Spring Cleaning

Well, I just spent a chunk of time organizing maybe a quarter of my quadrillion bookmarks, and in celebration of that, I added a few things to the links section. Over there -->
You will find that there are several sections now, including (but not limited to):

• Some of the many blogs I enjoy stopping in at regularly. Some of these people are friends in real life, some of them I know virtually, and a few I just read anonymously.
  

• Craft and art links. These are places I go to get ideas and inspiration, and sometimes just to stare at other peoples' amazing stuff. I stuck my Flickr link in there because it's sometimes sort of crafty, and there are links on it to a lot of really interesting people's photos. Flickr is a great place to browse around, and a nice community to be a part of.

• I added some of a gazillion comics I have bookmarked. These are some of the ones I check most often. I will probably add others in the future, or perhaps add a Dead Comics section. There are some really worthy comics out there that have either finished their storylines, or been abandoned (poor things). They still deserve a read.
  

• The music links I am going to try to rotate on a semi-sorta-occasionally regular basis. I've added some more general links, and also a few links to some friends and aquaintences who make lovely sounds that ought to be heard.

• The various and sundry section is mostly composed of nerrrrrrdy links that also happen to be very interesting and entertaining. Many of them are blog-style sites (updated daily or weekly) so should you enjoy them, you must check back again and again! Hmm. I just noticed that Exploding Dog is in this section, and it probably ought to be with comics, but I'm blatently going to leave it there for now.

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Boy is playing a Star Wars game on his computer, which means that it sounds as though there's a lightsaber fight going on right behind me. There is grunting and exclaiming, and the occasional Rodian voice yelling, "Doba mei E'kusha!" Whatever, Greedo. Whatever.

Hear ye, hear ye!

It's always a joy to discover a witty, interesting writer, and it's even more of a joy when the subject of that person's work is one dear my own heart: The dimensional bubble that surrounds Meijer, somehow rendering it a bizarre wonderland of strange sightings and experiences. For those of you non-Michigan dwellers, Meijer is a massive one-stop shopping "groceries to car parts" extravaganza the size of a city block. Seriously.

Imagine my joy when I stumbled across a blog entitled The Meijer Chronicles , composed of nothing but stories of wacky Meijer experiences! Traci's writing is hilarious and her stories make me snicker wickedly and nod knowingly. A visit to her site (linked above) is recommended.

This of course made me think of my own Meijer adventures, of which I offer this list:

• I was once at Meijer late at night, when the overhead PA came on, and a business-like man's voice announced, "Attention Meijer guests--I am not wearing any pants."

• When I was in college, a friend and I got locked out of our dorm in the middle of the night, so she and I catnapped in the back of the beanbag chair shelf in the housewares department until morning. I guess that makes me an accessory to Meijer weirdness.
  

• Once, in a Meijer bathroom, I found a cashier girl crying, and realized she was hemorrhaging. I ran to tell a brain-dead Mejier associate that one of her co-workers needed an ambulance, but she just stared at me, so I had to find a manager to make the call. Then I waited with the girl, helping her calm her breathing down, while her ineffectual coworkers fluttered annoyingly about until the ambulance arrived and whisked her away. Then I bought some wasabi.

• Once I overheard some teens talking conspiratorially about stealing a live lobster. I think their sheer stupidity made my brain stop, and I just sort of froze, contemplating their idiocy. When they noticed me and registered the look that must have been on my face, they scuttled away.

• Meijer occasionally announces via computer voice overhead, "Attention Meijer guests, there is no waiting in lane...twenty...one (or whatever lucky number)." Someone from my school once hijacked the PA to announce, "Attention Meijer guests, there is an orgy in lane...sixty...nine." Classy!

• I mustn't forget to mention my lights-out Meijer adventure.

Ah, the joys of Meijer.

I succeeded in holding!

I love that when the Japanese make a robot, they make it not only functional, but cute.

Get a load of Ri-Man, the only robot designed specifically "for holding up a human." There are video clips on the page that are pretty interesting.

In some ways, I always assume that we're further along in robotics than we actually are, thanks in part Hollywood, no doubt. When it's big news that a robot can carry over 100 pounds over rough terrain and not fall down, I'm a little surprised. But couldn't those droids on Tatooine...? Oh wait. Star Wars.

It may not seem like a huge accomplishment for a robot to pick up a doll, but it took years of time and effort. Way to go, robot makers! Just don't let them become sentient and crush our skulls! Yay!

Once Upon a Time

When the Boy was very young, they lived in a trailer park. Blanket statements aside, the Boy's family would have stood out a bit anywhere they lived, I'm sure. Understandably, people thought they were a bit strange. His father was into history, politics, and classical music, and his mother wrote poetry and sewed beautiful things. One neighbor told her everyone found it weird that she talked to the Boy while walking him in his stroller. "He can't even talk yet. What's the point?"

One day, a neighbor's wife knocked on the door and the Boy's father answered. The woman was all splendor in a muu-muu and curlers. "Jamie (her son) here?" she asked.

"No," the Boy's father replied. "Sorry."

"How 'bout yer son?" She asked.

"He's not here either."

"What about yer wife?"

"Sorry--she's running errands."

The woman glanced this way and that, then leaned forward, toying with a curler seductively.

The Boy's father was nonplussed.

Then she announced in a foxy voice,"And now... I'm gonna seduce ya."

"No you're not," he responded. And shut the door in her face.

_________________________

That story always makes me laugh. Perfect pick-up line.

One lumpy baby hat.

I've let Em know that if I can't manage to get it right before the baby's born, she's just going to have to have a baby with a weirdly shaped head.

Now to make a hat with ears. Everything's cuter with ears.

In Which My Nerdy Dreams Come True.

I've always been enamoured with stories that involve setting with so much character its almost alive--particularly deep, dark, hitherto unexplored and ancient buildings.

I wanted to be an archeologist when I was little. Maybe that's it. I love browsing around the Urban Exploration Ring to see what crumbling beauty of a building someone's found and photographed. I stumbled onto the ring while I was researching the vast and mysterious network of tunnels and catacombs under Paris.

Up until this point, the closest I'd found a few books which I love (among other reasons) for that mystery/exploration aspect: Garth Nix's Lirael contains an ancient library with levels and sublevels that go below where people remember anyone ever having been, and ultimately, Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast Castle is practically a character in the trilogy, with its unending corridors and turrets.

My favorite scene is in the first book, when Steerpike crosses the roofs. He escapes out a window, and edges his way onto the vast field of turrets and rooftops. It's days before he finds a way down again. Some of the things he sees:

• From a distant wall, a massive tree has grown horizontally out and up. Tiny figures of people can be seen taking their tea on its trunk.
• Far below, in a valley where several roofs meet, rainwater has collected into a pool. A white horse is swimming in it.
• At an open shutter, he meets an old poet, living in a room in an abandoned part of the castle.

Gormenghast is not magical, persay, but the trilogy is often lumped with fantasy books because it's filled with mysterious and bizzare charcters.

Which I just love.

Fare Thee Well, Eskimo-Disco Slippers

For Christmas, I was given an insanely fluffy pair of boot-slippers, which have essentially have merged with my feet since that point. Around the sole and rim are billows of white fake fur, which also composes the inside of the boot. My favorite part: The laces were long enough to wrap around a boot twice, and at their ends had sumptuous white puffs, the size of a golf ball. Those who know me will understand why ours was a secret love. I'm not a fluffy, lavender kind of girl.

Well, I still love and wear the boots, but the cats have taken away most of the Eskimo-disco appeal by carefully snipping off the white puffs with their teeth, one by one, and then bounding about the house with them, shaking and batting them endlessly. There was one left last night, but this morning I popped on the boots, and then noticed Boo sneaking up the stairs with the last lone lorn puff dangling from his mouth. When I tried to catch him, he flounced away with it.

Enjoy your new toys, Boo and Nihao!

Activate!

Come on, everyone! It's a neato thing that will go completely extinct unless we help! Gocco is a sweet little compact and efficient setup for screen printing that was wildly popular in Japan in the 1970s. As home computers and printers became more popular, the gocco fervor gradually declined to the point that production stopped.

This legendary craft-tacious goody is still useful and relevant for people doing home art prints, printing on fabric and handmade or otherwise non-printer ready paper, and a million other ideas that spring from the minds of the crafty. It's a shame to see it become relegated to Ebay and junk shops.

Like the LOMO (a keen but temporarily discontinued Russian camera), perhaps the company can be convinced to continue making goccos on a small-scale basis.

Let us cross our fingers and hope, 'cause I want one of these puppies. Bad.

Off to the Land of Maple Leaf...

When we were little, we thought that the special land where the trolly takes viewers in Mister Rogers Neighborhood was maybe somewhere in...Canada? It took a few years before we realized it was not the land of Maple Leaf, but the Land Of Make Believe.

Undoubtedly, one of my favorite parts of the program was the pan over the tiny model neighborhood at the ends of the show. I loved tiny replicas of things, and still do. I was reading about using photographs to create the illusion of small scale models, so I decided to try if for myself. The picture above is a photo of a real life street in Quebec, rendered teeny by the wonders of technology.

Stampity

Though not anywhere near as delicious as maple toffee, I've been poking at making some stamps to get used to the feel of things before I go all out and make some larger prints. I love this sort of thing, because I can suck at making the stuff, but as long as it's a simple form, the way the ink falls lends even crappy art some instant "cred."

As much as I'd like to claim that I carved these from hunk of rock or something, I'm going about this the wussy way - I bought a block of Speedy-cut, which is an eraser-like material that's really easy to deal with and keeps my wrists and hands from getting carpal tunnelly. Misterart.com has a good selection of printmaking supplies, and usually has some sort of sale going on.

Now to try to clean all these little rubber shavings off my desk and clothes, and off the cat (?!) and off the floor...

Mmm-Mmm.

It may look like poop, but I made maple toffeeeee. I love actual from-the-tree maple syrup, and this is made with all of 2 ingredients: maple syrup and a slice of butter to keep it from bubbling out of control when it's boiled. Just boil the stuff to 236 degrees F, take it off the heat and let it rest for a minute, then pour it into a cold dish, give it a couple hours to cool, then PULL it until it lightens up a bit with air. It's insane just how...pullable the stuff is. I was stretching it well above my head before folding it back down. What fun.

Citizens of the intraweb, unite!

If you get a chance, you should take a look at this petition against the fees AOL and Yahoo want to begin charging for "guaranteed safe delivery" of emails. Please sign it if you agree. Ask friends to sign it.

Boing Boing has an article today about the details of what these fees would mean. Not only would this be the first step toward an internet equivalent to a toll booth on every sidewalk, but it means that spammers will now be able to pay a small fee to ensure that you receive every single one of the penis enlargment emails they send.

Brrr.

Victory!

Update: the idiot neighbors removed all the trash piles and the garbage bin from their front yard today, and the street has also been quiet. Woot! I dare them to keep it up.

Isn't this a Raffi song?

There's nothing quite like a beluga whale blowing bubble rings to a little girl with her face against the aquarium glass. And for those of you who can't view the video:


There's another site about bubble rings here with some very pretty pictures and some video.

Evil. As in, "the fru-it of the dev-il."

I just talked to someone at the city's "Building and Sanitation" Dept, and was told that though it may take a while to happen, an inspector would come out and check things out, and issue citations etc. Mwaahahah!

Hopefully my complaint will be anonymous, because I don't want my house burned down.

Won't you be my ex-neighbor?

Gah. I loved our neighborhood until the a-holes next door moved in a couple months ago. We had a quiet, tidy little street, with friendly neighbors and pretty front gardens.

Then someone bought the house next door to ours, apparently did a bit of rennovating last fall, and since then there have been heaps of trash in their yard and down by the road, even after they officially moved in. Fine. If you're actually in the process of working on the house, that's understandable, but it's been FIVE MONTHS that this stuff has been out there.

Our town also has city-issued trash bins (which are great) that need to be kept out of the line-of-sight from the street. They've never brought their bin up from the curb. Ever. Ironically, last week, we received a city notice on our trash bin that we needed to take it in (got it the same day as the trash was collected.), and the neighbor got nothing. How could an inspector walk past huge heaps of trash and an obvious bin, and not notice? Makes my blood pressure rise.

If they were nice people, the trash would just be an annoyance, but they're not. I don't doubt that they're running some sort of illegal "business" there--cars are always roaring up to the house and leaving within a few minutes. Fine. Roar away. But don't park in my freaking driveway. How stupid do you have to be to think that's okay? I went over there the other day to ask them to move their car and the pissy asshat that came out to move his truck from where it was blocking me in-- pulled out of the driveway, drove up and down a couple times, and then parked ACROSS THE END OF MY DRIVEWAY. I had to go back over and ask them to move the car again. More bitching and moaning from them about having to walk a half a block. Screw you. I finally called the cops later when one of their car alarms had been going off for 2 hours and no one had bothered to see to it.

I miss my nice little neighborhood.

Manholes of Japan. The cuteness never ends.

Behold. They're freaking works of art.

Landscaping vs. Apartment Life

Now you can have both! No need to wish you had something growing to cultivate-- even if you haven't the space, there's always room for a petri garden. They're even stackable!

Actually, some of the...um....growths...are quite lovely. They look like pen and ink designs.
_____________

I've been ruthlessly freecycling things away lately. I have to say, I love the idea. The concept is thus: You need something. Someone else has what you need and doesn't want it any longer. They give it to you. And vice versa. Contact is made via the freecycle site and/or mailing list, on which you can post if you're offering or searching for something. The only stipulation is that it be no-strings-attached free. I can live with that. It's also nice to be able to give something you don't need to people who will use it. Makes me feel much better than throwing things out.

I've been making room around here by being a little harsh about what things we actually use and which things we just don't need to keep. It feels good to get a bit more space. The next step is to go through our gazillion books and weed out duplicates and ones that aren't worth re-reading. Then on to the forty quadrillion cds.

This is interesting: We have around three thousand cds (no joke) and we haven't bought a new one in god knows how long. It's been about a year. Not to say that we haven't bought music, it's just that it's all been in digital form. That lovely, space-saving form. I'm surprised at how utterly I don't care about having cover art and cases anymore. That all stopped when we hit critical mass on the shelves and had to resort to piling in cardboard boxes. Not only have I not bought a cd, but it's a rare occasion that I listen to one, even. In fact, it's gotten to the point where the idea of a cd is almost quaint.

Why should I bother with this physical thing that can only hold one album's worth of music, when I have a much smaller physical thing that can hold hours and hours of songs or audio books? Or better yet, I can just play them on the computer and not have to deal with any extra physical things. And even best yet, I can just stream music from Epitonic "Radio" or Pandora, and not even have to take up virtual space. It's the future! What's not to like? Digital media has also saved me countless hours of scanning shelves of cds I've never managed to put in order (though I'm sure I would subconsciously be SO much happier a person if they were alphabetized) in search of a particular disc. Go zeros and ones!

From the desk of...someone confused.

Remember the vacuous junior high cheerleader who had signed up for a MySpace page using my address? Well, prepare to be dazzled. It's clear now that there are currently multiple obtuse Stephs who have given away one of my email addresses as their own. A few years ago, I had received a few emails for some Steph graduating college on the East coast. Mostly it was her university hitting me up for donations (which I can understand puposely giving out the wrong email address for) and her mother, of all people (who OUGHT to have a correct address. Or not, depending on the mother.). Well, apparently she's moved to California and is on a job hunt, obliviously giving out the wrong email address again becasue today the junk mail filter almost caught this:

Steph,

Thank you again for coming in to meet with our team and for your time. We appreciate your interest in AppStream. Although your qualifications are impressive, we do not feel they are commensurate with our needs at this time. We will retain your resume for future consideration.

We wish you continued success in your career.

L--

L-- C, SPHR
Human Resources
AppStream , Inc.

Oh...OOPS, I guess. I'm so not sympathetic. It makes me wonder if I'm a real schmuck. I'm tempted to write HR back and let them know they made the right decision. Actually, my only choice is to let her try to follow up about the position and get the bad news in person....Which I really hope makes her realize that she's fallen prey again to whatever stupidity it is that makes people forget their own email addresses on multiple instances when it's important they get their contact info correct.

Don't you DARE Put Your Feet Up.

As much as I adore the idea of this high-tech coffee table from HP, it would die quickly in our house. Here at Casa McW, the point of coffee tables is to have someplace to put your feet, the mail, and various beverages. Out coffee table is never empty. I can imagine that the high tech version would just sigh and stop working the 500th time someone accidentally set a hot mug of coffee on it, or used it as a catch-all for some crafty project involving sawdust or little slivers of plastic (both have happened to ours).

Nonetheless, it would be ever-so-keen to be able to gather around to play games or look at a map, watch a movie or just browse the web, etc. I just know that it would end up awkwardly tilted on its side because the "looking down from above" thing may be very Star Trek, but it's not at all practical.

Makers (and Muad'Dibs)

Recently I've spent more time making things and thinking about making things. It's nice to be planning and making little drawings again, even if it's about silly little things like LED throwies, or puppets for my niece. I think when we have a kid that it would be fun to make a bunch of white throwies and mount some light sheet metal so they can have little stars at night, and make constellations. It's been interesting looking through places like Make or Instructables for ideas and jumping off points.

I really really need space to organize my collected "stuff to make other things from." I have things like yellowed crackly pages from old novels, copper wire, mason jars, wire brads, glass beads, plywood scraps, old postcards and black and white photos I collect from flea markets, various stones, paints, fabric scraps, yarn, fishing line etc, ad infinitum. Not to mention the quadrillion pairs of needle nosed pliers and implements and soldering irons. It's scattered in little caches around the house at this point - a box of stuff here, a bag can fit there - What I really need is a big cabinet with lots of drawers. Many many little drawers. I'm positive there's something Freudian about my obsessive need to organize things out into drawers.

The Boy might be a little miffed that I've been snickering about him. He's at his desk, I'm at mine (as often we are in the evenings). There was a long period of silence, then a few minutes ago suddenly, in a flat, robotic voice, he said, "Help." And then he said it again. And again. Of course I turned to see what he could possibly need help with that would require such a weird way of expressing it, and I realized that he wasn't talking to me. He was apparently conversing with his new smart phone, because once it was up and running, it asked him, "What would you like help with?" Out loud. In a phone lady-voice. Crazy. "Call Mom," he told it. "Mom at home, or Mom's cell?" it asked.

In any case, the "help... help... help," bit had me laughing, because it reminded me of a story about one of my sisters. When she was about 3 or 4 years old, she got stuck crawling under the couch or something, and called to my mom for help. Mom, seeing that she wasn't in immediate danger, let her know she'd be there in a second. My sister still squirmed and continued to call for Mom until it fell into a rhythmic, "Help!....Help!....Help!" Eventually she became resigned and the urgent note in her voice turned into a flat robotic tone, and Mom heard her little voice repeat, "Help...this is a recording...Help." If it were me, it would have taken a couple minutes for me to stop laughing and assist her.

The boy has just informed me that his Smarty McCellphonepants will not only play MP3s, but he can simply say, "Play Godspeed You Black Emperor," (or whatever) and it will. Or if it's on random, he can ask, "What song is this?" It also plays movies and such, and does the whole camera/video thing (even has a flash). It's easy to see why he's enamoured with it. It's basically a little computer he can take everywhere. Boy + computer = loooove.

I proudly informed him that my phone can not only make calls, but it can receive them as well.

Oh, The Places I've Been... (in red)

create your own visited country map

That may look slightly impressive, but it's more than a little misleading. I mean, it looks as though I've tromped up through the entire Canadian North and tooled around Russia from Siberia to Ukraine. Which I haven't. I have been (at least briefly) to

• United States. I tend to visit the US permanently.
• Canada. Ah, the country of my birth.
  
• Mexico (long enough to realize that Reynosa is a pretty dusty place)
  
• England
  
• Scotland
• Wales
• France
• Germany
• Italy
• Begium
• Switzerland
• Netherlands
• Luxemborg (just long enough to look at a couple WWII graveyards. It took about 30 minutes to drive across the entire country.
• Vatican City (do most people count this as another country? I know technically it has its own money and postage, etc, but come on...)
• Russia
• Austria

That's it for now, and probably for quite awhile. Travelling doesn't appear to be in the cards for me at this point, which is fine.

HOWEVER, one thing that does appear to be in the cards (as it were) is a rennovated kitchen. I am making a concerted effort to not squeal like a small, thrilled child and do little impromptu dances. However, I am VERY excited, and am hoping like h311 it works out. More later if it does actually work out.

Tom vs. Oprah Smashup!

I'm not usually one to even pretend that the silly, silly lives of celebrities have any bearing on reality whatsoever, but I'm deriving much amusement from Tom Cruise this past year. The timeline goes something like this:

1. Tom and Katie hook up. (Why Katie, why?)
2. Tom goes batshit, declares himself a psychology expert and accuses various people of being "glib." (This is a performance of the script of the interview word for word.)
3. Tom goes on Oprah in the now famous couch jumping interview.
4. Clever nerds transform the video into one of Tom killing Oprah with his mind. It works quite well.
5. More insanity from Tom (ha...microphones that squirt water. ha...)
6. Oprah has James Frey back on her show to scold him after finding out his "biography" is fiction
7. Fark.com posts rumor of a Tom/Katie breakup. Farkers post amusing comments regarding it.
8. Tom Cruise has hissy fit and stomps feet. Shouts, "Glib! Glib!"
9. Clever nerds make a smashup video for Best Week Ever with pieces of Oprah's show from the jump the couch episode and the James Frey reprimand. The world smirks and waits for Tom to react.

WHAM! FLASH MOB!

Guess what tomorrow is!! No... Well, it is Valentine's day and all that mushy tripe, but what I'm excited for is the 419 virtual flash mob. Yay!..? That didn't make any sense whatsoever, so allow me to explain:

Artists against 419 is sick and tired of scammers hijacking auctions and taking advantage of people in order to weasle money out of them. Scammers regularly set up fake bank websites to convince their victims of one thing or another ending in them scuttling away with cash. These fake banks are sometimes really funny pieces of work, and they're generally not set up to support more than a few visitors at a time.

The flash mob is one day where hundreds of indignant law-abiding internet users organize to visit fake bank sites in order to bring them down, and hopefully acrue nice fat bandwidth bills for the scammer. Mwahaha!

Pop in at the AA419 site tomorrow and click away while chuckling quietly to yourself. It's so satisfying to see the results of your handiwork, as links go dead. Go ahead--feel indignant! Do it!

Sweet Fancy Moses!

This may be passe' to those of you who read cuteoverload.com, but consider the following:

Ragingly adorable, is it not? I had thought the amount of head exploding cuteness imbued in this flying squirrel from Samurai Champloo was a figment of the imagination, but NO!

Great googly moogly! Nature did it first!

The squirrel in the link above is native only to Japan, which does a lot to explain why the Japanese are so adept at creating things that make me reel from the effects of cuteness overexposure.

Speaking of Japan, my new favorite Flickr photgrapher hails from there. Here is a link to his photo sets, which are full of beautiful images taken with a very expensive digital SLR that I lust after. See in particular his most recent sets, and don't forget the wonders of the "jumping cats" set! His apartment is so clean and mod. Hey jealousy.

House of Fog and...Fog.

Just to clarify - the picture below is our foggy neighborhood from our house. No housefires, though that would have been exciting. Or...maybe not. The people across from us have a very yellowy light on their garage.

I do have some pictures of a real live housefire I saw. I'll post them if I can find them.

Yesterday was a shitty, shitty day.

Fact #1. When your fifteen minute checkup turns into your doctor sending you to get an emergency CT scan, it's not a rollicking fun time.

Fact #2. Hospitals can't even get the simplest of foods (like a turkey sandwich) right. Everything tastes like its been rolled carefully in sand and stale flour.

Fact #3. Having a CT done on your head feels like going in a time machine. You have to have your eyes closed, but all that whirring and flashing through a giant ring makes you feel like you should be disembarking at the signing of the Declaration of Independance or the unveiling of the first moon colony.

I should have the results today or tomorrow. Though I have been thinking about it, I'm not terribly worried. Thankfully, I haven't keeled over, which I assume is a good sign.

Burnin' Down the House!

Welcome to my foggy, post-apocalyptic neighborhood.

I used the Surrealist's Ebay Feedback Generator to make the critical decision on what I should leave for my most recent purchase. We bought a 1 MB iPod Shuffle, and they originally sent us a 512MB, so I thought I'd experiment with a little over the top negative feedback. Here is what was generated:

Item detestable. Beastly packaging. Immensely slow dispatch.
Notably horrid quality! Cursed packaging. Sluggish delivery.
Daunting quality. Uncomely packaging. Ever so dire delivery.
The item was detestable! Foul packaging. Abhorrent delivery.
Item abhorrent! Very, very slow dispatch. Heinous packaging.
Item sickening. Loathsome packaging. Delivery was repellent.
Rotten quality! Packaging was vile. Delivery was detestable.
Item is of heinous quality! Haglike packaging. Slow to send.
Item is of eerie quality! Slow to send. Frightful packaging.
The item was icky and lurid. Cursed packaging. Late to send.

The packaging was uncomely and haglike! I demand a refund!

Silly rabbit - when will you ever learn?

Clearly it won't be anytime soon! Those of you who read my blog from the beginning may remember a certain post where I vowed never to own fish again. Well, three years later and whaddya know? Actually, I can still feel self-righteous about that one. I don't technically own fish...yet. But I do own fish food, and have a little tank humming away here in the study.

Não ocupado!

I have finally found something to do with the stones and shells I've collected from some of the places I've been. Instead of being piled in a mug on the mantle, I've dumped them into the tank. My future fish will certainly appreciate that they're swimming over some shells from Hilton Head, some little stones from Brighton beach in England, a flat rock from Dachau, a skipping stone from Point Pelee, and some beach glass from Galveston. A weird little collection that, when put all together, represents the life of someone I maybe don't know.

Glad Day

I found out today that for the second time, I'm going to lose a pen pal. This might not initally sound like something I should be ecstatic about, but trust me--I am!

For the past 5 months, I've been exchanging letters with a little girl named Nastia in an orphanage in Odessa, Ukraine. She's earnest and sweet, and has been utterly dejected since her best friend was adopted by a family in the US a couple months ago. Weeell, today I found out (from the friend who lives in Odessa and translates my letters) that, though Nastia doesn't know it yet, a family is trying to adopt her. Not just any family, but one that is close friends with the one who adopted her best friend! Whoo! Double plus! So pray, cross your fingers, light a candle, or whatever it is you do in hopes that there won't be any problems with the adoption.

Last year my pen pal was a 13 year old boy named Dima. He'd been the parent to his three younger siblings on the street before they were put into the orphanage. He was so terrified that someone might adopt one of the other siblings, and they'd never see each other again. His dream was that they'd all be adopted together. Who'd adopt 4 siblings, ranging in age from 5 to 13? Against all odds, (and probably some common sense, but does it matter?) a couple in Maryland did just that. Crazy! I got to chat with their adoptive mom before hand, which was nice. I still get letters and pictures. The kids actually look healthy now, and so darn happy.

I'm so glad people are adopting older kids--the ones who are ready to give up hope that anyone would want them or love them. I have two little brothers from the same orphanage as Nastia and Dima. They've been in the family over a year now, and it feels like they've always been there.

But it still kills me that they say things like, "You know what's cool about living with Mom and Dad? They just give me food. I don't even have to pay for it." An eleven year old shouldn't have to think like that.

You must whip it. Whip it real good.

Many thanks to the folk at Worth1000.com.

Scam, scam and more scam!

Scam with eggs, fried scam.... uh, spam.

Really though, what's on the brain is "scam" rather than Scientifically Produced Animal Matter.

Every one of us has, at some time or another, been approached via email by a Nigerian prince / politician's wife/ Lagos cabinet member who is in "dire need of your help, dear friend!!" to shuttle several million dollars out of the country and into our personal bank account. Phew. Nothin' smells quite like a 419 scam (so named because of the Nigerian law pertaining to how it's not allowed.).

All that to say... I have highly entertained by the turn of events over the past few years that has led to people working to waste scammers' time by stringing them along to waste their time, often with hilarious results.

There are several websites dedicated to "scam baiting," as well as the satisfying practice of virtually flash-mobbing the fake bank websites scammers use and bringing them down. I realize this is something that could result in some jail time, were it being done to legal regular-joe websites, but the fact that people are getting together to crash websites used to commit crimes... it warms the old heart a bit. It's like some sort of vigilante justice, and it's poetic, in a way. Many countries do little to stop internet scams, and it's nice to know someone is paying attention, and pissed off.

Artists against 419 and Scam-o-rama are intersting sites to bumble around in for awhile. If you're feeling particularly ruthless, you can browse through the galleries on 419 Eater.
Those people are crazy pissed at scammers. They've compiled hundreds of photos they've convinced the scammers to send them in the process of pretending to be a rich little old lady who's hesitant to send money to someone she's never seen...and who inexplicably requests that the scammer be holding a sign that says something as classy as "Ben Dover" or "Phil MacCrackin." Or something much, much less classy.

As entertaining as wasting scammers' time can be, I'm not sure when it comes to the hundreds of photos of people balancing fish on their heads, holding signs that declare various potentially embarassing things, etc. Some of them are rather hilarious, but sometimes it gets to the point where it feels as though it's more about humiliating someone than stopping a potential crime. I don't know if that makes any sense. Maybe I'm overly sensitive, or being too "righteous" about it all. It's just that these people have no idea they're being humiliated. They carefully hand lettered the sign that says "Ima peta file" and put on a nice outfit, stood in front of an ugly backdrop, took their picture, and sent it to someone in a far off country.

I guess the part I need to remember is that they sent the picture, hoping they could lie well enough to convince that person to fall for their scam, sign over their nest egg, and potentially ruin their life.

Annnnd.... BAM! You thought you were safe!

Thank you Cuteoverload, thank you.

Tomorrow we will spend the evening rocking and shredding and rocking some more, as we will be packing up our Guitar Hero and taking it over to see friends who also own it, and then dueling with them in a rad fashion. Because A: we are dorks and B: it is so darn much addictive, stupid fun. For pete's sake--in order to activate your rock bonus points mid-song, you must whip the guitar heavenward in that ageless metal salute. Like so:

Disclaimer: by posting this picture, the author of this blog does not endorse or advocate Van Halen or its music. Shredding in the privacy of one's own home is much different than the above "I just rocked my way out of prison" type of look. And Van Halen makes the author want to hide under the bed and listen to Belle and Sebastian and Sufjan Stevens the rest of the day.

Jung-jung!

That would be the sound of the beginning of Law and Order, rather than, you know...Carl Jung-jung. I've been hearing more of that sound lately, as the Boy has developed a man-crush on Vincent D'Onofrio from watching Law and Order CI. The other day we were hanging out on the couch watching an episode, and realized that they were following it up with another. The boy was gleeful. When it was announced that there would be yet another episode following this one, the Boy clapped his hands like an excited fourth grader and exclaimed, "I LOVE this day!"

Har!

The crocheting is going...well, I suppose. My right hand feels like the hand of an old, old woman, though. I need some kind of special-ed big soft grip I can put on the crochet hook so I don't cramp my hand after a while. I've found a couple patterns I'm happy with too, which is nice, since I generally think of crocheting involving those lacy old lady circles. The two I like are simple, geometric, and clean as crocheting goes. None of that frou-frou "set glamour shots of your grandkids on me" doily crap.

When I have made enough of these, I plan to take over the world.
Or attach them all together to make a blanket.

Sew What?

Incidentally, I haven't yet made anything of consequence on the rocking sewing machine because of that annoying need for fabric to make things out of. I did make some quick curtains out of some...uh, other curtains, and I sewed an experimental fat little robot who turned out looking floppy and dejected.

Cheer up, fuzzbot!

Xanga-roo

I started a Xanga blog in order to comment on the paternal unit's blog. We don't see eye to eye on everything, but I'm glad he's writing and becoming involved in an (albeit small) online community.
I don't expect to be writing much over there at all, but I do like the ability to be able to easily post a currently reading/listening/watching link with a little picture. It's something I'd like Blogger to do. I'm always interested in people's recommendations. And it forces me to be interesting.

Oh No. My Head A Splode.

I have just had multiple aneurysms and head explodings while looking at this page of extreme and intense cuteness. Seriously. Prepare yourselves. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Oo! Don't forget to look at the cuteness categories--the links on the upper left side.

Oh, and happy belated Christmas and a Jolly New Year to everyone who celebrates that sort of thing, since it's my thing too. I now have a rockingly awesome sewing machine (no snickering!) and I will be making fun things and hopefully will post a picture or two.

*Sigh*

I have decided that because it's Christmas and all that, I probably won't be doing anything calculatedly hilarious and mean to annoying-girl's MySpace site. I think she may have lied about her age anyway--she looks way too young to be 20, and I don't want to break the hearts of mere children.

(The young call her the Soul Crusher, for she ruthlessly mocks their choice of music, awful grammar, and puctuation. )

The Good Old Days

This nice gentleman is glad the surgery to remove his third arm went so well.

Such a Pretty Dummy

Many people in Chihuahua, Mexico believe that the mannequin in a bridal shop window is actually the embalmed daughter of the former owner. The hubub started when the realistic dummy was first put into the window in 1930. I suppose people were used to seeing simple headless shop window dummies, perhaps? In any case, the owner finally had to make a statement through the local law that the dummy was just a dummy, and please stop these harassing calls accusing her of embalming her daughter. Curious, I looked up more pictures on "La Pascualita," and was vaguely disappointed. Then I saw this picture of her hand, and was a little weirded out.


I'm glad they don't make mannequins that realistic anymore.

Fine

Here it is, in all its glory. I'm still having a bit of a hard time not believing this is one of my clever friends playing a pretty hilarious joke on me. No? Feh, it's still hilarious.

I notice there have been some updates to her profile. How do you manage to go to middle school if you're allegedly born in 1985? Ohhhh... By having a fantastically delicate and miniscule brain?

Must...Be...Nice... Remember Christmas-time.

The misanthrope in me is being tempted to do something pretty funny, but kind of mean. But…more funny than mean. I swear. Well, okay…it would really only be funny to me and give me some satisfaction, which means I have no excuse for doing it.

Back story: Soon after I got my Comcast email address 3 years ago, I began getting the occasional email from vapid, semi-illiterate teens in Pennsylvania somewhere. I quickly figured out that some girl had been inadvertently giving out my email address, rather than her own. Oops. Not a mistake I’d probably make, but these things happen. I began replying to the emails, (gently) letting them know they have the wrong address, and they need to let “their Steph” know she has to figure out what her actual address is and stop giving out mine. Now, you’d think that if a friend told you she sent an email about her secret crush to a complete stranger because you provided her with the wrong address… that, mortified, you’d make sure your return address was set correctly, and that it didn’t happen again.

But noooo. Not only did various emails from friends, parents, and school groups increase, but she began signing up for retarded mailing lists about tanning, etc. (like, oh my gawd!)

I began to get frustrated, and reply a little more sharply to people, in hopes that they’d get the message across to this idiot. Some boy wrote multiple times about “how good last nite was,” “and how he couldn’t wait 2 look into ur eyyes again,” and when I was done laughing, I was ticked off. Why couldn’t an intelligent person with interesting friends make this mistake? (rhetorical question)

This time I poked through the headers of her attached previous email and found her actual email address. I wrote her a letter that was gentler, in retrospect, than I should have been. She responded, not with an apology, but with an “OMG! I need emails from paul can u send them to me or tell me what he said. Make me a list of emails I missd.”

Right. Now I’m your message service? I responded that I wasn’t going to be forwarding emails, and if she was interested in what people had to say, she would correct her address with them so SHE would get them, not me. Gradually, the influx of lost emails began to subside, and I trained my email to junk the mailing list messages so I don’t have to deal with them.

And then… the other day, I received an email from MySpace, letting me know that some schumck wanted to added as “one of my friends.” I was mildly confused, since, as far as I could remember, I has not signed up for anything with MySpace, which appears to be *the* place for weirdoes and teens to flirt with each other. No offense to anyone literate who has a MySpace site.

In any case, I went over to the main site and poked at the login just in case I has signed up way back when and forgotten. Nope. None of my standard passwords worked, so I clicked “I forgot my password” and they sent it, no questions asked, to…my Comcast email. More confusion for a moment as my brain slowly clicked into gear. I know I probably never signed up at MySpace, but I know for SURE that I never had “areyougay1” as my password for anything. (a light goes on in my head) oh, I see.

And this is where my temptation to do evil came in: I went to the “other” Steph’s ridiculous MySpace site, and of course, with her login and password, I can alter her site and profile. Ooo, the temptation! Here is a quote from her veritable literary work of a profile:

Okayy..well um I have a boyfriend named Dominic.We have been together for 1 month.I love him soooooo much!:)I am on a cheerleading team called the American Flyerz.Yeahh we are thee bestt teamm.We mostly get FIRST PLACE!..I have AIM and a Livejournal and obvisily a myspace.Um Yeah I love to tan.Im really dark.I love to jump on the trampoline.I can do like front flips and backflips.Well I love to listen to music and to watch T.V....Well i love my friends.There swweeeeet.Well i can be really stupid and a blonde at times.Im really outgoing and I love to have fun and just be with my friends..I really hate school.But yeah...I love to do my makeup and use lipgloss.Yeah well i love the Andy Milliknockis Show..Hahah its soooooo funny!!!!!!..Yeah well I have dark brown hair with red highlights and I have brown eyes.Yeah well um I love my hair.I jsut got it permentaly straighted and I have side bangs.Yeahhh welll...i wear Abercrombie and alll them kind of clothes.So yeahh.

I kid you not. I have not changed a letter. There is also a priceless photo of her and some friend pouting for the camera. She’s freaking 20 years old. Am I wrong to think one should be just slightly beyond this at 20?

Anyway, I am sitting on my hands like a good person, and not logging on and adding a bit about her being a bimbo or making fun of her grammatical inadequacies.

I am a good person. I am a good person. (Repeat until the urge to be mean goes away.)

My Special Best Friend

The other day I pulled up to a light and noticed a scruffy looking guy at the far corner of a building on the opposite side of the intersection. He was clearly in a heated discussion with whoever was around the corner, because he was gesticulating angrily and waving his finger. A couple times he whirled to go, and almost left the conversation entirely, but he turned back with a final word or two as the light changed.

As my car rolled by, I was curious as to what type of person he was debating, but when the corner came into view, all I saw was a large window he was stading in front of. "Is he arguing with someone inside?" I wondered stupidly.

...Until I pulled level and realized that in the plate glass was a full length reflection of the guy, as he picked the argument with himself back up where it had left off.

I hope he and his friend have someplace warm to sleep, and something to eat.

Jolly Old St. Nick

This gallery of children hating their visits with Father Christmas himself made me say things like, "Oh, poor baby! (tee heeehee.)" Am I awful that pictures of crying children make me giggle? Actually, I don't think I can be that bad. I got really mad and threw a remote once when a "funniest video" program showed a genuinely terrified 4 year old being chased around and around the car by a huge angry turkey. The parents thought it was so hilarious that they didn't bother opening the car door until the poor kid had almost shrieked himself hoarse. Stupid freaking "parents." It still makes me angry to think about it. That kid will need years of therapy.

In any case... these kids generally seem more pissed off than terrified, which makes it...uh, okay to laugh? Mall Santas must have to deal with so many uncooperative tots.

I'm not exactly Santa-crazy, but I think that J.R.R. Tolkien's book of Letters from Father Christmas that he wrote each year to his children is really sweet and magical.

Getting all Christmassy and Stuff

It is a rare thing indeed that I get this close to Christmas without the house being suffused in lights and wintery goodness and a carol playing in my heart.

Uh, but somehow I managed it this year. And I'm not even working retail.

It's not that I don't want the Christmas spirit--Lord knows it's my very favorite time of year. It's just been so busy and yahddah yaddah excuses...

I was expecting to see most of my family, and it turns out they won't be here after all, so I'm having to reset my "stuff I'm looking forward to" meter. However...last Christmas was really wonderful--family wasn't in town, so it was quiet and low-key, and we hung out with some friends that we love. I can look forward to that. For sure.

Incidentally,

it was surgery on the spot for my dad, who apparently was having multiple little heart attacks to demonstrate to the doctors that he needed an angioplasty NOW. He's doing well--came home a day after surgery, which is a bit spooky, but the doctors said he'll be just fine. He sounds as though he's in much better spirits. Wa-phew...

Role Reversal

It's funny just how much I worry about my parents now. When you're little they can do anything and know everything, and now that I'm an adult, I'm sometimes horrified at how helpless and uninformed they can be. I find myself being protective and anxious about them, the same way they probably were of me.

When I found out my dad's heart condition had worsened suddenlywhile on a business trip, I found myself worrying that Mom would meet him at the airport to drag him off to a prayer meeting rather than the hospital. Thankfully though, she seems to be handling it pretty realistically, and is even taking charge by calling Northwest and forcing them (though it was "against policy") to tell her if Dad safely boarded the plane from Chicago to come home and be treated. Go Mom. I need to remember that although her resources are not the ones I would use, she can be resourceful. She has to be, after having birthed 6 babies and adopted 2. Which..uh..again, is NOT something I would choose.

Dad, though resourceful, ignores pain, and tends to forget things, which drives me to distraction. Apparently, Mom will call tonight once they see his doctor and find out whether he has to have surgery on the spot or what-have-you. I hate the fact that they're half a country away.

Oh, and... New Music

Though it probably isn't new to many of you, I think this is a very keen idea. It's a "Musical Genome Project" called Pandora. One types in a starting point song or band, and it uses a list as long as your arm about the qualities of the song to determine what you might like next. You can customize as you go, and create numerous different playlists within a certain genre. It isn't always perfect, but it's mighty impressive, and I've stumbled onto some good new music already. I'm listening even as I type.

Those are NOT his eyes....

Anna has started a blog, and it's a lovely thing. I recommend reading the reviews as well--she has given the new Over The Rhine album 5 out of 5 stars, with which I utterly agree.

She also wrote about a children's birthday party with Dora the Explorer coming to visit. Little kids are so funny. It reminds me of the time I was helping out with a special story time at the bookstore--Curious George was going to be there...in, uh..person. Some of the kids were thrilled, but there was, as usual, the terrified group. One tiny little boy shrieked and hid behind his mother until he was brave enough to peek out and scrutinize the person in the awkward Curious George costume. His expression got more and more critical, and I heard him murmer disapprovingly, "Those are NOT his eyes. Those are not his eyes!" Eventually he gathered the courage to inch closer and cautiously address the character in a warning tone, "George...? I think there's someone in you."

Haa! Little kids... The other day I was making a little story for my three year old niece with some weirdly deformed little sponge dinasours she had. After a while, she came back over and asked, "'Scuse me, Auntie Ef? Can we have some dinosaur talk again?"

Head exploding cuteness.

Let Us Not, And Live!

One of today's installments of "must be seen web comics" is the enigmatic and often head-explodingly cute Patches by Kelly Vivanco. These are short, semi-daily affairs that usually encompass a single thought or exchange. It's quirky, and often makes me laugh out loud. Or at least snort softly to myself.

_______________________________________________________

Paul Taylor's Wapsi Square is not my usual type of comic, but I enjoy the art, and there are bits of mystery woven into the stories of otherwise everyday folks. You really ought to start at the beginning if you intend to read it. You'll find it starts with more stand-alone strips as charcters are introduced. The comic at this point is a continuous story in a series of arcs, so reading the current one will probably make exactly no sense if you haven't gotten the back story. The art has morphed quite a bit since the beginning; though I liked it at the start, I think it's really come into its own now.

The main character is Monica, a girl who who specializes in art/artifacts from Latin America at her local museum. Throw in a cheeky bunch of friends, and the Aztec god of alcohol(?), and voila! Wapsi Square!

Honey, I Sure Miss You

A lovely momentary daily escape can be found at James Kochalka's website, American Elf. This is one of the ones I page through every day. Each comic is a short journal - a little snippet of something that actually happened that day or the day before. The content ranges from a thoughtful little statement with some art to accompany, to rock and roll experiences, to sweet little moments with his son and wife. It's everything from earthy to hilarious.

I've been reading American Elf for a couple years now--since before James's son Eli was born, and I almost feel like I've seen Eli grow up.

Comics can be read daily for free, and archives can be accessed with a subscription.

Kochalka is not just an artist. He is also, incidentally, a SUPERSTAR. Really. I bet that is what his card says. There is some very fun music of his on the site, (Honey I Sure Miss You is a cover of a Daniel Johnston song he did) and I believe he also has some stuff on MP3.com. Hurrah for American Elves!

Follow

Follow is a comic by one of my favorite web artists, Hwei Lim. It's quite old, by web standards (2002) so not all the links on this page probably work.

The story is that of a boy searching fairy tale realms to find his lost friend. It has a sort of dark Through the Looking Glass meets The Snow Queen feel.

Sadly, the comic is not complete; however, the art is lovely enough to warrant reading through what's there. The main chracter of the story reminds me of the Little Prince.

To those who enjoy the art, search out Hwei Lim on the web. She has comics and galleries hidden (and often abandoned) many places.

Why I have to love Japan

Because everyone in town knows who you're talking about when you mention Gutsy Radish.

Wee Timerous Beastie

The evening was usual--the Boy and I in the study on our respective computers, doing what we do... until Boo came trotting proudly into the room with a live mouse in his jaws. Now I'm not the squeally type--in fact, my first reactions was, "Aw crap! Now we're going to have to get a whole new round of shots for the cats." My second reaction was to grab Boo and shake the mouse out of his mouth and sigh as it skittered into the corner and buried its head under a scrap of paper, the only available shelter. Poor thing. I tried to be ruthless. I really did. The Boy was adamant. "It'll just come back into the house and breed. Let the cats take care of it. It's nature's way." Well, nature's way is not always the best way. Say we're watching someone fall off a bridge: oh well, I mean--lungs filling up with water just=death. It's nature's way."

Shut up, you! I know most metaphors don't bear close examination.

In any case, by the time I was done being conflicted, Boo had pounced like lightning and was hurredly secreting the mouse back down the stairs. I chased him until the basement door, and then gave up. (Oh well, "nature's way" and all. I really don't want to see the end of this.)

The cats were both so excited and agitated. Pokey old Nihao was huffing and pouncing on every shadow. Probably because they present less of a challenge than a live, moving mouse would.

In any case, I forgot about it for a while, until I was in the bathroom, er...busy, and Boo wandered in. "Fine," I told him. "As long as you haven't brought your..."
Oh Crikey. He had. And he dropped it directly on top of a stack of towels, where it dazedly burrowed under one. Fervently praying it would stay put, I grabbed a box and scooped it up.

Robert Burns comes to mind: To a Mouse, On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,
O, what panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!...

And so on.

One of Burns's points is that he evies the mouse, only knowing the present and not dwelling on the past or fearing the future. Though I love the poem, I just can't agree. One of the things that makes me happy is thinking about times other than the present. Not to say the present isn't lovely, but being unable to remember or imagine the future--I think that's the absence of creativity, and a whole lot of other things. I would be a sad tomato indeed if I were unable to hope or recollect memories that are dear to me. If occasionally remembering bad things or fearing what's to come is the price I pay for that, so be it.

Woo. Tangent.

So don't tell the Boy, but I took the mouse-in-a-box to the bottom of the garden and gently set it there. If a certain mouse happens to chew its way to freedom and make its way to the (closer) neighbor's house, well that's just nature's way, isn't it?

Named after a German Budgie

The new computer (which, on our network we have dubbed Friendy II) is dreeeamy.

I did a long-ass browse through various internet comics today. A couple years ago, I felt like I was pretty up to speed on the cool-cat community of college age comic makers (alliteration, anyone?) and artists who are better than I'll ever be. I've been vaguely sad because some of the more beloved galleries and stories either wrapped up, or wasted away un-updated for years, and I consequently lost track of my favorite artists. I *knew* they had to be up to something, and now I'm beginning to stumble back onto them, linked from other sites, or mentioned here and there. Hurrah, kids! You're too good to stop arting!

More later, in which I will offer links to various folk of whom I am fond.

La-lala-lala... Interesting Drug.

(as in Morrissey song)

But in real life, this new drug is interesting as well. I was kindly informed by a sister, thus:

PANEXA

"Lots of detailed information, including IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR SQUIRRELS."

We should all be sure to arm ourselves before going to the doctor.

And I Shall Name it Hal....

Indubitably, the thrilling news of the hour is the fact that I am finally getting a new computer. Not that I don't enjoy this lumpy, doddering laptop (fingers crossed--please don't crash!), oh no. I love it. Okay, really, I'm not being entirely sarcastic. Despite the fact that it pokes along at sub-snail speeds and has a coughing fit whenever I try to open multiple applications, it has served its noble purpose (see last post for hint as to what noble purpose could be.).

The keen part of the new computer is that is is a Boy brand computer. In other words, he's actually building it. It's actually WAY cheaper than buying a premade system. You don't have to waste money on things that are non-essential, and you can bulk up the things that make your machine a monster if you want, or plan to leave places for additions that will increase the monster-tude later.

If you could see me right now, you'd know I'm tapping my fingers together under my chin and chuckling in a sinister way.

Brats of the Information Revolution

I'm one. Guilty.

I sometimes get a little consternated as just how much I depend on technology. My first response to the Apolcalyse would most likely be to run and look up some wilderness survival crap online. Until I realized that the internet no longer existed. At which point, I would get hysterical, sit down and cry.

If the internet's down, or the Boy's on my computer for some reason, I get antsy. I'm used to having things pop into my head, and within a half hour, having a basic working knowledge of whatever it was I was curious about, thanks to the information revolution. Case in point: the Boy was fixing/installing/updating something on my computer tonight, and I was huffing and pacing, peering over his shoulder, until I realized that a BOOK I owned probably contained at least a start on what it was I needed to find out about. A BOOK. With paper pages.

While I certainly don't yearn for the days of the card catelogue, I do kind of miss HAVING to go to the library. I still love the library--that certain swishy silence punctuated by the occasional whisper or page turning--magic. Just being surrounded by all those books was somehow a healing experience.

The internet has bred in me the unignorable (?) tendancy to EXPECT to get answers within minutes on whatever it is I'm wondering about. As a result, do I wonder about more things? I think I must, in some ways. I can't imagine the cluttered warehouse my brain would be if I had to actually remember what it was that piqued my interest, wait until I had the time to go to the library, decide which books were most likely to help, and then leaf through thousands of pages that may or may not have what I'm looking for. Chaos! (or as a friend laughingly puts it: "Chouse!") I think I just plain spent much more time Not Knowing in those days---a state of being which I hate.

I think what would bother me the most, were I forced into a dreary dimension where books were the sole means of gathering information, is that I would only be able to draw on the thoughts of people who actually took the time and money to write and have a book published. This was particularly the case tonight, when I was researching a medical condition I was curious about. Besides the official medical info, I wanted opinions from people who had dealt with things, how their doctors responded, and what the best way to prepare for the appointment would be. I adore that this sort of thing that exists in the self-publishing mecca that is the internet.

Look--I have a blog!

Some things best forgotten

I've been reading Michael Ende's The Neverending Story, and unlike many childhood loves that turn out to be ridiculously dumb when read/viewed as an adult, I'm enjoying every minute of it. The book is translated from German, which gives some of the language a slightly strange feel now and again, but this adds beautifully to the feel of the story. As a child, I adored the film, and hadn't realized (in relative terms)just how true much of the dialogue was to the book.

I know it may be treason in some circles to say this, but I've realized as an adult that "The Dark Crystal" was something of a boring movie. I recalled certain scenes with delight after seeing it as a child--the moment when the cute fuzzy creature bursts out of its burrow, with hugely wide open jaws, the death of the "good guy leader" vs. "the bad guy leader" when the good fades away, and the bad just sort of crumbles to dust. I seem to remember something about creatures with very looong skinny legs that ran quickly. That's about it. I had wondered why I'd so throughly fogotten the rest of the film, and it turns out that I had remembered the only parts that were really interesting. The rest of it is a sort of yawn-worthy blur of slow moving, chanting muppets. Sorry, die-hard fans.

One thing I would like to see again is "The Last Unicorn." I have a feeling that though the animation may be a bit dated, it will turn out to be as magical as I remember it being. That's another book I ought to read. I was amused to find that there were several t-shirts available on Amazon. This one rocks. "The Last Unicorn" is a Rankin-Bass production, so that's in its favor. Rankin-Bass also did the animated version of "The Hobbit," which contains my definitve golum voice. The music from Rankin-Bass productions is always memorable.

Enough rambling. I'm going to update my Netflix que.

If Flattery Can Even Have a Sincere Form...

I'm such a coppity cat. Patrice did a little retrospective, and I'll be darned if I'm not going to do the same. In my everyday life there's so little of the "ten years ago" era left, but what's held on has held on well. Other than family, there are 2 people left in my life from then, and I expect them to be part of the story for much longer. One is a British Lit teacher from highschool who's still a dear friend, and the other is now a brother-in-law (also a good friend).

Ten years ago:
I was a freshman in college breathing a sigh of relief at having FINALLY escaped my mother/drill sergeant. My relationship with her has softened a good deal since then, though I sometimes still firmly believe she's nuts. At that point it was all about getting out from under The Thumb of the hyper-spiritual, legalistic BS that was flying around and contributing to the many baggages I'm trying to get rid of today. The college was small, and in the middle of nowhere, but it couldn't have been more heavenly. I had a (small) space that was MINE, with no fear of the gestapo reading my mail or journal, or rifling through my books and music for innocuous things to be shocked at, disapprove of, and destroy. Looking back, I'm sort of amazed that I didn't fly off the deep end and get addicted to crack while selling my body. I'm sort of amazed that none of the children from that family (so far) have done that.

Five years ago:
It was all about music. I had to go poke through a journal to see what was happening. I had musically hooked up with some boys with guitars and drums, and it was a rollicking good time. We were playing shows, recording like gangbusters in the basment, and generally doing a lot of laughing and goofing off. I believe it was also the year we started getting played on the radio around here, which was a completely surreal experience. I think this was sort of the peak of the "eating, sleeping and breathing music era." None of use were attached to anyone romantically, we had all finished college, and the songs practically wrote themselves. I sometimes get a little nostagic for that time. I had a tight-knit circle of friends. We were creative--would take our cameras out and wander around various places shooting photos. We went to lots of shows, we made lots of music, and watched lots of good film etc. I'm kind of sad about Now--not because I don't go to many shows etc., but because I don't really *want* to go to many. I prefer to be quiet at home with a Boy and a book. I wonder if secretly I was always a quiet homebody, and was just waiting for the right boy and a place that I could "own." The circle of friends still keeps in touch occasionally, though I do see some more regularly. Music is still something I adore. It doesn't explode around me like it did though. Maybe it will again someday, bt for now, it's more of a quiet, personal thing.

As good as five years ago was, it would not be right for me now, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Five years ago, a friend had suggested she introduce me to a friend of her husband's--some Boy she thought I might get along with. Five years ago we met, and I didn't particularly like him. And two years after that, we got married.

Currently: it's a sunny autumn day, and I'm in my dear little house, procrastinating instead of working, with a cat sprawled across the top of the monitor making cranky noises when she stretches. I'm going to go visit my sister and little niece this afternoon. I know the Boy will be home a few hours after that, and we'll grill some tuna steaks and watch an episode or two of Firefly. Then we'll lie in bed and read books until it's time to go to sleep.

"Currently" is good.

Clump of Souls

After frothing at the mouth and raving about the gloriously ridiculous Katamari Damacy, it's pointless to discuss why and how much I like the follow up PS2 game, "We (heart) Katamari." The title says it all. Yes. I heart it. With many hearts.

This incarnation of the bizarre Japanese roll-athon makes no bones about the fact that it's only back because so many people thought the first one was the bee's knees. "What is it they love about me?" the massive King of the Cosmos muses, "Could it be that my head is of such a cool shape? Could it be my tights? Could it be my chin? Yes. Clearly it is my magnificent chin that the fans swoon for." (paraphrased)

There are always going to be some annoying things, to be sure--on a few levels it's really difficult to get the katamari to a point that will satisfy the king and the fan who requested that particular roll-up. It's also still difficult for me to do the rocket roll move without pressing L3 and R3 doing flipping completely around. I have clumsy thumbs. Bad, bad thumbs.

For the most part though, I find myself playing with a big dumb grin on my face, as I did the first one. It's silly, and it's just plain fun.
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Also qualifying for the "just plain fun" category is the not-so-high seas adventure of Puzzle Pirates. I take a certain wicked glee in the fact the no less than three friends have signed up and been soundly hooked in the past couple weeks. We finally met up (or our little digital avatars did) on a northern island, traded piratey swag, and chatted for a good while. It's nice to just pop on and say hi to a friend far away, and even nicer to collaboratively play a fun puzzle-type game with them.

What I need to be more conscious of is the severe nerd-i-tude emanating from public conversations about playing Puzzle Pirates. Offhand comments like, "Oh--I quit my distilling job and now I work at the apothecary. It's the best way to make POE without pillaging all the time," do little to enlighten any surrounding folk who may not be familiar with the game. In fact, talk about how your crew all up and moved to another island, but you're staying until the iron monger you placed and order with is done your sword... this may only serve to alienate people.

I do my best to be socially acceptable. Sometimes I suck though.

At the Risk of Smashing a Camera...

Three cheers for the brave souls who set long exposure times and fling their cameras up into the air. The results are pretty gorgeous.

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So the week o' wedding is over (for those of us not being married), and I must say that as chaotic and crazy-go-nuts as it could be, the end result was just plain... a good party.

It was outside among some massive trees on a little hill with a gazebo. The weather was gorgeous--breezy and cool, but still sunny. Ann told Ms. Bride, "I don't know what dance you did to get this weather, but whatever it was...it worked." There were some trees with tiny yellow leaves that fluttered down like petals during the processional. Beautiful.

It was also lovely to see and chat with people I hadn't seen...uh, or chatted with in years. It makes me resolve to be more intentional in my friendships. Good friends are dear things--I realize this more and more as I get older.

Hippity Happity Anniversary.

Post vacation reflections:

I may have eaten enough seafood while on vacation to last me the rest of my natural born days.

Sorry. No more driving more than 900 miles one way for vacation. After the tenth hour I get ants in my pants and want to kick out the car windows and leap onto passing semis like someone from a Gorillaz video.

One can never take too many fuzzy, distant pictures of a gator that happened to flop up near the back deck of the condo.

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Now, back to the Gorillaz video - There were no semis in the video for "Feel Good, Inc." but this is the one I was thinking of. It reminds me of scenes from Last Exile. I find it highly entertaining and appropriate that, as a band composed of animated characters, Gorillaz would, in an interview, speak about the making of the video as if it were live action. .

“Apart from the obvious thing, which is my gyrating hips,” he (bassist Murdoc) explained, “The coolest thing about the video would be the hydraulics on this gig. Just for the windmill section alone cost about 3.5 million pounds. That's sterling. We had to buy a small island, make a mould of it and then scrape out all the insides. When that was done we filled the whole thing full of helium. Using the motor from the windmill we managed to get the thing to float, but it was an absolute bugger.”

Snort! Snicker!

Crikey!

We're here on Hilton Head Island, after an interminable drive (albeit through some very gorgeous mountainous landscapes). The condo we're staying in is lovely--a 2 bedroom affair with massive windows and a deck overlooking a bayou that seems to be filled with graceful white herons and, uh...alligators. The Boy and I have been discussing whether we're awful people for watching the ducks and wondering if they're going to be summarily consumed by an alligator from below.

Hilton Head is a weird place in some ways. It's just lovely, filled with beautiful beaches and great restaurants...but every shrub, every oleander, every blade of grass is cultivated and sculptured. We were joking earlier that a pelican couldn't poop here without a landscaper rushing over and rearranging it into something attractive.

So far we've been incredibly lazy, and have eaten a lot of good seafood. Eventually we'll do things like dolphin watching tours and a day cruise to Savannah to poke around look at the fun southern gothic architecture and Civil War era graveyards.

Today at the beach I was slightly startled to see a pod of dolphins lazily cresting just off shore. The Boy managed to get within 20 feet of one. After bobbing around until we were absolutely prune-like, we wandered up the beach, dripping, and got ice cream. The taste of ice cream at the same time as smelling the ocean gave me a flashback to the days when our family would travel to the Jersey shore during the summer back when I was in first grade. The ocean has a wonderful, fresh, salty smell.

There's a dead tree on the other side of the bayou that becomes lacy with huge white herons right before the sun sets. They're all jostling each other and flapping about right now.

Yesterday we went to Savannah to pick up a friend who's joined us, and we all ended up wandering down into the historical district along the waterfront and trundling down the cobblestone streets until we found a place that served killer cajun food. We headed home full of shrimp, cornbread, and beignets. *sigh* So lovely.

Arr, Me Hearrrties!

Avast! I may have used this title for a post already. I occasionally have little fits of pirateism that must be indulged.

Actually, I've had a long and drawn-out fit of pirateism for the last few months, thanks to Puzzle Pirates. It's a little multiplayer online game that offers one heck of a long free demo for download. One's character is a rather lego-looking little pirate who can go island hopping, chat with fellow players, and play addictive puzzle games along the lines of tetris and bejeweled in order to interact with their world in such things as sailing, swordfighting, drinking, bilging, etc. If pirates had little chipper, round faces, were squeaky clean, and would rather challenge you to a puzzle than draw and quarter you, this would be just like sailing the high seas!

I'm a dork because I get into the ridiculous stuff like deciding which island to apply for citizenship on, or saving up for a new, more piratey outfit, or furnishing my shack with fancy little goodies. The thing I like the most about it though, is the fact that it's a darn fun way to interact with friends who are far away. I recommend it, even to non-gamers. The puzzles are not hard to learn, and they're good fun. If anyone would like to try it out, let me know, and I'll share some pieces of eight, and extra swag with ye (er...you.) so you don't have to start at the bottom of the barrel. It's handy to have someone to show you around at first too.

If you already play Puzzle Pirates, my pirate is called Miett, and she's on the Midnight Ocean--send me a "tell" and we can get together and maybe go on a nice relaxing Sunday afternoon pillage...

Vacating

In a couple weeks, something rare and wonderful will be occurring, much like a blue moon, or a phoenix rising from the ashes...or a two headed turtle... or something. For the first time ever in our married lives, (honeymoon excluded) and pretty much the first time in the Boy's entire life, we will be going on a VACATION together. I'm all a-flurry!

We're going to Hilton Head Island, which is kind of funny, because it's a fancy dancy golf resport and we are neither fancy-dancy, nor do we golf. BUT it has pretty beaches, good food, and one can go swimming, play with dolphins etc, or have a boat dump you on one of the little nearby islands for the afternoon so you can poke through old graveyards or have a picnic. Also close by is Savannah, Georgia, which I have wanted to visit since I read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It's supposed to be a really intersting town, with lots of gorgeous southern gothic architecture, and fantastic old cemetaries.

All I can say, is that I hope the Boy gets a taste for vacations. Planning and looking forward to something is almost as happy a thing as going on the trip.

On the positive side...

It's odd that, although for the most part, I'm enjoying Psychonauts, I can only play for limited amounts of time. Now games like Dark Cloud 2, or Katamari Damacy, I negotiate by getting everything done in real life so I can play for large chunks of time... But Psychonauts is different, for some reason. I just end up turning the game off after an hour or so. Hmm.

I must admit, it has one of the most entertaining and wildly varying series of levels I've encountered. You pop into the subconscious of someone with a Napoleon complex, and find you're a miniature piece on a terrain model battle map, which, up close, is a sunny countryside divided into sections. It's fun to run about on. Slightly less fun, however, is dealing with the game in that area.

Another level is in the subconscious of a Spanish painter - The level is called Black Velvetopia, which should give a hint as to what things look like. There are no whites at all--everything looks like...well, a painting on black velvet. This was probably my favorite level. The boss fights were reasonable, and everything was just so darn...neat to look at. I suppose having to avoid a massive magenta bull that comes hurtling down the narrow street you're trying to traverse every 6 seconds or so could get old pretty quickly, but fortunately, I found it more entertaining than anything.

Ah well. Toro!

Cycle-Nots!

The only occasionaly bane of my existence is Psychonauts (for the PS2). I'm about 10 hours in, and have spent some time mucking around in some of the more enjoyable aspects of the game--bouncing really high on a big ball of psychic energy, exploring, and shooting stuff with my mind. Oh--I also sort of enjoy the "collecting stuff" aspect of the game, although I know many people would grind their teeth about this. A lot.

The setting(s) are entertaining: the game takes place at a (government sponsored) woodsy children's camp, where potential psychics are trained in the arts of levitation, focusing mental energy, and burning stuff with your mind. Oh, and you can prolly go canoeing too. The camp is extensive, and eventually, you can also run the about in people's minds as well, for completely different levels. While you're in there, you can clean up mental cobwebs, and clear out emotional baggage. And when I say emotional baggage, I actually mean it. Like, crying duffle bags, and sobbing purses. I wish it were this easy. I'd totally be a shrink, if all it took was popping into someone's subconscious to dust and organize crap.

The thing that really makes me flail and stomp is the boss fights. Some of them require you to do something so arbitrary and weird that you've wasted most of your lives before you figure out what the heck is expected of you. The thing that bothered me the most, though, was an encounter with a completely random and detached boss on a particular level. I was walking along, minding my own business, when I fell through the sidewalk into a fiery cave where I was forced to waste lives and health increasers on a boss who had absolutely NOTHING to do with the level or the game, and for whom beating held no reward to speak of. In fact, it felt almost as if the boss had snuck in from another game. Zelda, perhaps. When, in a flurry of cursing, I defeated the boss, my words were, (through clenched teeth) I *never* want to do that again."

1. Pause game
2. Save to make sure nothing happens to make me have to accidentally have to relive that.

Imagine my joy when abruptly, 10 minutes later, I fell through the sidewalk AGAIN, and had to fight the SAME boss I had just killed, again for no reward or benefit. I was thrilled. What is this? Busy work? For pete's sake, it's a video game! Isn't a time waster IN a time waster a little redundant?? Are they trying to draw out the game somehow?

Other than that sort of crap, the game has been fairly interesting. I'll give a final verdict later.

The Bee's Knees

Or in my case, "the bee's stinger in my knee." Technically a wasp. Ow. Darn those flying snippets of evil. Bees I don't have a problem with. They make hunny (rum-pumpum) and they actually die if they sting you, because they leave their stinger behind, along with what looks like a chunk of guts. I tend to imbue them with logic and such: "Well, I know that huge human is wearing that gawd-awful shirt, but is it really worth the price of death to sting them for it? I'll wait until someone gets a fly swatter. Then I'll attack."

Wasps sting with impunity. And because they *like* to, the little bastards. Actually, the particular sting to which I refer was more educational than anything. At the age of 5-ish, I stuck a stick into a large ground hornet colony and was "well rewarded" for my efforts. Supposedly, I am semi-immune to wasp stings because of it. The sting hurt like the dickens for about 5 minutes, and then almost completely went away, leaving a large but unswollen red mark. And that's how it stayed, with the exception of some itching over the next couple days.

Long, dumb story made longer and dumber.

I realized the other day just how much I like life recently. Incredibly, I am not on medication. I'm just rather content and happy. Which...is really sort of strange. Not that I've never been content or happy before--or indeed, both at the same time. Oh yes, I've managed it--but it's just that this seems to be a pretty permanent state.
I suppose it could have to do with the contrast of the first five months of this year to the last three months. The last three months have just been...good. I'm gaining back a sense of self, a little dignity (but not too much), I'm purging myself of unrealistic expectations and unnecessary guilt, and have worked at putting completely out of my mind the things that make my bloodpressure rise. Surprisingly, it's pretty much worked. And now, apparently, I've also just written a trite and slightly annoying self-help book (see above paragraph, which is long and boring.).