them nicely if they are children, otherwise, sit and play nicely with your sketchbook. So far, so good.

Then a biggish group of adults came into the room, talking loudly. Wonder of wonders, someone read the sign that said 'porpoise!' The inner pedant heaved a sigh of relief at this proof that the entire world was not illiterate. Poor inner pedant; it had no idea how disappointed it would soon be: a woman asked, reasonably, what the difference was between a porpoise and a dolphin, and a guy in the middle of the group loudly started explaining that "Well, dolphins are mammals, like whales, but, uh... porpoises are fish."

The inner pedant was stunned into silence -- but not so the porpoise! She valiantly swam back and forth in front of the ignorant humans. She rolled, as if to say "See my blowhole? This is where I breathe the AIR!" Up for more air, then back for "Here is my belly! You can see the slit for GIVING BIRTH TO LIVE YOUNG."

Head. Meet desk your sketchbook, on the cold unforgiving bench of the Vancouver Aquarium.

*And then I walked back from Stanley park all the way to waterfront station. Oof. The lovely evening view of Canada Place made watching said landmark get destroyed by Reapers in the ME3 demo even more exciting, though.

**When I was seven that Baby Beluga song drove me nuts. Stupid Rafi -- doesn't he know baby belugas are GRAY, not white? C'mon!

Mark it on your calendars! I just did a house maintenance project, and it took less time than I thought it would!

My back patio (er, there are two patios as of May, this is the boring functional one that runs along the whole back of the house) has a shed roof of clear corrugated plastic. The gutter at the edge of the shed roof isn't continuous -- there are two gutters with a nine inch gap in the middle, right where you walk out onto the Pretty Patio. They were nailed into rafter end-grain, and there's no downspout on the middle dead-end bit, so they were falling off.

With 15 bucks in hardware, all the falling-off bits are now stuck tightly on, the inside has been cleared, and the outside washed. There are still bits that never fell off that I haven't gotten to, because there are bushes in the way and I have to clean up and go to a polo match now.

Yes. A polo match. I shit you not.

Ta!

I'm trying to come up with grown-up names for Monkey (tuxedo male) and Squeaker (calico female). Squeaker doesn't squeak nearly as often as she used to, and it turns out everyone has a cat named Monkey, so I think they both deserve something else.

"Squeaker"	"Monkey"
1. Inanna &	Enki (Sumerian gods appearing in Snowcrash)
2. Caliope &	Hammond (they're both organs)
3. Sketch &	Escher
4. Yara
5. Murphy*
6. Musette
	7. Maymun (pronounced my-moon; turk. for monkey) 8. Tenzing (after Norgay)

Many names would work for Squeaker, but so far I think my favorite is Caliope. She needs something that's a bit pretty. Monkey is hard to choose because monkey is actually a good name for him -- he's an adventurous little climber, he clings to me like a baby monkey, and occasionally he'll stick his forepaws in the air in a monkey way when he's getting belly rubs.

Any and all ideas greatly appreciated!


*borrowed from westrider, who was inspired by Sanya of the Dresden Files describing the character Murphy: "Tiny -- but fierce!"

Roomba will get a wonderful new person, and Squeaker & Monkey will live with me. Horatio will get a personals ad on Craigslist momentarily ("Strapping black kitten seeks playmate").

It's been an eventful few weeks.

After a whirlwind trip that went from the Olympic peninsula (Fiddletunes!) the Eugene, Oregon (Oregon Country Fair!), I took a week off to work on my house, learn that my neighbor is a socially mal-adjusted raging asshole with issues, and throw a giant and awesome yard party. Since then I've been ill, been late to a Great Big Sea concert, and (temporarily) added four kittens to my household.

The Incident With The Neighbor was an emotional hell that I was definitely not prepared for, and it's taken a bit of the rosy glow off of my home-owner status, but I think we've settled back down to a civil status quo.

The yard party was great, and really helped me reclaim the "this is MY place" feeling after the Neighbor Incident. In fact, the nastiness served to really underline what wonderful, amazing, supportive friends and family I have, and so I'm thankful for all of them.

The work-on-the-house I'd started to do is still in progress, and I'm becoming overwhelmed, which is mostly due to the complexity of trying to prioritize and order projects. I have Learned Things about cabinet doors, though.

At the GBS concert, I saw someone with a Cascadian flag, and introduced myself on the chance that they were solarbird. They were! I forgot to say "I'm from the internet", though. Opportunity wasted!

Somewhere in here I went to meliz113's wedding. Later we had a chance to catch up and drink tea, which was nice.

I'm fostering kittens for my co-worker Nancy, who has a feral barn cat problem. They're from at least two, possibly three different litters, but they all seem to be eating and sleeping and poo-ing just fine, which are the only job requirements for 'being a kitten'. In the 36 hours in which they've been resident in my master bathroom they've gone from hiding together in a hissing ball of fur whenever I open the door to charging it, climbing on any available part of my anatomy, and attacking my braid, so I think we're making good progress there.

Really, the cuteness of kittens probably deserves it's own LJ entry. Everything here could make it's own long winded entry, in fact, but people are most likely to read about kittens than about my adventures in kitchen cabinet repair.

She's not my kitty, she's the neighbor's kitty, but all the same I can't believe I can't think of a caption for these. I might have to send them to ICHCB as fodder.

I finally pulled out my Trusty Ames Lettering guide.

It is trusty because everyone says "Trust us, you NEED this" not because I've ever actually used it.

For those unfamiliar with the cartoonist's arsenal, the Ames Lettering Guide is a little device made of two pieces of clear plastic dotted with small holes, somewhat more mysterious and difficult to calibrate than stone henge. When used by a master, it allows you to determine the next weekend on the Mayan calendar and your position in degrees north of the equator using only a pencil.

I have no idea how to use this thing.

I turned to my shelf of reference material, and since the rabbit is out and my room-mate isn't, I narrated in pleasing, bunny-friendly tones, thusly:

"Let's check Encyclopedia of Cartooning Techniques, bunny! Contents, L, Lettering... Encyclopedia of Cartooning Techniques says that the Ames Lettering Guide is immensely helpful for all hand letterers and other practitioners of the occult. It doesn't say how. Maybe Eisner can help us! Eisner can always help! No, Eisner is only talking about meaningful stuff, not how-to. I know, Bunny! Mr. Scott [McCloud]! We love Mr. Scott! Oh...it's not here. Neither is the other one. Does Erik STILL have ALL of Mr. Scott? Poo.

Oh, you have. Under my desk, again. I love you too."

It's been an eventful day.

My family and I met my grandparents, aunt'n'uncle, and 3-year-old twin cousins at NW Trek this morning. It was a beautiful day, and we saw a decent selection of critters (mostly snoozing in sunny spots). The twins were (unsurprisingly) more enamored of the tram ride than the animals we saw from it, and (surprisingly) incredibly excited about the interpretive signage.

Isa SIGN! Aun' Mary, isah 'NOTHER SIGN!

After they left we hung about for a bit taking a more leisurely look at the wolves and watching the otter frolic. On the way out, we heard a very peeved cry.

It came from the land-bound* bald eagle, who was screeching in protest at the herd of keepers re-landscaping his enclosure, and scurrying back and forth along the fence line in agitation like a giant, feathery rat. The keepers were planting salmon- and service- berries, and were happy to talk about native plants, which lead to the final collapse of my willpower and a stop at Gordon's Nursery in Yelm on the way back.

I rent. You should not buy shrubbery if you rent. But most of the hummingbird-friendly northwest berries apparently do fine in whiskey barrels, which is why there's a bare-root flowering currant in my back yard now.

Our last stop was for groceries, which would have been quick, except that we witnessed an accident in the parking lot on the way out. No-one was hurt, but at least two cars were totaled, and I am reminded why I'm in favor of periodic re-testing for driver's licenses. The poor old man driving the offending vehicle mistook gas for brake.

I hate auto accidents. They rattle me, and not because I'm afraid of crazy drivers someday harming me. I'm deeply afraid of *being* the crazy driver and having that on my conscience. This is another reason I only own a bike. I am more comfortable with the possibility of being a victim than the possibility of being a killer.

So, right, busy day. I'm going to go sit with my sweety and draw, now.

Erik and I went out to Nisqually Sunday afternoon, to see if we could see the baby Wols*. We did, and through the binoculars you can see that they're fuzzy footballs with heads. Adorable fuzzy footballs with heads. We also saw a woodduck and his lady friend, multitudes of wobblers**, and a weasel! Though technically, I think the weasel saw us. And he might have been a mink. But I hope he was a weasel, because with woodducks, wols, wobblers and weasels, it was a very w kind of day. I wonder if the wildlife refuge cycles through the alphabet, and if I went back today I would have seen things starting with X. Or perhaps they use one of those lame alphabet books that combines X, Y, and Z because they can't think of anything.

It was a really lovely weekend. I even got the backings on all the sheep, and painted a new one who doesn't quite belong, so it was productive as well as enjoyable.

*Owls, for those that haven't read their A. A. Milne.

**Warblers, for those who didn't hear it from my brother.