Random Mischief

The Other New, Fun Lab Equipment

The Zoology class has also outlined a new experiment.  I don’t quite understand it–something to do with surface area and cell size.  It involves cubes of bromothymol-blue agar, sculpting tools of various sorts, beakers of vinegar, and weighing apparatus.

Ah.  Weighing apparatus.  This is the choke point of the experiment.  The students, when faced with an old triple-beam balance, go all to delicate pieces.  Where is the digital read-out?!  How do we read it?  This is too sloooow!

The human female, wishing to reduce the “angst” from the exercise, ordered a whole flock of miniature digital scales for weighing those .

As you can see, the designation “miniature” was not applied in vain.  These things are tiny.


Still, they seem tough enough to measure my kingly mass!  Behold, my friends, 5.06 grams of pure majesty.

Sigyn, of course, is my butterfly, my fae, my will-o-the-wisp, my dandelion puff, my soap bubble.


Three point eight four.  Remember that figure, minions.  It is the Number of Perfection.

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Well, That Got Away From Me…

Sometimes my little fingers are too fast.  Enjoy tomorrow’s post today.  Actually, enjoy Tuesday’s post today and Monday’s post on Tuesday.

Sometimes I make so much mischief that I get caught up in the vortex…

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She Has Finally Succumbed, Part V: What Followed Her Home

Well, here we are, home from the pen show in the Big City to the North.  Let us examine the human female’s final haul.

She ended up buying a vintage pen after all.  I approve of the color.


She says it is a “Sheaffer Junior 275 from the 1930s, with a celluloid body, a restored ink sac, and a 14 k gold flex nib.”  I’m not sure what any of that means. I just repeat what I hear.  Basically, I think she bought a fancy old pen.  But since she’s trying to find a nice graygreen to fill it with, I suppose I can be mildly enthusiastic. Yay.  Go, you.

There are almost too many inks to choose from.  The human male has lost count of the number he has.  Each has a little sample card.  The female is trying to find the perfect cobalt blue.  It should leap off the page, without being gaudy.


Sigyn has been trying to help her choose and has gotten herself all worked up over it.  Don’t fret, my love.  There is literally NOTHING less important than what ink goes in the human female’s stupid pen.

Come now, take a step back and look at things with fresh eyes.


The human female also looking for a good purple to put into one of the cheap silver-and-gold colored pens they found on the way out of the show.  They were 3 for $10, so the humans bought a handful, so as to be able to fill some with unusual colors or to give some away to curious friends.

The human female bought one other pen.  It was very inexpensive and has a pretty bluey-silvery barrel.  Now she’s trying to find a “fun” ink to put in it.


She thinks this De Atramentis Columbia Blue Silver might do.  It’s medium blue, but when you tilt the page, you can see that the ink is full of shimmery silver sparkles.  That is MUCH too-fru-fru and color-coordinating for me.  I think—yes, I do believe I shall— cast a little spell so that that ink will not work with that pen.  She should thank me for keeping her from being too twinkie.

And then one of the will skip and another will balk and then one will get ink on her hands…

I am enjoying this new hobby immensely.

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She Has Finally Succumbed, Part III: You Guessed It! More Pens!

Suitably fortified, the humans have re-entered the pen show.  I’m not sure what they didn’t see already–I was pretty certain they’d seen/bought all of it– but they seem just as eager to get back in there as they were to arrive.

Sigyn has stumbled on a craftsman who specializes in rather more primitive writing utensils than the rest of the vendors.


Yes, my love.  The shiny peacock feathers are quite beautiful!

This same vendor has some of his own inks with beary good names:  Blue-beary, Straw-beary, CUCUM-bear, etc.  (I think he was kind of reaching on that last one…)


Sigyn is nothing if not predictable.  Gently, love, gently.

This same merchant also has some other low-tech, suitable-for-the-aftermath-of Ragnarok writing supplies.  He makes a line of ink out of plat-dyes, and his brother-in-law makes some lovely pens.  And hey!  They have something that is right about at the human female’s intellectual level:

wax tablet

This  is where I tell my latest THFSTypical Human Female Story.  You know how she likes to find errors in other people’s work and feel superior when she fixes them?  And then turns around and does something utterly stupid?  Well, little children, listen to Uncle Loki:  One of the activities at the show is a silent auction.  Various bits and pieces of pen accoutrements are laid out on tables in the lobby, with a sheet of paper underneath identifying said clutter and stating the opening bid and the minimum bid advance.  One writes down one’s name and offer and, at the end of the show, the highest written bid is the winner.  No shouting, no waving funny numbered paddles in the air.  The human female, very early in today’s exploits, found that the bid sheets on two adjacent items were reversed–quite obviously, as one pen was blue and the other green, and the color word was in the description.  So she switched the sheets around–no bids on them yet, so no fuss.  And she felt very smug (which is not a good look on her.)

Not all that long afterwards, she was testing a vintage pen.  It is a Thing Which is Done–one asks if one can try the pen, the pen tip is dipped in ink, and there is enough ink to write a sentence or two so one can see how the instrument performs.  No need to actually fill the pen, which is messy and wastes ink.  Then the pen tip can be swished in some water, blotted dry, and there you are.  Usually, the proprietor does the cleaning, but not always. So there the hapless female is, writing with something Italian, old, and far out of her price range.  She finishes, and the stall proprietor is busy talking with someone else.  This is the human female’s first Pen Show, and she desires to be seen as Knowledgeable and Helpful. She sees the plastic cup of water practically at her elbow and helpfully dips and swishes.

Which is when the Affronted Matron standing behind her says (with enough ice in her tone to qualify as an honorary Jotun), “That is my drink.”

Did you know that hotel carpet is actually tough enough that one cannot chew through it and keep going until there is a hole of sufficient depth that one can disappear into it?  Lessons one learns the hard way.

Speaking of disappearing, mortals, isn’t it about time we were going?  How many pens can one look at, anyway?  Gather your friends and accessories.  We’ve been here all day and still have a long drive home.

See?  Sigyn is ready to hit the road already!


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She Has Finally Succumbed, Part II: The Intermission (A.K.A. LUNCH)

All of this stylophilic geekery  (not to mention the early start and the 3+-hour drive) have has given the humans quite an appetite.  It must be lunch time!  Luckily, the hotel has its own restaurant, with quite a diverse menu.  Let’s eat there.

(thirty minutes later)  I am becoming most definitely annoyed.  There are four humans plus us, plus another pen nerd who has wandered over to chat about–gasp! pens!, as well as a mountain of bags, a purse, etc., but still the waitress has yet to come and take our order!  Apparently we are invisible, and no, I didn’t do it.  I’m hungry too.

Oh, charming!  This area of the restaurant is apparently the “bar”, and there is a very limited menu available, specifically excluding the items some of us wished to purchase!  Outrage!  Well, I suppose we’ll have to choose from what’s available.

While we wait for the food, Sigyn is hugging this plant.


Give it a squeeze from me.  I’ll just keep an eye out for our order.

(later)  Now the males’ meals have come.  The human female has been handed a chicken club sandwich, which she did not order.  Back that sandwich goes!–and mind you get it right this time!

The human female is sharing her quesadilla with us.  She can have ALL the jalapenos and pico de gallo–I’m claiming the biggest piece of dilla with the most chicken and quesa.


Careful, Sigyn!  I do not think that sour cream is good for the complexion.

The human male’s sandwich came with a weapon.


Can I use it to poke the tortoise-paced waitstaff?

(later)  Well, that was all very tasty.  It’s time to head back into the—

Norns’ nighties!


Sigh. Some people just don’t understand about cute mini French-fry-containers.

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You Believe It Wasn’t Me, Right?

By my own pointy helmet, I swear this wasn’t me!


One: taking only 5% of a nation’s GDP is too paltry to bother with, and

Two:  Liberian money is just too hard to unload.

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