As they were ripping up strata of various horrendous layers of flooring in the kitchen, the guys came across a 1954 magazine stuffed, in its entirety, beneath a "tasteful" green and gold vinyl faux tile layer. How odd. I'll write more about it later if there's anything interesting when I've had a chance to look at it. I suspect it was the same person that hid an entire 1945 issue of the Pontiac News in the cover of the fold-down ironing board. I decoupaged it onto the inside of a closet door.
Another thing that revealed itself in the kitchen was a hole in the original wood floor that was corked with...well, a cork. It's a cork from an old wine bottle. I have no idea what the hole was for.
One more paper item we found soon after we moved in was a map of Vietnam torn from a newspaper in 1962, and tacked inside a closet door. The headline reads "Where Our Boys Are."
Friday, September 01, 2006
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Small Stories: This one probably wasn't so small
Kitchen renovation draws near, as in "tomorrow" near. As I was moving things out of the room today, I came across an old postcard mixed in with my boxes. It caught my eye because the front was almost completely white, though it was scuffed and blotchy. I turned it over because I couldn't remember receiving anything like that, and lo and behold, I hadn't: (address erased)
There are a few mysteries to solve here:
The first was how this postcard came to mixed in with my stacks of boxes. As I flipped the card over again, I realized why the front looked strange. It was covered with paint. Then the tape on the front made sense--someone had taped this thing to the wall, then painted over it. Somehow I'd knocked it off and into my stuff. I scoured the wall for a postcard sized mark in the paint, and didn't find one, until later I happened to notice the mark on the bottom of a shelf in a cupboard. Mystery...uh, solved?
Here are the facts:
Holmes is the name of the people who lived here before us. Earldine and... her husband had some equally awkward name.
When we bought the house, Mr. Holmes had broken a hip and was unable to navigate the stairs. They were both in their 70s, it seemed.
Their son was supposed to be taking care of the house while they lived in an assisted facility. He didn't. There was a pile of trash out front that looked like a Jersey landfill when we first saw the place. There were heaps of junk in the garage, basement, and every other conceiveable palce something could be stuffed. Their son was supposed to move the remaining junk and furniture out of the house before we moved in. He took the tv and left everything else, including family photos and book keeping. I don't think much of their son.
One of the bedrooms was obviously used by someone younger (I can only assume their son). It was covered in chewed gum, and a lock was defiantly adhered to the bedroom door using several gazillion nails. Whatever kid lived there had absolutely no respect for the house. I assume it was the same kid who clumsily nailed a million random nails into the stairs to keep them from squeeking when he snuck out. Okay--that's a bit of artisitc license, but it makes sense, right? Some pissy kid--punches holes in his wall, insists on locking his room, leaves chewed gum all over everything, and sneaks out at night. Sounds like an absolute joy.
The second mystery seems to have solved itself. I can only assume that Bill was the son in question. It stands to reason that HE is that damn gum chewing kid. The postmark on the card looks like either 1986 or 1996, which would put Bill in his 30s or 40s at the time, maybe?
So for whatever reason, it seems Bill was living with/mooching off his parents, having an affair with a married woman (codename: Legs ?!), and bitching to his mistress on the phone (on his parents' tab) about how boring it was living with Mom. What a winner. I knew I hated that guy from the start.
Another mystery is who this "Legs" is, and why she didn't just hand-write the darn postcard. I also can't conceive of why she'd cheat on her husband with a whiney schmuck living with his parents.
Why the heck would someone tape this postcard to the bottom of a shelf, and paint over it? Was it Earldine, who found it first and was hiding it from her son? Was it the ever-juvenile Bill, hiding it from his parents, and if so, why the kitchen, of all places? Why paint over it? Perhaps someone stuck it there and it was inadvertantly painted over later? We'll never know.
The final mystery will most likely remain unsolved forever. And it is:
Cletus??!? Seriously??
There are a few mysteries to solve here:The first was how this postcard came to mixed in with my stacks of boxes. As I flipped the card over again, I realized why the front looked strange. It was covered with paint. Then the tape on the front made sense--someone had taped this thing to the wall, then painted over it. Somehow I'd knocked it off and into my stuff. I scoured the wall for a postcard sized mark in the paint, and didn't find one, until later I happened to notice the mark on the bottom of a shelf in a cupboard. Mystery...uh, solved?
Here are the facts:
Holmes is the name of the people who lived here before us. Earldine and... her husband had some equally awkward name.
Here is Earldine in her heyday.
When we bought the house, Mr. Holmes had broken a hip and was unable to navigate the stairs. They were both in their 70s, it seemed.
Their son was supposed to be taking care of the house while they lived in an assisted facility. He didn't. There was a pile of trash out front that looked like a Jersey landfill when we first saw the place. There were heaps of junk in the garage, basement, and every other conceiveable palce something could be stuffed. Their son was supposed to move the remaining junk and furniture out of the house before we moved in. He took the tv and left everything else, including family photos and book keeping. I don't think much of their son.
One of the bedrooms was obviously used by someone younger (I can only assume their son). It was covered in chewed gum, and a lock was defiantly adhered to the bedroom door using several gazillion nails. Whatever kid lived there had absolutely no respect for the house. I assume it was the same kid who clumsily nailed a million random nails into the stairs to keep them from squeeking when he snuck out. Okay--that's a bit of artisitc license, but it makes sense, right? Some pissy kid--punches holes in his wall, insists on locking his room, leaves chewed gum all over everything, and sneaks out at night. Sounds like an absolute joy.
The second mystery seems to have solved itself. I can only assume that Bill was the son in question. It stands to reason that HE is that damn gum chewing kid. The postmark on the card looks like either 1986 or 1996, which would put Bill in his 30s or 40s at the time, maybe?
So for whatever reason, it seems Bill was living with/mooching off his parents, having an affair with a married woman (codename: Legs ?!), and bitching to his mistress on the phone (on his parents' tab) about how boring it was living with Mom. What a winner. I knew I hated that guy from the start.
Another mystery is who this "Legs" is, and why she didn't just hand-write the darn postcard. I also can't conceive of why she'd cheat on her husband with a whiney schmuck living with his parents.
Why the heck would someone tape this postcard to the bottom of a shelf, and paint over it? Was it Earldine, who found it first and was hiding it from her son? Was it the ever-juvenile Bill, hiding it from his parents, and if so, why the kitchen, of all places? Why paint over it? Perhaps someone stuck it there and it was inadvertantly painted over later? We'll never know.
The final mystery will most likely remain unsolved forever. And it is:
Cletus??!? Seriously??
Sunday, August 27, 2006
It's good to have fiends. Er, friends.
First of all, it's even better to have fiends who also happen to be your friends. We spent the better part of an afternoon at IKEA yesterday buying a kitchen, and Shaundrea (That's 2 links in one word) stuck around the entire freaking time while we did ordering paperwork, waiting, and more waiting. I am kind of boggled. Thanks, guys! You're very patient and brave. Seriously. Next time we hang out, maybe we can do something other than sitting on a (albeit very cute) waiting room couch at IKEA for 4 hours.
Now that stuff has been delivered, the living room looks like a cardboard forest that's slowly blossoming into various cabinets as we build them. It's actually gotten to the point where the downstairs is so taken over by stuff that it's not distressing anymore, which is nice. It's more about anticipating a new kitchen, and packing up extras and having them out of the way. Whee! I can do both of those things very well.
One good thing about knowing where we'll end up living is that we know there will be a Costco there. Blessed be--there are 2 in Cinci, so we renewed our membership today and trawled the aisles, gathering massive packages of toilet paper and such.
We also got some fresh trout, which is NOT something we would have considereduntil recently, but for some reason we both ordered fish when we ate out not too long ago, and it was downright scrumptious. Tonight we improvised and made a variation on the earlier dish--trout fillets rolled in finely crushed almonds and spices, then pan-fried in butter. We cut up a whole lime and squeezed it over the fish, and it was really nice--suddenly the toasted almonds had more flavor, and it was nice with the more subdued flavor of the trout. Yum. I did homemade whipped cream with splenda and a vanilla pod, and we dipped a bunch of fresh strawberries in it for desert. Hurrah for low-carb meals where you still feel a tad luxourious! It's weird to realize we're actually losing weight while we're eating like that. Whatever. It works, and I'm not going to question. The evidence is both the Boy and I each being able to step out of our favorite jeans without undoing them. But, you know... not in public.
Now that stuff has been delivered, the living room looks like a cardboard forest that's slowly blossoming into various cabinets as we build them. It's actually gotten to the point where the downstairs is so taken over by stuff that it's not distressing anymore, which is nice. It's more about anticipating a new kitchen, and packing up extras and having them out of the way. Whee! I can do both of those things very well.
One good thing about knowing where we'll end up living is that we know there will be a Costco there. Blessed be--there are 2 in Cinci, so we renewed our membership today and trawled the aisles, gathering massive packages of toilet paper and such.
We also got some fresh trout, which is NOT something we would have considereduntil recently, but for some reason we both ordered fish when we ate out not too long ago, and it was downright scrumptious. Tonight we improvised and made a variation on the earlier dish--trout fillets rolled in finely crushed almonds and spices, then pan-fried in butter. We cut up a whole lime and squeezed it over the fish, and it was really nice--suddenly the toasted almonds had more flavor, and it was nice with the more subdued flavor of the trout. Yum. I did homemade whipped cream with splenda and a vanilla pod, and we dipped a bunch of fresh strawberries in it for desert. Hurrah for low-carb meals where you still feel a tad luxourious! It's weird to realize we're actually losing weight while we're eating like that. Whatever. It works, and I'm not going to question. The evidence is both the Boy and I each being able to step out of our favorite jeans without undoing them. But, you know... not in public.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Surprise!
You know, Dream Cruise was really not that bad this year. We bought some new video games and stayed home all weekend. It was actually pretty nice, though I was only slightly disappointed that in this version of Zoo tycoon, park visitors cannot be eaten by escaped animals. It ups the stakes, and makes the game more exciting. I'm pretty sure that's not pathological in any way. The Boy was playing Sith Lords. After about an hour of freaking out every time a wookie talked, the cats gave up and settled down.
Traffic on Woodward is already completely back to normal as far as I can tell. We drove the new car down to hang with the Boy's mom tonight. It was good to see her. I think I must have the best mother-in-law the world has ever known. She doesn't play that passive-aggressive game many in-laws seem to do, she's not at all prissy, and she's totally laid back. "Are you glad to be done with asshole finance guy?" she asked as we took her for a spin in the new car.
One word of wisdom gleaned from our night, though--and I know this is probably an unnecessary warning for most of you, but sweet mother of gastronomical goodness!! --Stay the heck away from the buffet line-style restaurant called "Sign of the Bleefcarver" on Woodward. It was seriously almost funny how bad the food was. We thought it would be fine, since we're eating low-carb, and beef and beefcarving fits pretty well into that sort of thing.
Our first warning should have been the little sign next to the BBQ beef that said"Don't worry! Not very spicy!"
Now, when I say "beef," I'm talking "severe memory throwback beef." Every Sunday when we were little, and our mom would put a "roast" in the oven before whisking us off to church, and when we returned hours later, the meat was dry, grey, and not even redeemable with massive amounts of gravy and horseradish. Every Sunday. She'd also boil the heck out of various vegetables until they were sodden and sad looking, and then garnish the grey meat with them. No wonder we all lived for the yorkshire pudding. It was the only thing on the table that actually had a color.
Ah, memories.... uh, anyway, back to the restaurant. When I put a brussel sprout into my mouth, the mere pressure of being on my tongue caused it to collapse into a pulpy mass. It had no taste, to speak of, but it did have that strong, bitter smell that can be tempered by simply cooking them correctly. I didn't even spit it out. Mom would have been proud. However, I did get a wicked stomach ache later in the evening. Hmm.
So, on a scale of 1 to delish, I would rate this restaurant a little less than a 1. On the adjusted "Perfect for Old People" scale, this would rate very highly.
Buuuut, we did stop in at a place called Little Daddy's Parthenon earlier this week. We got omelets, which in my world, usually tend to be serviceable, unremarkable food (that happens to be low-carb) . Not these--they were just luscious, and opened my eyes to various omlettey possibilities. That meal rated a pretty darn highly, and wasn't all that expensive, either.
Traffic on Woodward is already completely back to normal as far as I can tell. We drove the new car down to hang with the Boy's mom tonight. It was good to see her. I think I must have the best mother-in-law the world has ever known. She doesn't play that passive-aggressive game many in-laws seem to do, she's not at all prissy, and she's totally laid back. "Are you glad to be done with asshole finance guy?" she asked as we took her for a spin in the new car.
One word of wisdom gleaned from our night, though--and I know this is probably an unnecessary warning for most of you, but sweet mother of gastronomical goodness!! --Stay the heck away from the buffet line-style restaurant called "Sign of the Bleefcarver" on Woodward. It was seriously almost funny how bad the food was. We thought it would be fine, since we're eating low-carb, and beef and beefcarving fits pretty well into that sort of thing.
Our first warning should have been the little sign next to the BBQ beef that said"Don't worry! Not very spicy!"
Now, when I say "beef," I'm talking "severe memory throwback beef." Every Sunday when we were little, and our mom would put a "roast" in the oven before whisking us off to church, and when we returned hours later, the meat was dry, grey, and not even redeemable with massive amounts of gravy and horseradish. Every Sunday. She'd also boil the heck out of various vegetables until they were sodden and sad looking, and then garnish the grey meat with them. No wonder we all lived for the yorkshire pudding. It was the only thing on the table that actually had a color.
Ah, memories.... uh, anyway, back to the restaurant. When I put a brussel sprout into my mouth, the mere pressure of being on my tongue caused it to collapse into a pulpy mass. It had no taste, to speak of, but it did have that strong, bitter smell that can be tempered by simply cooking them correctly. I didn't even spit it out. Mom would have been proud. However, I did get a wicked stomach ache later in the evening. Hmm.
So, on a scale of 1 to delish, I would rate this restaurant a little less than a 1. On the adjusted "Perfect for Old People" scale, this would rate very highly.
Buuuut, we did stop in at a place called Little Daddy's Parthenon earlier this week. We got omelets, which in my world, usually tend to be serviceable, unremarkable food (that happens to be low-carb) . Not these--they were just luscious, and opened my eyes to various omlettey possibilities. That meal rated a pretty darn highly, and wasn't all that expensive, either.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The science of car dealing
People who infuriate me in that... special way are people who lie and manipulate while assuming I have no idea what they're up to. In our search for the new car, we met a couple dealers who gave us the usual schpeal about extended warranties and all that, but that's their job. No hard feelings. The people who made me want to frog-kick them in the solar plexus were from the finance department. One guy in particular. We shouldn't have had any sort of issue whatsoever--we were already financed through a company that gave us a good rate, was lightning quick, and sent us a check we could take car shopping. It should have been simple.
First, let me say that if any of you are planning on purchasing a vehicle from Scion of Troy, for God's sake--think again! Second, please know that if there were any other xA's in the state, we would not have put up with the kind of crap this guy dealt. But the closest one was 350 miles away in Illinois. A long road trip. We decided it was worth wading through the BS to just be done with it and have this car.
Our salesman was just doing his job. We arranged a trade in. We signed papers. We handed him the check. He handed us off to the finance asshol--er, guy, and things should have been golden. However, Guy greeted us with the hard-sell on his financing, and wouldn't. let. it. go. "We can give you better rates than whatever rates you've got," he declared. We let him know we were done with the financing side of things. We let him know several more times as he pushed and pushed. We deflected unnecessary questions about our rate and our credit score. He tried to make us feel guilty by implying we were somehow trying to screw over the dealership. He claimed he'd never heard of our financing company before. Then he claimed they'd screwed over someone at that very dealership. Wha--huh? He read the back of the check over and over, aloud, making overly-dramatic hemming and hawing noises, and tapping it with his finger to emphasize just how out of the ordinary and fishy this was, and to scare us into taking his financing. "I don't know about this," he whined. Knowing exactly what he was playing, and that there was nothing wrong with the financing, we stuck to our guns.
When we didn't budge, he claimed he had to make some calls about it, and walked away, leaving us to "cool down" for an HOUR and a HALF. When he finally marched back, he pointedly dialed our financier on speaker-phone so we could hear the message that they were closed for the evening (They hadn't been closed at the point he'd walked away). "I'm helpless," he grunted, waving the check at us. "I can't let you walk away with a car, and all I get is a piece of paper. "
Pray tell, how do you sell cars, then? Do people often leave a large pile of cash on your desk? Isn't a personal check a piece of paper? Isn't your financing a piece of paper? Aren't you a piece of... ...something smelly and warm that's not paper?
Why yes. Yes you are.
We knew full well that it shouldn't be an issue. We'd spoken to our financier about what was supposed to happen, and they said the dealer should let us go home in the car, then the check could be deposited the next day. The people we know who've dealt with the same financier went home with the car. However, Finance Number One A-hole Guy was determined to punish us for not being malleable enough.
Having already switched plates and given them the title for our trade-in car, we were forced to drive the old car home with dealer plates on it.
The next morning I called our financier to ask what was going on, and found that Guy had faxed some of the info they needed, but he didn't fax 2 of the most obviously necessary things. I called Guy. Guy claimed he'd sent them all, and whined and moaned when I told him to refax. He said he'd call us just as SOON as he knew anything, and we could come get the car. Then he waited several hours before faxing anything to the financier. By that time, the workday was over.
Today, I called the financier again because I didn't trust Guy farther than I could throw him. Good thing, too. They let me know everything was set, and that they'd called to notify Guy of that 2 hours ago. She also mentioned that he'd complained to them about the fact that we hadn't gotten the extended warranty and tried to make a big deal out of it so they wouldn't finance us (presumably so he could do it instead). Now, that's out of the realm of slimy business practice and more into along the lines of bratty third grade temper-tantrums.
I called Guy a minute later, and before I could get a word in edgewise, he said he hadn't heard a peep back from our finance company, and that he'd been calling and calling and they were all rude to him and he hated dealing with such an "unprofessional fly-by-night outfit." Wah-wah, bitch. Sorry you have to do your freaking job.
When I informed him that essentially I knew he was flat-out lying about the fact that he hadn't heard anything from them, he got harried and defensive. "Well, I swear I haven't heard from them and maybe they left a voicemail, but I seriously haven't, but I guess they could have possibly left a voicemail. Uh, let me call you back, or you'll have to sit there on hold." I told him I would hold as long I needed to. He growled something, put me on hold for about three seconds, and then picked up again to tell me, yeah--he guessed they'd called. "Congratulations," he grumbled. "You have to be here before 6 to get your car."
Fuck you very much, Guy. Have a nice life.
I'm really looking forward to taking all the surveys I'll undoubtedly be inundated with about the dealership and our experience. Mwahaha!
----
Despite the fact that we had to deal with...that, we're excited to finally have our new car, and it's a little dreamboat with built-in satellite radio, mp3 player, and iPod connection and interface. Fancy, dancy. Okay, It's really not that fancy, but it's pretty sweet.
My favorite thing about it? When you unplug the pod, the interface blinks, "bye bye, ipod!"
Eeeee!
First, let me say that if any of you are planning on purchasing a vehicle from Scion of Troy, for God's sake--think again! Second, please know that if there were any other xA's in the state, we would not have put up with the kind of crap this guy dealt. But the closest one was 350 miles away in Illinois. A long road trip. We decided it was worth wading through the BS to just be done with it and have this car.
Our salesman was just doing his job. We arranged a trade in. We signed papers. We handed him the check. He handed us off to the finance asshol--er, guy, and things should have been golden. However, Guy greeted us with the hard-sell on his financing, and wouldn't. let. it. go. "We can give you better rates than whatever rates you've got," he declared. We let him know we were done with the financing side of things. We let him know several more times as he pushed and pushed. We deflected unnecessary questions about our rate and our credit score. He tried to make us feel guilty by implying we were somehow trying to screw over the dealership. He claimed he'd never heard of our financing company before. Then he claimed they'd screwed over someone at that very dealership. Wha--huh? He read the back of the check over and over, aloud, making overly-dramatic hemming and hawing noises, and tapping it with his finger to emphasize just how out of the ordinary and fishy this was, and to scare us into taking his financing. "I don't know about this," he whined. Knowing exactly what he was playing, and that there was nothing wrong with the financing, we stuck to our guns.
When we didn't budge, he claimed he had to make some calls about it, and walked away, leaving us to "cool down" for an HOUR and a HALF. When he finally marched back, he pointedly dialed our financier on speaker-phone so we could hear the message that they were closed for the evening (They hadn't been closed at the point he'd walked away). "I'm helpless," he grunted, waving the check at us. "I can't let you walk away with a car, and all I get is a piece of paper. "
Pray tell, how do you sell cars, then? Do people often leave a large pile of cash on your desk? Isn't a personal check a piece of paper? Isn't your financing a piece of paper? Aren't you a piece of... ...something smelly and warm that's not paper?
Why yes. Yes you are.
We knew full well that it shouldn't be an issue. We'd spoken to our financier about what was supposed to happen, and they said the dealer should let us go home in the car, then the check could be deposited the next day. The people we know who've dealt with the same financier went home with the car. However, Finance Number One A-hole Guy was determined to punish us for not being malleable enough.
Having already switched plates and given them the title for our trade-in car, we were forced to drive the old car home with dealer plates on it.
The next morning I called our financier to ask what was going on, and found that Guy had faxed some of the info they needed, but he didn't fax 2 of the most obviously necessary things. I called Guy. Guy claimed he'd sent them all, and whined and moaned when I told him to refax. He said he'd call us just as SOON as he knew anything, and we could come get the car. Then he waited several hours before faxing anything to the financier. By that time, the workday was over.
Today, I called the financier again because I didn't trust Guy farther than I could throw him. Good thing, too. They let me know everything was set, and that they'd called to notify Guy of that 2 hours ago. She also mentioned that he'd complained to them about the fact that we hadn't gotten the extended warranty and tried to make a big deal out of it so they wouldn't finance us (presumably so he could do it instead). Now, that's out of the realm of slimy business practice and more into along the lines of bratty third grade temper-tantrums.
I called Guy a minute later, and before I could get a word in edgewise, he said he hadn't heard a peep back from our finance company, and that he'd been calling and calling and they were all rude to him and he hated dealing with such an "unprofessional fly-by-night outfit." Wah-wah, bitch. Sorry you have to do your freaking job.
When I informed him that essentially I knew he was flat-out lying about the fact that he hadn't heard anything from them, he got harried and defensive. "Well, I swear I haven't heard from them and maybe they left a voicemail, but I seriously haven't, but I guess they could have possibly left a voicemail. Uh, let me call you back, or you'll have to sit there on hold." I told him I would hold as long I needed to. He growled something, put me on hold for about three seconds, and then picked up again to tell me, yeah--he guessed they'd called. "Congratulations," he grumbled. "You have to be here before 6 to get your car."
Fuck you very much, Guy. Have a nice life.
I'm really looking forward to taking all the surveys I'll undoubtedly be inundated with about the dealership and our experience. Mwahaha!
----
Despite the fact that we had to deal with...that, we're excited to finally have our new car, and it's a little dreamboat with built-in satellite radio, mp3 player, and iPod connection and interface. Fancy, dancy. Okay, It's really not that fancy, but it's pretty sweet.
My favorite thing about it? When you unplug the pod, the interface blinks, "bye bye, ipod!"
Eeeee!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Infuriating Commercial Alert!
Does this make anyone else grind their teeth and shake their fists at the tv?
A woman is blithely going about her day at a fruit market, when two plastically chipper women appear out of nowhere. "That's a nice white shirt!" they chirp, lunging at her with mushy fruit, which they smear triumphantly onto her clean blouse.
My split second reaction to the commercial up until this point was, "wait--is this one of those celebrity pieings?" But no, Sandy is not a celebrity. She's just a nice lady who got up that morning, picked out a nice white blouse, thinking, "that'll look pretty," and went about her day, never expecting to be physically assaulted by fruit wielding yobs at the market.
Moving on. After mashing strawberries and whatnot into poor shocked Sandy's shirt, the robotically gleeful women demand, "How are you gonna get this stain out?? How about this one?"
_____
Cut to the smug fruit assailants applying some kind of stain remover to Sandy's shirt, as she cowers, shivering, in an awful t-shirt advertising the very product that has hijacked her day and will doubtless cause nightmares and teary therapy sessions for years to come. The humiliation!
I'm sure they carefully edited out the tape of the women handing Sandy the t-shirt and growling, "Oh you WILL be excited about our product. You'll be thrilled about our freaking product. Show it! MORE!!!"
Sandy clearly lacks self esteem and confidence, because, instead of clocking the women in the face with her purse and roaring, "What the hell, you asshats??!!!" she actually plays along. "Oh! That's...great!" she offers, as her shirt finally comes out of the dryer, 45 minutes after she should have been picking her son up from soccer practice.
The two women laugh, wild-eyed, and declare that their product is the best. I can imagine Sandy slinking off, humiliated, to cry in her car for a few hours before slowly driving home.
A woman is blithely going about her day at a fruit market, when two plastically chipper women appear out of nowhere. "That's a nice white shirt!" they chirp, lunging at her with mushy fruit, which they smear triumphantly onto her clean blouse.
My split second reaction to the commercial up until this point was, "wait--is this one of those celebrity pieings?" But no, Sandy is not a celebrity. She's just a nice lady who got up that morning, picked out a nice white blouse, thinking, "that'll look pretty," and went about her day, never expecting to be physically assaulted by fruit wielding yobs at the market.
Moving on. After mashing strawberries and whatnot into poor shocked Sandy's shirt, the robotically gleeful women demand, "How are you gonna get this stain out?? How about this one?"
_____
Cut to the smug fruit assailants applying some kind of stain remover to Sandy's shirt, as she cowers, shivering, in an awful t-shirt advertising the very product that has hijacked her day and will doubtless cause nightmares and teary therapy sessions for years to come. The humiliation!
I'm sure they carefully edited out the tape of the women handing Sandy the t-shirt and growling, "Oh you WILL be excited about our product. You'll be thrilled about our freaking product. Show it! MORE!!!"
Sandy clearly lacks self esteem and confidence, because, instead of clocking the women in the face with her purse and roaring, "What the hell, you asshats??!!!" she actually plays along. "Oh! That's...great!" she offers, as her shirt finally comes out of the dryer, 45 minutes after she should have been picking her son up from soccer practice.
The two women laugh, wild-eyed, and declare that their product is the best. I can imagine Sandy slinking off, humiliated, to cry in her car for a few hours before slowly driving home.
Friday, August 18, 2006
It's happening again. Hide.
I know it's coming when I notice people lounging in portable chairs on street corners, when the roar of engines at stoplights through downtown Pontiac is deafening, when more than 60% of people are driving 20 miles below the speed limit with their arms slung carelessly out the windows or over the edge of their meticulously restored convertibles, and when traffic, no matter where you intend to go, is intensely bottlenecked at all hours of the day and night.
It is the Woodward Dream Cruise, and it has no mercy.
It's not all that bad if you have no place to go and nothing to do during the weekend that it's held. One can walk to the end of our block and watch amazingly gorgeous old cars roar by. On the other hand, if we wish to go anywhere---anywhere at all, we have to wade through cruisers like a salmon trying to up-stream Niagara Falls.
Unfortunately, this is a weekend during which we have a lot of places to go and things to do. In anticipation of putting the house up for sale in about a month, we've got to work frenetically on getting things rennovated, organized, and ready.
*sigh* Ah well. I suppose Dream Cruisers could be far more annoying. There are many lovely cars to look at (though people feeling the need to rev their engines always makes me roll my eyes), and it could have been worse. It could have been the annual Nails on Chalkboards festival.
It is the Woodward Dream Cruise, and it has no mercy.
It's not all that bad if you have no place to go and nothing to do during the weekend that it's held. One can walk to the end of our block and watch amazingly gorgeous old cars roar by. On the other hand, if we wish to go anywhere---anywhere at all, we have to wade through cruisers like a salmon trying to up-stream Niagara Falls.
Unfortunately, this is a weekend during which we have a lot of places to go and things to do. In anticipation of putting the house up for sale in about a month, we've got to work frenetically on getting things rennovated, organized, and ready.
*sigh* Ah well. I suppose Dream Cruisers could be far more annoying. There are many lovely cars to look at (though people feeling the need to rev their engines always makes me roll my eyes), and it could have been worse. It could have been the annual Nails on Chalkboards festival.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Well, I guess we shall move semi-south.
Yup, after the marathon o' interviews on Tuesday, the new company offered the Boy the job, and he's accepted. Assuming they're okay with his requirements for vacation, etc., I suppose that means we're heading to Cincinnati in the OH.
We're not going to be moving completely until our house sells, since we'll need the profit from this place for a down payment for our next. This means I'll probably be hanging here for the next several months (realistically), fixing things up and holding down the fort such as it is, while Boy lives in the housing the new company's arranged for him down there.
I'm still in a little bit of shock about the whole thing, but aside from a couple of inevitable future teary episodes, I'm really excited to see what the next chapter has in store for us. It will be hard not being able to hang out on short notice with the dear people who compose our friends/family. However, if you give us 4 1/2 hours notice, and we'll be there! That doesn't sound so bad. If we left at lunch, we'd be here by dinner. Also, we're planning on making sure whatever house we buy has enough bedrooms that we'll always have room for guests, if anyone wants a vacation or pit stop.
One of the main things that makes me happy about this is that it's a huge break for the Boy's career, and he deserves it after working so hard. (My freelance work is totally mobile, which makes one thing in this whole event that's very simple.) He's moving into a good position with some nice big steps up the ladder. If we eventually move back to SE MI, he'll be able to wrangle a job in a strata of jobdom (?) that involves things like bonuses, stock options, company cars, and no excuse for paying bills late. We plan to work on being really snobby and boring in order to fit the profile perfectly. I'm going to develop a nasally voice, bleach my hair, and tan myself leathery, and the Boy will yap pompously via mobile to his "business contacts" while looking down his nose at everyone else in line at Starbucks.
Har! Never mind. We'll always be nerds who think Alton Brown is awesome, have little crushes on our favorite authors, and thumb wrestle to solve our disagreements (the Boy cheats).
Er. Now to begin the daunting task of super-speed final renovation, and putting the house on the market.
I'll be in touch with our dear folk to let you all know the details as they come up. As for now, nothing will be happening for a little while, anyway, until the Boy packs down to Cinci in a little over a month. We'll be driving up and down on alternating weekends, so he'll be up here plenty for the next few months.
As for the lovely Traverse City, things aren't over there yet. There's an even better possibility after working this job in OH, that the Boy can get a really awesome job up there in a few years. Not that I want to consider a potential move after the move that hasn't happened yet. Either way, I think we'll try to spend a little time up there each summer.
I have a feeling it that though it won't be simple, whatever comes will be good.
We're not going to be moving completely until our house sells, since we'll need the profit from this place for a down payment for our next. This means I'll probably be hanging here for the next several months (realistically), fixing things up and holding down the fort such as it is, while Boy lives in the housing the new company's arranged for him down there.
I'm still in a little bit of shock about the whole thing, but aside from a couple of inevitable future teary episodes, I'm really excited to see what the next chapter has in store for us. It will be hard not being able to hang out on short notice with the dear people who compose our friends/family. However, if you give us 4 1/2 hours notice, and we'll be there! That doesn't sound so bad. If we left at lunch, we'd be here by dinner. Also, we're planning on making sure whatever house we buy has enough bedrooms that we'll always have room for guests, if anyone wants a vacation or pit stop.
One of the main things that makes me happy about this is that it's a huge break for the Boy's career, and he deserves it after working so hard. (My freelance work is totally mobile, which makes one thing in this whole event that's very simple.) He's moving into a good position with some nice big steps up the ladder. If we eventually move back to SE MI, he'll be able to wrangle a job in a strata of jobdom (?) that involves things like bonuses, stock options, company cars, and no excuse for paying bills late. We plan to work on being really snobby and boring in order to fit the profile perfectly. I'm going to develop a nasally voice, bleach my hair, and tan myself leathery, and the Boy will yap pompously via mobile to his "business contacts" while looking down his nose at everyone else in line at Starbucks.
Har! Never mind. We'll always be nerds who think Alton Brown is awesome, have little crushes on our favorite authors, and thumb wrestle to solve our disagreements (the Boy cheats).
Er. Now to begin the daunting task of super-speed final renovation, and putting the house on the market.
I'll be in touch with our dear folk to let you all know the details as they come up. As for now, nothing will be happening for a little while, anyway, until the Boy packs down to Cinci in a little over a month. We'll be driving up and down on alternating weekends, so he'll be up here plenty for the next few months.
As for the lovely Traverse City, things aren't over there yet. There's an even better possibility after working this job in OH, that the Boy can get a really awesome job up there in a few years. Not that I want to consider a potential move after the move that hasn't happened yet. Either way, I think we'll try to spend a little time up there each summer.
I have a feeling it that though it won't be simple, whatever comes will be good.
Booop! Good afternoon--this is your captain speaking...
Attention all audiophiles and gear-lovers: Out the left side of the plane, you'll see Sinepost, the latest internet offering from sound genius, pal, and incidental brother-in-law, Justin.
It's a secret portal into the minds of people who know way more about recording gear than I could ever pretend to hope to know.
And it's a darn good read, too.
It's a secret portal into the minds of people who know way more about recording gear than I could ever pretend to hope to know.
And it's a darn good read, too.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The siren call of the Scion
Hello to our most recent family addition (uh, photo clearly ganked from Edmunds.com):
It's cute! It's round! Yup, we're getting a new Scion xA (Little x, big A. Why? I have no idea.) It is a neato car that gets crazy good gas mileage and has a huge amount of space in it. It's also rated pretty darn well in safety, and has built in satellite radio w/ iPod jack. Woo for technology!
The stork hasn't quite arrived, but we put in our order at the dealership this past weekend. We're going to have the plates from the Saturn transferred over, so I'd better get thinking about what the SNV in the plate number will stand for. It stood for "Super Nasty Vehicle" on the Saturn (Thanks to the lovely Jenny Haney!) but I think maybe something different is in order for our little Scion pal...
Any suggestions? Silly Nihilistic Vehicle? Swell Narcotic Vortex? No?
It's cute! It's round! Yup, we're getting a new Scion xA (Little x, big A. Why? I have no idea.) It is a neato car that gets crazy good gas mileage and has a huge amount of space in it. It's also rated pretty darn well in safety, and has built in satellite radio w/ iPod jack. Woo for technology! The stork hasn't quite arrived, but we put in our order at the dealership this past weekend. We're going to have the plates from the Saturn transferred over, so I'd better get thinking about what the SNV in the plate number will stand for. It stood for "Super Nasty Vehicle" on the Saturn (Thanks to the lovely Jenny Haney!) but I think maybe something different is in order for our little Scion pal...
Any suggestions? Silly Nihilistic Vehicle? Swell Narcotic Vortex? No?
Monday, August 14, 2006
Oral Tradition in a Digital Age
Peter is an 79 year old widower living alone in England. A couple weeks ago, he stumbled onto YouTube. After watching other people's postings for a while, he decided that he would try putting a video of his own on, in an attempt to connect somehow with anyone else, or at least have an outlet for his thoughts. He wryly made his login name "geriatric1927."
His first posting was a week ago. It's a nervous, awkward offering that is also quite sweet. He fiddles with the stereo to include some blues music for his beginning and ending, he gets a little short of breath, and without introduction, bursts right into explaining that he's gotten addicted to YouTube, and even though he's old, he thought he'd give it a go.
After a few videos, more and more people began watching, commenting, and asking him to tell about what his life has been like. He's been sucessful in making contact with people and becoming a part of the YouTube community. He's been very, very successful. In his video, "Telling it All, Part 1," he's absolutely floored by the number of people who've contacted him. He's just received notification of the thousands of comments people have given, and is still shaking when he turns on the camera. He tries to express just how thankful and amazed he is by it all, and breaks down crying at the end as he tries to stop recording.
In the past week, well over a million people have tuned in to hear Peter's continuing stories of life in World War II, his passion for motorcycles, his time as a radar operator in the war... He's an intelligent, interesting man, who's lived through more than I can imagine. I highly recommend watching his postings. I've been turning him up and listening as I do the dishes and such.
Congratulations, Peter. You deserve this happiness.
His first posting was a week ago. It's a nervous, awkward offering that is also quite sweet. He fiddles with the stereo to include some blues music for his beginning and ending, he gets a little short of breath, and without introduction, bursts right into explaining that he's gotten addicted to YouTube, and even though he's old, he thought he'd give it a go.
After a few videos, more and more people began watching, commenting, and asking him to tell about what his life has been like. He's been sucessful in making contact with people and becoming a part of the YouTube community. He's been very, very successful. In his video, "Telling it All, Part 1," he's absolutely floored by the number of people who've contacted him. He's just received notification of the thousands of comments people have given, and is still shaking when he turns on the camera. He tries to express just how thankful and amazed he is by it all, and breaks down crying at the end as he tries to stop recording.
In the past week, well over a million people have tuned in to hear Peter's continuing stories of life in World War II, his passion for motorcycles, his time as a radar operator in the war... He's an intelligent, interesting man, who's lived through more than I can imagine. I highly recommend watching his postings. I've been turning him up and listening as I do the dishes and such.
Congratulations, Peter. You deserve this happiness.
If I looking for frog...
It makes me sad that there are millions of little stories that disappear every day when people die. Little treasures that won't ever get passed on or documented disappear because no one has told them or remembers them.
One of my very favorite things about the digital world is that it's possible to know the fascinating real little stories that would have evaporated otherwise. Not only do we get the story, but we get the internet community's response. One of my favorite examples is Hopkin Green Frog (I may have mentioned it before--forgive me.) In 2004, hand made posters began appearing in a Seattle neighborhood. They were "Lost Frog" posters, in a child's handwriting, with a carefully drawn mugshot of said frog from the front and side. The poster was signed, "Love, Terry." The earnest quirkiness and odd grammar of the posters caught the interest of someone who scanned a few and put them online.
20 years ago, very few people would have known or ever remembered that Terry lost a frog in Seattle. But today, not only do I know, but I can look at the poster, (click on it for more) find out the back story, and see the rather funny responses of people who were inspired to make their own versions of it. (very much like the "All your base" phenomenon.
Hurrah for technology, and for quirky stories to tell with it!
One of my very favorite things about the digital world is that it's possible to know the fascinating real little stories that would have evaporated otherwise. Not only do we get the story, but we get the internet community's response. One of my favorite examples is Hopkin Green Frog (I may have mentioned it before--forgive me.) In 2004, hand made posters began appearing in a Seattle neighborhood. They were "Lost Frog" posters, in a child's handwriting, with a carefully drawn mugshot of said frog from the front and side. The poster was signed, "Love, Terry." The earnest quirkiness and odd grammar of the posters caught the interest of someone who scanned a few and put them online.20 years ago, very few people would have known or ever remembered that Terry lost a frog in Seattle. But today, not only do I know, but I can look at the poster, (click on it for more) find out the back story, and see the rather funny responses of people who were inspired to make their own versions of it. (very much like the "All your base" phenomenon.
Hurrah for technology, and for quirky stories to tell with it!
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Cin City
It's lovely to have a little vacation, but even more lovely when someone else pays for it. We'll be down in Cincinnati on someone else's tab for a few days this week, while the Boy does the day-long "marathon o' interviews" with this potential new company. It'll be nice to poke around the areas we've been researching, and possibly see some of the amazing (and dirt cheeep) houses we've been looking at. It still boggles me how inexpensive housing is down there, even compared to our relatively buyer-friendly neighborhood. In order to live in a large, interesting reasonable fixer-upper house in a neighborhood comparable to the one we're in now, we'd only have to drop about 40k. That's FOR-TY.
Even if the rest of Cincinnati turns out to be sucky... if we end up moving there, at least we know we'll live in a sweet house.
Or we could break the bank and drop 60 on this one.
If you're willing to live in a cheap, cool house painted silly colors, you're in luck.
If you want a to live in a castle in a nicer neighborhood, you'll have to drop a massive 120k.
As it stands, we're shooting for some of the beautiful woodsy neighborhoods near where the Boy would potentially work. Whatever we chose, we'd never be more than 30 minutes of downtown. There are also some really cool mid-century modern houses I don't want to bother finding to post pictures of.
Even if the rest of Cincinnati turns out to be sucky... if we end up moving there, at least we know we'll live in a sweet house.
Monday, August 07, 2006
We Shall Live in Either the North, or the Semi-South
That would be "semi-south" because moving any farther down than the border of Ohio would be so not cool. Literally.
I lived in the deep South for quite a while. I sweated and got sand in my eyes in Texas. I withered in the humidity of Florida. Eight years in the South, all told, and unless something exceedingly drastic happens (e.g. I'm offered 7.5 million dollars if I'll just live in the Bible Belt for a year), I will not live there again.
My mother, on the phone from Mississippi, often comments that we should just move on down near them. La-dee-dah! Just move on down! Into the 105 degree, sweltering backwater around Jackson! Move on down, Dear! Everyone here adores Wal-Mart, and harbors a suspicious attitude toward any "Yankees" from north of Kentucky! It's whimsical! I haven't the heart to tell her I'd sooner have all my teeth pulled and replaced with thumb tacks.
Sharp, sharp, thumb tacks.
Moving on. So it looks as though we'll either move to Traverse City, which I would adore, or to Cincinnati, which I would still be happy about, but would adore only slightly less since, as far as I know, Lake Michigan's gorgeous beaches and dunes do not touch Cincinnati. No, after some thought, they certainly do not. Nevertheless, I would be happy with either city. Both have their merits. Both are real, thriving cities with art, culture, and interesting things. Yay for both.
It's just the "not knowing which thing will be happening" (or when) that drives me crazy.
I lived in the deep South for quite a while. I sweated and got sand in my eyes in Texas. I withered in the humidity of Florida. Eight years in the South, all told, and unless something exceedingly drastic happens (e.g. I'm offered 7.5 million dollars if I'll just live in the Bible Belt for a year), I will not live there again.
My mother, on the phone from Mississippi, often comments that we should just move on down near them. La-dee-dah! Just move on down! Into the 105 degree, sweltering backwater around Jackson! Move on down, Dear! Everyone here adores Wal-Mart, and harbors a suspicious attitude toward any "Yankees" from north of Kentucky! It's whimsical! I haven't the heart to tell her I'd sooner have all my teeth pulled and replaced with thumb tacks.
Sharp, sharp, thumb tacks.
Moving on. So it looks as though we'll either move to Traverse City, which I would adore, or to Cincinnati, which I would still be happy about, but would adore only slightly less since, as far as I know, Lake Michigan's gorgeous beaches and dunes do not touch Cincinnati. No, after some thought, they certainly do not. Nevertheless, I would be happy with either city. Both have their merits. Both are real, thriving cities with art, culture, and interesting things. Yay for both.
It's just the "not knowing which thing will be happening" (or when) that drives me crazy.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
DENIED.
Dear Vapid Adolescent,
My condolences. You will find that you are able to log onto Stardoll...no longer. Collect your pervs and imaginary boyfriends someplace else, please.
According to the email I received, they apologize to me for any inconvenience I may have experienced. Oh--no inconvenience, Stardoll. It was a delight.
My condolences. You will find that you are able to log onto Stardoll...no longer. Collect your pervs and imaginary boyfriends someplace else, please.
According to the email I received, they apologize to me for any inconvenience I may have experienced. Oh--no inconvenience, Stardoll. It was a delight.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Not Agaaaain!
This time it must be the same Steph who signed me up for a MySpace account—she's the only vapid junior-high girl in that list.
She’s signed herself up for “Stardoll,” which is a “celebrity dress-up site” where angsty preteens can make “personalized avatars” which I’m sure look nothing like them, and then chat and meet other angsty teens or pedophiles, whose avatars look nothing like them.
In any case, she must not want her parents to know what she’s up to, because the email I received was announcing that “my child” had opened an account on Stardoll. Clearly she thought she was having the parental email sent to herself, so of course she would just approve it, and her parents would be none the wiser.
But instead it came to Steph McW: Crusher of Prepubescent Souls!!
Now you all get to advise again:
A, I ignore it, or B, I reply that “no child of mine is going to sign up for this hussy-fest!”
Hmm.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Oh, Sweet Irony!
Blackadder: Baldrick, are you even aware of what irony is? Baldrick: (affronted) Of course! It's like....bronzey...and goldy.
Bite me Alanis Morrisette. Here's what irony is:
When I first met The Boy six years ago, he was doing facilities management at a place he loved. He was pouring himself into the job and his employers were happily sucking the life out of him without appreciating the fact that he was putting in the hours of four people. That, and he actually still loved the place and gave everything he had.
Move forward to three years ago. We got married, and the week after we got back from the honeymoon, they let him know that they were firing him since they were "restructuring." Fah. In retrospect, it was a really good thing, because he put so much heart into that job that I don't think he would have ever left it for anything better. Still, The Boy wrote a bunch of instructions for his sucessor to make sure the company was okay.
It sucked, but we moved on, and he worked hard to get to where he is right now--a much better job with more reasonable hours, that pays wayyyy the heck better.
Meanwhile, the place that laid The Boy off was surprised to find that they were having difficulty finding someone who would be willing to work themselves ragged like The Boy did. So they divided the responsibilities into a couple different positions. Still, they couldn't find anyone to take on the load of things The Boy had been responsible for. They offered better pay. Still, no one wanted to, or was capable of it. Quite a while later, they finally got some people to take over The Boy's responsibilities. Three people, to be exact. They were paying three salaries for people to do what The Boy had done for one measly one. And the people they were paying sucked at it. Systems and programs The Boy had put into place rapidly fell apart as they were ignored, and stuff started going to shit.
Finally, the company hired yet another person to oversee the other people because things had gotten so bad. This was not just anyone they hired to oversee building facilities. It was the wife of the architect who built the freaking building. So now they're paying four salaries, including to the wife of the architect, and things still aren't getting done.
Yesterday, The Boy had lunch with a friend who still worked at the company, and that person explained the situation to him. They introduced him to the architect's wife, and The Boy, being the sweet, non-vindictive person that he is, gave her some advice, walked her around the building explaining things, and dug out the policy manuals and systems he'd put into place so many ages ago, and that people had ignored after he left. She was very grateful.
Prepare for IRONY.
The Boy will now be paid for doing consulting at the company that laid him off, because things went to such shit after they forced him out.
Company to do list:
1. We don't appreciate you
2. You're fired for no good reason
3. Why can't we find anyone to do your job?
4. Why can't the four people we finally hired in your place manage to do your job?
5. Can we pay you to come back and help those four people learn how to do your job we never appreciated you for and fired you from?
I.R.O.N.Y.
Bite me Alanis Morrisette. Here's what irony is:
When I first met The Boy six years ago, he was doing facilities management at a place he loved. He was pouring himself into the job and his employers were happily sucking the life out of him without appreciating the fact that he was putting in the hours of four people. That, and he actually still loved the place and gave everything he had.
Move forward to three years ago. We got married, and the week after we got back from the honeymoon, they let him know that they were firing him since they were "restructuring." Fah. In retrospect, it was a really good thing, because he put so much heart into that job that I don't think he would have ever left it for anything better. Still, The Boy wrote a bunch of instructions for his sucessor to make sure the company was okay.
It sucked, but we moved on, and he worked hard to get to where he is right now--a much better job with more reasonable hours, that pays wayyyy the heck better.
Meanwhile, the place that laid The Boy off was surprised to find that they were having difficulty finding someone who would be willing to work themselves ragged like The Boy did. So they divided the responsibilities into a couple different positions. Still, they couldn't find anyone to take on the load of things The Boy had been responsible for. They offered better pay. Still, no one wanted to, or was capable of it. Quite a while later, they finally got some people to take over The Boy's responsibilities. Three people, to be exact. They were paying three salaries for people to do what The Boy had done for one measly one. And the people they were paying sucked at it. Systems and programs The Boy had put into place rapidly fell apart as they were ignored, and stuff started going to shit.
Finally, the company hired yet another person to oversee the other people because things had gotten so bad. This was not just anyone they hired to oversee building facilities. It was the wife of the architect who built the freaking building. So now they're paying four salaries, including to the wife of the architect, and things still aren't getting done.
Yesterday, The Boy had lunch with a friend who still worked at the company, and that person explained the situation to him. They introduced him to the architect's wife, and The Boy, being the sweet, non-vindictive person that he is, gave her some advice, walked her around the building explaining things, and dug out the policy manuals and systems he'd put into place so many ages ago, and that people had ignored after he left. She was very grateful.
Prepare for IRONY.
The Boy will now be paid for doing consulting at the company that laid him off, because things went to such shit after they forced him out.
Company to do list:
1. We don't appreciate you
2. You're fired for no good reason
3. Why can't we find anyone to do your job?
4. Why can't the four people we finally hired in your place manage to do your job?
5. Can we pay you to come back and help those four people learn how to do your job we never appreciated you for and fired you from?
I.R.O.N.Y.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Ahoy!
While we were in Traverse City, we got to tool around onboard the Maritime Academy's ship, the State of Michigan. Our friend knew the captain, so he took us on a private tour, which was quite nice of him. It was a really interesting place--it used to be a spy ship, listening on on sub communications and such. It's been renovated and can now accommodate about 60 academy trainees while on the Great Lakes. I'm just full of useless information.I wouldn't be all that keen on sleeping on a miniscule little bunk, but the view is great, and they'd have to drag me inside off-deck.
I guess they take the ship out for the Fourth of July Fireworks, and when the Blue Angels put on airshows over Traverse Bay, they use the State of Michigan as their centering point. I guess the planes come within 20 or 30 feet of the deck going a couple hundred miles an hour. My guess is that the experience would be a lot like clinging to a post right next to the railroad tracks while a freight train goes rushing by. Your adrenaline is shrieking, "Sweet jesu, you're going to diiiie!" but your brain is enjoying every second.
Moving on...I was kind of shocked at just how blue the bay is. It's practically tropical.
The Boy approves of the view from the third deck of the ship. Despite how sunny it was, the beaches were not crowded at all. There were people out, but it wasn't anything like those "every square foot is taken by some bimbo with a beach towel" beaches.
There were also people parasailing, which looked insanely fun, but also reminded me of an awful Sci-Fi Channel original movie (your cue to either run, or prepare for extreme hilarious awfulness) where a parasailer is snatched out of the air by the jaws of a massive prehistoric shark-thing. So terrifyingly realistic. Like real actual cardboard cutouts. Or real actual claymation.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Additional Links
I finally got around to adding some new links to the sidebar on the right. They're marked "new" so they should stand out a little.
Here's the rundown:
Salt & Paper - Jane's lovely blog concerning food, books, and other good things in life.
Today's Inspiration - a blog about illustration from the 40s and 50s.
The Adventures of Dr. McNinja - A comic by Chris Hastings. I reviewed it earlier. Silly, melodramatic fun.
Digger - A comic by Ursula Vernon. I like her scratchy illustration style. The story is a mixture of mythology and adventure, with some genuine spooky moments thrown in. It's part of the Graphic Smash lineup. You can read the first hundred or so without subscribing. If you read all that, and still want more, that's probably a good sign that you should shell out the $2.95 and get the rest.
Gunnerkrigg Court - a comic by the English artist Tom Siddell. This is one of my recent favorites. His art is fresh and interesting to look at. It changes slightly over the course of the comic--improves, actually, which is always fascinating for me to watch. His characters are very defined, and he does an excellent job of pacing his stories, which are engrossing and magical.
Inverloch - This manga-influenced comic is by an Australian, Sarah Ellerton. The art is well done, and though the story line drags a little at times, it holds your attention because the art and character design. Also, Sarah is all around just a cool person. She lives in the outback, mate!
Lowbright - This is the site of artist and storyteller Derek Kirk Kim. Up until recently, he was doing a beautiful story called Healing Hands, but since he's one of those hyper-talented artist perfectionists, he's quit it and will be moving on to some other project. He's someone I've kept my eye one for several years now. His writing reminds me somewhat of Craig Thompson's Blankets.
Married to the Sea - a daily comic I mentioned earlier.
Stuff Sucks - another of the recent spate of women written and drawn comics I've come across. Liz Greenfield. Admittedly, this is not my favorite, but she draws a bustling city well, and her art is fun to look at.
55 Word Stories - I reviewed this little jewel earlier.
Neatorama - odd and not always reliable news stories and tidbits. Good stuff for browsing when you're bored.
Here's the rundown:
Salt & Paper - Jane's lovely blog concerning food, books, and other good things in life.
Today's Inspiration - a blog about illustration from the 40s and 50s.
The Adventures of Dr. McNinja - A comic by Chris Hastings. I reviewed it earlier. Silly, melodramatic fun.
Digger - A comic by Ursula Vernon. I like her scratchy illustration style. The story is a mixture of mythology and adventure, with some genuine spooky moments thrown in. It's part of the Graphic Smash lineup. You can read the first hundred or so without subscribing. If you read all that, and still want more, that's probably a good sign that you should shell out the $2.95 and get the rest.
Gunnerkrigg Court - a comic by the English artist Tom Siddell. This is one of my recent favorites. His art is fresh and interesting to look at. It changes slightly over the course of the comic--improves, actually, which is always fascinating for me to watch. His characters are very defined, and he does an excellent job of pacing his stories, which are engrossing and magical.
Inverloch - This manga-influenced comic is by an Australian, Sarah Ellerton. The art is well done, and though the story line drags a little at times, it holds your attention because the art and character design. Also, Sarah is all around just a cool person. She lives in the outback, mate!
Lowbright - This is the site of artist and storyteller Derek Kirk Kim. Up until recently, he was doing a beautiful story called Healing Hands, but since he's one of those hyper-talented artist perfectionists, he's quit it and will be moving on to some other project. He's someone I've kept my eye one for several years now. His writing reminds me somewhat of Craig Thompson's Blankets.
Married to the Sea - a daily comic I mentioned earlier.
Stuff Sucks - another of the recent spate of women written and drawn comics I've come across. Liz Greenfield. Admittedly, this is not my favorite, but she draws a bustling city well, and her art is fun to look at.
55 Word Stories - I reviewed this little jewel earlier.
Neatorama - odd and not always reliable news stories and tidbits. Good stuff for browsing when you're bored.
Let the Wild Rumpus Begin!
I've always enjoyed J. Otto Seibold's awkwardly angular illustrations (along with Vivian Walsh's stories). Somehow everything comes together just so. Here is a link to his wonderfully bizzare take on Alice in Wonderland . It comes in a book form, but the link goes to the flash site.
Caw!
We just received our very own bird (above...obviously) from the Birds for Bulbs site. Visit the site to find out how to get your very own home-made bird by Rosemary Mosco.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
The Ol' TC
I think I have an exceedingly large crush on Traverse City now that we've spent some time there, and I'm already excited to go back. I'd read quite a bit about the place, but nothing quite prepared me for just how lovely it is up there. The drive wasn't bad at all, except for a slightly boring stretch of farmland in the middle of MI. Then the evergreen forests and rolling hills started, and by the time we were within an hour of the city, we were passing lakes every few minutes.
The city itself is great, too. I'd had a little bit of dread after looking at real estate in the area--it just turned out much of what I saw for sale was unremarkable houses out in the boonies. The neighborhoods in town were full of cobbled streets gorgeous Victorian houses with turrets. Here's a neat gallery of houses and such from the area. We tooled around downtown most of one day, and had several pleasant surprises. There are lots of non-chain, independant stores downtown, which made for a nice blend of everything from cafes to bookstores to breweries. A beautiful, clear river runs right through the downtown area, and we occasionally saw someone drifting along on their innertube, or kayaking down to where it flows into the bay.
Here's where they have the annual Traverse City Film festival, and show independant films the rest of the year.
Scrumptous food and beautiful architechture aside, our best surprises were in in one of the buildings on the main street that had been divided into various small stores. In one particular one, we found a neat used book store, a vintage clothing shop, an indie record store, a gaming/hobbies store that also sells cheeeap used video games, and best of all, taking up most of the basement, a store piled high with vintage music gear and guitars. It was called "Good News Music," so we'd been expecting a hokey religious music store. Nope. Far, far cooler. That building won for sheer volume of neato things under one roof up there.
The Dennos Museum had an exhibit in Rodin's bronze sculptures, which was fabu. I learned more about the lost wax casting process, which was fun.
After the city, we went to a friend's cabin for a couple days. It was right on a lake, and we lazed about at the water's edge.
I hope the job up there for the Boy works out. Even if it doesn't, we're going to live there someday.
The city itself is great, too. I'd had a little bit of dread after looking at real estate in the area--it just turned out much of what I saw for sale was unremarkable houses out in the boonies. The neighborhoods in town were full of cobbled streets gorgeous Victorian houses with turrets. Here's a neat gallery of houses and such from the area. We tooled around downtown most of one day, and had several pleasant surprises. There are lots of non-chain, independant stores downtown, which made for a nice blend of everything from cafes to bookstores to breweries. A beautiful, clear river runs right through the downtown area, and we occasionally saw someone drifting along on their innertube, or kayaking down to where it flows into the bay.
Here's where they have the annual Traverse City Film festival, and show independant films the rest of the year.The Dennos Museum had an exhibit in Rodin's bronze sculptures, which was fabu. I learned more about the lost wax casting process, which was fun.
After the city, we went to a friend's cabin for a couple days. It was right on a lake, and we lazed about at the water's edge.
I hope the job up there for the Boy works out. Even if it doesn't, we're going to live there someday.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Land of Cherries and Dunes
Give the cats a huge bowl of food and leave the living room light on! We're hieing ourselves hence to Traverse City for the next couple weekends.
Fortunately, the Cherry Festival has just ended. Otherwise, as I understand it, I may have developed a resentment for cherries in much the same way I resent muscle cars during the Dream Cruise, and uh... much of the rest of the year. It's what comes of living in Pontiac, or for that matter, anywhere along that acursed stretch of Woodward that is glutted with crawling, gawking cruisers for the week surrounding the event. (deep breath. *sigh*) Don't get me wrong--I appreciate classic cars. I really do. It's just J'detest the people driving them at 5 MPH wearing airbrushed t-shirts declaring, "Cruise with the best, or watch like the rest!" (in a Miami Vice color scheme).
In any case, I'm hopeful that the weather in TC will be lovely. The Boy will be working for part of the time we're there, but I fully intend to wander along the waterfront, familiarize myself with things, and read a book or two. I'm also interested in finding a few of the art galleries I've heard things about. I'm pretty sure it's not grape season yet, but it also wouldn't hurt to stop by a winery or two perhaps. hic!
Hurrah for weekending.
Fortunately, the Cherry Festival has just ended. Otherwise, as I understand it, I may have developed a resentment for cherries in much the same way I resent muscle cars during the Dream Cruise, and uh... much of the rest of the year. It's what comes of living in Pontiac, or for that matter, anywhere along that acursed stretch of Woodward that is glutted with crawling, gawking cruisers for the week surrounding the event. (deep breath. *sigh*) Don't get me wrong--I appreciate classic cars. I really do. It's just J'detest the people driving them at 5 MPH wearing airbrushed t-shirts declaring, "Cruise with the best, or watch like the rest!" (in a Miami Vice color scheme).
In any case, I'm hopeful that the weather in TC will be lovely. The Boy will be working for part of the time we're there, but I fully intend to wander along the waterfront, familiarize myself with things, and read a book or two. I'm also interested in finding a few of the art galleries I've heard things about. I'm pretty sure it's not grape season yet, but it also wouldn't hurt to stop by a winery or two perhaps. hic!
Hurrah for weekending.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Snap Crackle Pop
We had a very slightly illegal 4th of July fireworks display with the fam--bottle rockets and sparklers and such. It was frolicky fun. That night when we got home, our neighborhood had been transformed into some sort of benign, sparkly war zone. The cracking and booming of massive showers of fireworks was continuous--not more than a second or two break between firings. And the display wasn't just from one neighbor--it was ALL over the neighborhood. I counted 8 locations within a couple blocks that were boasting huge airborne displays, not to mention the dozens of smaller firecrackers and whippersnappers and such.
Ours is a good neighborhood for pyrotechnics. From the front porch, we watched the neighbors haul large unspecified objects into the middle of the road, light them, and saunter away before the explosion. (the pictures in this post are from that display) They noticed us and one girl came down to ask if it was bothersome. Hecks no! (Though it did cause us to wonder if we had a reputation of some sort--we're so tight with the police, you know.) We stood there watching for a little while. It was amusing to see everyone rush out and kick the smoking husks to the curb whenever a car happened hesitantly along our street.
The consistent crackling and flashing may sound annoying, but it actually was magical, and kind of dream-like. Our neighborhood was temporarily transformed--everybody outside and all craning up toward the sky. We stood on the driveway and the massive fireworks exploded directly over us. We couldn't hear anything but fireworks and occasional clapping from various approving neighbors, and the fireworks themselves cast surreal, flickering light that made beautiful things that, in daylight, were familar and mundane.
We came inside grinning from ear to ear, a little deaf, and covered in tiny pieces of ash.
6 days & way too much money later....
I'm about to walk over to the shop to get my car, which inconveniently refused to slow down when I tried to brake last Thurs. Any other weekend, mind you, (possible life-threatening crashes aside) it would have been a minor inconvenience. I love my house, and tend to mostly stick close to the nest. However, when I pressed the brake pedal and found that it went "thunk" directly to the floor and I continued on at relatively the same velocity, um... I was on my way to the airport to pick up 2 sisters from NY. The rest of my family (sans one sister) was arriving 2 days later, and there was to be much festivity and reunionizing.
There was still some reunionizing etc, as I snatched the Boy's car as soon as he arrived home, and we continued to juggle and strategize the rest of the weekend. Despite the setback, I managed to see not only family, but friends as well, and it was a lovely time.
There was still some reunionizing etc, as I snatched the Boy's car as soon as he arrived home, and we continued to juggle and strategize the rest of the weekend. Despite the setback, I managed to see not only family, but friends as well, and it was a lovely time.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The tiny world of even shorter stories
One of the things that I tend to check multiple times per week is Rosemary Mosco's 55 Word Stories page. Her art is charming and simple, and the forms of the birds she draws are sweet and whimsical.
The challenge she's presented herself with 55 Word Stories is just that: a story in 55 words. She manages to create teeny little stories, most with many layers. Reading a diminutive story is a modest enough investment of time that it can be a part of anyone's week.
Be sure also to check her other sites for goodies, especially her Birds for Bulbs page. The boy and I have a bird coming soon!
The challenge she's presented herself with 55 Word Stories is just that: a story in 55 words. She manages to create teeny little stories, most with many layers. Reading a diminutive story is a modest enough investment of time that it can be a part of anyone's week.
Be sure also to check her other sites for goodies, especially her Birds for Bulbs page. The boy and I have a bird coming soon!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
I'm not a good little consumer...
Not only for the fact that rather than the "buying and throwing things out" cycle, I often use freecycle to get and give stuff away, thus robbing large companies of revenue and the government of potential tax money. Darn me.
Currently though, the reason I am a poor consumer is that I'm far, far too over-analytical about television commercials. I don't watch an awful lot of TV. However, I do read into, overanalyze and get huffy about advertisements at will. When I see a poorly executed, awkward, or disjointed commercial, I get cranky and sometimes downright angry. I want to write companies and tell them how counterproductive their ad was (probably only to me). But then I realize I don't care about them.
Cases in point:
1. A commercial for a daily shower spray: a woman extols how wonderful it is, and how it's equal to the crowd of minority women in maid uniforms scrubbing the shower behind her. "Same time tomorrow?" she asks them as they file away, dejected and sweaty. Um... So, Spokeslady, are you really implying that you're not using the product you're advertising?
2. A local commercial for a dentist's office: The dentist himself is the spokesperson. He looks very much like a vampire who also happens to be a pedophile...in the mafia. He goes on and on about how you need not fear any pain at the dentist--they completely sedate you during your...procedure. Brrrr. Just...brrr.
3. A lending company commercial: a woman illustrates the simplicity of going online, applying for a loan, and ding! you're approved. The laptop she holds up to demonstrate... has clearly been jimmied in post-production in order to show the full-screen logo of the company. It looks about as convincing as a piece of paper taped to the screen.
4. I'm a pacifist, but I want to personally shoot to their gory, bloody deaths, every "hip" dancing @sshole in every Verizon V-Cast commercial. They're not just enjoying life like the folks in iPod commercials. They're not quirky and likeable. They are pointedly obnoxious, self-important wastes of space. And they should die. That goes for anyone who plays the song, "My Humps" in public.
5. It's not Comcastic. It's a rip-off. When you can get VOIP from Voice-Pulse or Vonage for $25 unlimited long distance, and Comcast claims their $40 package is "teh awesome," I have to snort derisively. Pardon. Add onto that a gentleman seductively caressing his phone and playing the tune to "Loving You" on the buttons, and I have to... er, puke derisively. Particularly with that off-key pseudo-orgasmic howling moment at the end of the commercial. No man should love a phone that way. NO. MAN.
Rant over. I think perhaps the best solution is to never watch TV.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Quick Comic Review: Married to the Sea
Married to the Sea is a daily one-panel treat wherein the two authors post a humorously captioned or altered historic print. The humor often is based in the fact that their captions are so darn inappropriate for the subject matter in terms of era and lingo.
Warning: you may not laugh if you don't find cusses funny.
Check out their MySpace site, where you may indulge in photos of many zesty hipster youths wearing MTTS swag.
This comic rates my "Daily Read" Star of Excellence (which has something to do with the fact that it's posted daily, but has mostly to do with its keenness level).
Warning: you may not laugh if you don't find cusses funny.
Check out their MySpace site, where you may indulge in photos of many zesty hipster youths wearing MTTS swag.
This comic rates my "Daily Read" Star of Excellence (which has something to do with the fact that it's posted daily, but has mostly to do with its keenness level).
Sunday, June 18, 2006
It looks just like you, Percy.
I hardly ever sit down intending to find a previously undiscovered yet interesting webcomic. They tend to somehow find me, almost. In the midst of all the possible moving weirdness and such recently, I've actually stumbled over several lovely examples.
What does it take for me to adore and read all the archives of a webcomic? I was thinking about this lately. My top reads vary wildly, but there are some things that hold true for all of them.
1. Interesting art. You don't have to be Michelangelo, but if the look of something bores me to tears in the obligatory ten or so strips I afford every comic, it's going to have to be a no. It can be as simple as Patches or as complex as Lowbright. If you have skill, it shows. Here are some sub-points under the "art" heading.
--For god's sake, don't--DON'T try to cop Akira Toriyama. I don't even like it when Toriyama does it, much less you. Sloppily drawn, spikey haired, wanna-be anime pointy faced protagonists will not even garner 10 pages worth of attention.
--This is not to say that manga-style comics will be discarded out of hand. There are some very skillfully done series I do love in that style. I can appreciate it done right.
--If you're not able to consistently draw recognizable characters, you're not ready to make a web comic. If I have to guess who's speaking, or who someone is from panel to panel, I get cranky and end up just clicking over to Boing-Boing or somewhere.
2. This may be classified partially under art, but I realllly appreciate good character design. Part of that is the look of a character, but also included is that person's (or thingy's) actual character and personality. Again, consistency is a good thing. I may roll my eyes at what your character just did, but if it makes sense within their motivations and mindset, and the story is worthwhile, I'm generally okay with that. Not to say you have to have some sort of static yahoo--It's also interesting to see characters grow or change, and when it's done well (a difficult thing), I applaud it.
3. The obvious points are important, like setting and story. I've had exposure to a lot of webcomics in my day. I also have good pattern recognition (not in the technical/Gibson sense, but in the "I recognize and associate visual stuff fairly well, even over long periods of time" way.), so if you're ripping off another webcomic, you're not going to get much love from me. Unless you do it SO better than the original.
More subpoints:
-- The web is flooded with comics about snarky, hip, twenty-something pals living in an apartment, talking about relationships, and then drinking too much and seeing silly things. Unless you think you can somehow do it better than Questionable Content, (I DOUBT IT) do yourself a favor and try something else.
-- A comic that someone earnestly tries to turn into a forum for political or other causes usually makes me yawn. I have a "Not Agaaaain" alert that goes off when I am within 50 paces of someone who's taking themselves or their comic too seriously. Sure, make a few political jokes here and there. Point out some social issues now and then. But don't harp on it. Please don't make long, inescapable rants about it. Please?
-- Is there an interesting story or clever writing in there? That's how I know I've stumbled over something worthwhile. I mean to read 10 or so, and suddenly find I'm at the end of the archive and it's however much later. It doesn't have to be epic and grand. It doesn't even have to be a "story" per say. Hecks--some of my favorites have no words sometimes. But whether visual or via words, the writer's saying something I have to be intrigued or entertained by to bother.
4. You may be as silly as you want, with my blessing. If the art and characters are interesting, and the writing is clever, you can get away with a multitude of things.
What does it take for me to adore and read all the archives of a webcomic? I was thinking about this lately. My top reads vary wildly, but there are some things that hold true for all of them.
1. Interesting art. You don't have to be Michelangelo, but if the look of something bores me to tears in the obligatory ten or so strips I afford every comic, it's going to have to be a no. It can be as simple as Patches or as complex as Lowbright. If you have skill, it shows. Here are some sub-points under the "art" heading.
--For god's sake, don't--DON'T try to cop Akira Toriyama. I don't even like it when Toriyama does it, much less you. Sloppily drawn, spikey haired, wanna-be anime pointy faced protagonists will not even garner 10 pages worth of attention.
--This is not to say that manga-style comics will be discarded out of hand. There are some very skillfully done series I do love in that style. I can appreciate it done right.
--If you're not able to consistently draw recognizable characters, you're not ready to make a web comic. If I have to guess who's speaking, or who someone is from panel to panel, I get cranky and end up just clicking over to Boing-Boing or somewhere.
2. This may be classified partially under art, but I realllly appreciate good character design. Part of that is the look of a character, but also included is that person's (or thingy's) actual character and personality. Again, consistency is a good thing. I may roll my eyes at what your character just did, but if it makes sense within their motivations and mindset, and the story is worthwhile, I'm generally okay with that. Not to say you have to have some sort of static yahoo--It's also interesting to see characters grow or change, and when it's done well (a difficult thing), I applaud it.
3. The obvious points are important, like setting and story. I've had exposure to a lot of webcomics in my day. I also have good pattern recognition (not in the technical/Gibson sense, but in the "I recognize and associate visual stuff fairly well, even over long periods of time" way.), so if you're ripping off another webcomic, you're not going to get much love from me. Unless you do it SO better than the original.
More subpoints:
-- The web is flooded with comics about snarky, hip, twenty-something pals living in an apartment, talking about relationships, and then drinking too much and seeing silly things. Unless you think you can somehow do it better than Questionable Content, (I DOUBT IT) do yourself a favor and try something else.
-- A comic that someone earnestly tries to turn into a forum for political or other causes usually makes me yawn. I have a "Not Agaaaain" alert that goes off when I am within 50 paces of someone who's taking themselves or their comic too seriously. Sure, make a few political jokes here and there. Point out some social issues now and then. But don't harp on it. Please don't make long, inescapable rants about it. Please?
-- Is there an interesting story or clever writing in there? That's how I know I've stumbled over something worthwhile. I mean to read 10 or so, and suddenly find I'm at the end of the archive and it's however much later. It doesn't have to be epic and grand. It doesn't even have to be a "story" per say. Hecks--some of my favorites have no words sometimes. But whether visual or via words, the writer's saying something I have to be intrigued or entertained by to bother.
4. You may be as silly as you want, with my blessing. If the art and characters are interesting, and the writing is clever, you can get away with a multitude of things.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
That time again...
Well, it's happening already; The neighbors are beginning the annual month-long Fourth of July celebration, which means we can sit on the balcony and get free fireworks displays. *claps like a second grader* Last night it was the neighbors across the street from our house, which meant that when we had our nightly hang-out time on the porch (on the back of the house), all we got were flashes and the sound of the fireworks going off. Ah well. It was interesting, at least.
Things have been even more insane than usual around here, with a couple possible moves in the works with new jobs for the Boy. It was busy enough with the idea of one possiblility. Now there are two. We've been frantically fencing phone calls, emails, packages and paperwork, and researching like crazy, and the Boy has been attending various interviews along the chain.
Strangely, if it happens, I'd actually be okay with the idea of moving. I would miss my friends dreadfully, but it would force me to be more intentional in emailing and calling. Neither possible destination is more than a day's drive from where we are now, so that's a comforting thought.
Then again, we might just stay right here. I'm honestly, actually, shockingly...okay with any of the above. It could be an adventure either way.
Things have been even more insane than usual around here, with a couple possible moves in the works with new jobs for the Boy. It was busy enough with the idea of one possiblility. Now there are two. We've been frantically fencing phone calls, emails, packages and paperwork, and researching like crazy, and the Boy has been attending various interviews along the chain.
Strangely, if it happens, I'd actually be okay with the idea of moving. I would miss my friends dreadfully, but it would force me to be more intentional in emailing and calling. Neither possible destination is more than a day's drive from where we are now, so that's a comforting thought.
Then again, we might just stay right here. I'm honestly, actually, shockingly...okay with any of the above. It could be an adventure either way.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The Cause
Alert! Achtung! Are there any of you planning to go to Cornerstone Music Festival this year who haven't gotten your ticket yet? If so, you should consider buying your tickets online. When you are purchasing, enter "street team member" code: 37k610. This will help Sandy from Germany to be able to go.
She stumbled over a couple of my Cornerstone photos on Flickr, and sent me an email about how she's trying to raise enough points to get into the festival. She's never been to C-stone before, and she's already dropping mega-cash on the plane ticket, so it would be a nice favor if you know anyone who's going to buy tickets to get her the final points toward her pass.
It doesn't cost you anything extra--just a couple seconds of your time.
There's more info on Sandy on her MySpace page, here..
She stumbled over a couple of my Cornerstone photos on Flickr, and sent me an email about how she's trying to raise enough points to get into the festival. She's never been to C-stone before, and she's already dropping mega-cash on the plane ticket, so it would be a nice favor if you know anyone who's going to buy tickets to get her the final points toward her pass.
It doesn't cost you anything extra--just a couple seconds of your time.
There's more info on Sandy on her MySpace page, here..
Friday, June 02, 2006
Score!
One of our Memorial weekend activities consisted of the Boy and I going on down to Micro Center, which is a massive orgy of nerdery and computer parts... I mean, a large computer/tech store.
Before that, we gorged ourselves on excellent sushi (oh glory!)at Nobana, an offshoot of the wonderful Noble Fish.
Back to the tech stuff. I flag rather quickly at places like that. Not that I don't love technology... It's just that it's a big place, I do not speak the language fluently, the Boy flits from place to place exclaiming and examining things, and I eventually just trail behind him in a bit of a daze. Not necessarily a bad thing. I usually end up going over and gawking at things in the Apple section.
In any case, this time when we left, I had a super-cool tablet! I've been using Painter IX to make art--so much cleaner and cheaper than busting out the oil paint and canvas. The smell of linseed oil is a happy memory from my childhood, but it's nice not to have to deal with dirty rags and paint water. Sooo, I've been having fun with the fact that it's pressure sensitive, so you can sketch in varied darknesses of pencil strokes, depending on how hard you press while you're drawing on the tablet. Hooray tablet!
Hooray also for the freaking out-of-the-blue baby freaking grand piano the Boy has finagled for me!! We're giving our current one to one of his coworkers, and then we'll have room for it. Don't get me wrong--I'm fond of my current piano, but even tuned, it's got that plinky, metallic sound common in consoles. It's hard for me to love listening to it. I grew up with a full upright that had a rich, round sound to it, and that's what I desperately miss sometimes. But no more!!
Hooray for unexpected good things!
Before that, we gorged ourselves on excellent sushi (oh glory!)at Nobana, an offshoot of the wonderful Noble Fish.
Back to the tech stuff. I flag rather quickly at places like that. Not that I don't love technology... It's just that it's a big place, I do not speak the language fluently, the Boy flits from place to place exclaiming and examining things, and I eventually just trail behind him in a bit of a daze. Not necessarily a bad thing. I usually end up going over and gawking at things in the Apple section.
In any case, this time when we left, I had a super-cool tablet! I've been using Painter IX to make art--so much cleaner and cheaper than busting out the oil paint and canvas. The smell of linseed oil is a happy memory from my childhood, but it's nice not to have to deal with dirty rags and paint water. Sooo, I've been having fun with the fact that it's pressure sensitive, so you can sketch in varied darknesses of pencil strokes, depending on how hard you press while you're drawing on the tablet. Hooray tablet!
Hooray also for the freaking out-of-the-blue baby freaking grand piano the Boy has finagled for me!! We're giving our current one to one of his coworkers, and then we'll have room for it. Don't get me wrong--I'm fond of my current piano, but even tuned, it's got that plinky, metallic sound common in consoles. It's hard for me to love listening to it. I grew up with a full upright that had a rich, round sound to it, and that's what I desperately miss sometimes. But no more!!
Hooray for unexpected good things!
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
My Head A Splode
Here you go: CUTENESS
Only watch if you have the fortitude to handle the head-exploding cuteness of an adorable singing three year old.
Only watch if you have the fortitude to handle the head-exploding cuteness of an adorable singing three year old.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Small Stories: There are babies, and there are babies
On my way into Target the other day, I passed a girl leaving in tears. I had the typical wash of concern, but she was on her way so quickly there was nothing I could do but I continue with my business. This sounds odd, but I wouldn't have really thought about her again if I hadn't swung by the restroom before leaving.
I pushed open the door and spent an awkward couple moments navigating around a mother and her multiple tiny people in their various strollers and shopping carts in order to get to the only open stall. She was trying to keep everyone under control, and though the kids didn't seem bratty, persay, they were FULL of energy, and the desire to crawl beneath stall doors. The mother wrangled them fairly successfully, fortunately.
Then, as I was leaving my stall, I noticed, in the wastebasket, the box for a pregnancy test. Even if I hadn't seen the girl crying, and even if the flock of babies weren't outside, I think it would have made an impression. Somehow I don't get the sense that someone buys a pregnancy test and takes it immediately, alone in a Target bathroom, if everything is okay. It makes me sad.
Maybe I'm making connections that don't exist. Maybe the crying girl was upset about the impending Britney/K-Fed breakup. Yes. I can pretend a hopeful girl took the test and was thrilled with the result, or that a worried woman took it and was relieved by what it said.
I pushed open the door and spent an awkward couple moments navigating around a mother and her multiple tiny people in their various strollers and shopping carts in order to get to the only open stall. She was trying to keep everyone under control, and though the kids didn't seem bratty, persay, they were FULL of energy, and the desire to crawl beneath stall doors. The mother wrangled them fairly successfully, fortunately.
Then, as I was leaving my stall, I noticed, in the wastebasket, the box for a pregnancy test. Even if I hadn't seen the girl crying, and even if the flock of babies weren't outside, I think it would have made an impression. Somehow I don't get the sense that someone buys a pregnancy test and takes it immediately, alone in a Target bathroom, if everything is okay. It makes me sad.
Maybe I'm making connections that don't exist. Maybe the crying girl was upset about the impending Britney/K-Fed breakup. Yes. I can pretend a hopeful girl took the test and was thrilled with the result, or that a worried woman took it and was relieved by what it said.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Wow....just...wow.
According to Fark, this is what happens when a frustrated novelist writes for the police blotter.
I'm not going to write a commentary on the article in question because it would all just come out too...mean.
Tenses! Spelling! Punctuation! Usage! Grammar!
Sorry. That just popped out.
I'm not going to write a commentary on the article in question because it would all just come out too...mean.
Tenses! Spelling! Punctuation! Usage! Grammar!
Sorry. That just popped out.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Small Stories: Moth-er
When I worked in the mail room at my school, we sometimes got odd things through the mail slot. Gum wrappers, a frisbee, etc.
A little before Mother's day one spring, I heard the plop of something dropping through the "outgoing" slot and a while later went over to sort whatever had just arrived. Strangely, it was a little white envelope that lacked an address, return, or stamp. All it said, written carefully in marker in the middle of the front, was "Moth er."
Inside was a home-made card, complete with glued construction paper and stickers. "Mother!" it said, "You are the best mother. Happy mother day." Following were a collection of X's and O's.
Some kind little person took the time to hand make a card for their mom. The same little person folded the edges so it would fit into an envelope, sealed it, and walked all the way to the college to put it in the mail slot. Surely, in the same way that letters to Santa are delivered, the postman would know to give the little gift to "Moth er. "
The little person probably waited for Mother to get her card, and wondered why it didn't arrive. I hope they weren't too sad when they realized it wasn't coming.
A little before Mother's day one spring, I heard the plop of something dropping through the "outgoing" slot and a while later went over to sort whatever had just arrived. Strangely, it was a little white envelope that lacked an address, return, or stamp. All it said, written carefully in marker in the middle of the front, was "Moth er."
Inside was a home-made card, complete with glued construction paper and stickers. "Mother!" it said, "You are the best mother. Happy mother day." Following were a collection of X's and O's.
Some kind little person took the time to hand make a card for their mom. The same little person folded the edges so it would fit into an envelope, sealed it, and walked all the way to the college to put it in the mail slot. Surely, in the same way that letters to Santa are delivered, the postman would know to give the little gift to "Moth er. "
The little person probably waited for Mother to get her card, and wondered why it didn't arrive. I hope they weren't too sad when they realized it wasn't coming.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Blind people audio books
We've been poking at audio books, and have stumbled over several that we can only conclude must have been recorded for the blind. The bland gentleman reads the copyright, the dedications, the back cover--everything. And then there was this little aside:
"The maps printed in this book will not be included in this recording."
Does that seem strange? Are maps ever included in audio recordings?
"Um, there's an island kind of shaped like...well, I want to say a..shoe? A boot maybe? It's right next to the big compass, and uh... it's got some little drawings of trees and that seems to be a bird...? A mountain, maybe?"
Friday, May 12, 2006
Small Stories: Fortune Cookies
I was in Chicago for a photography class, and a couple friends and I were wandering around to find a place for lunch. We decided to head for the Chinese buffet nearby. As we passed a homeless woman, she asked if we had any spare change for food, and since we only had debit cards, someone asked, "Why don't you just come to lunch with us?" She was surprised, but accepted.
I was a little uncomfortable at lunch, for which I still feel guilty. Rhonda, the homeless woman, talked a little about her past. She was in her forties--she'd been on the street for five years or so. She had two kids somewhere. She looked down at her plate and paused. "But I wasn't much of a mother to them." She said she felt like being homeless was a hole that you just can't reach high enough to get a handhold to climb out of. She'd stopped trying to climb out.
We didn't say much about our comparatively cushy college lives. The bill arrived, with requisite fortune cookies, and we all took turns laughing about our "mysterious strangers" and lucky numbers.
Then Rhonda slowly read her fortune, which said," It's not too late to change the path you've taken."
Everyone was quiet for a little while.
I was a little uncomfortable at lunch, for which I still feel guilty. Rhonda, the homeless woman, talked a little about her past. She was in her forties--she'd been on the street for five years or so. She had two kids somewhere. She looked down at her plate and paused. "But I wasn't much of a mother to them." She said she felt like being homeless was a hole that you just can't reach high enough to get a handhold to climb out of. She'd stopped trying to climb out.
We didn't say much about our comparatively cushy college lives. The bill arrived, with requisite fortune cookies, and we all took turns laughing about our "mysterious strangers" and lucky numbers.
Then Rhonda slowly read her fortune, which said," It's not too late to change the path you've taken."
Everyone was quiet for a little while.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Sora, Donald, Goofy!
I'm playing Kingdom Hearts II for the PS2....and sweet mother of mercy! Can anyone address the three main characters in any other way than reciting their names in an unnatural chant? When I see three friends, I don't exclaim, "Bill, Fred, Maximillion!" in the same way I'd say, "Schlemiel, schlimazel, Hasenpfeffer Incorporated!" Instead, I say "Hey, guys!" or "Avast, ye landlubbers!"
Well, I can feel it coming on.... I suppose this is going to be a game review. As mothers always say, "If you can't say anything nice, make something up, and then go ahead and rage about the bad stuff."
First of all, disclaimer: this is my personal opinon. You shouldn't let it rock your world.
_______________________
So... nice things.... niiiice things.....um.... Actually there are several. First, second and third would be Tron, Tron and TRON. I've always loved the film. The environment and music were great, and getting to actually control a light cycle was tres awesome. I bet that blind, warm and fuzzy nostalgia is how the designers wish I felt about every world in the game.
More positives: Well, the game is pretty. That's unarguable. Special attacks yield blossoming fireworks and colorful flashes. The character design (Disney and Square both) is fun to look at, although there were a few similar characters that could have been Sephiroth's love-children. There are also some interesting things you can do with "forms." ie: Your character can transform temporarily for higher stats, and is able to use two swords at once, which is a worthy addition. Limit breaks are also employable. Finally, it's (almost) always entertaining to see Final Fantasy characters, though it's a little weird to hear Cloud seriously mutter the word, "Goofy." Another thing I thought was fun was Timeless River, the black and white world of "Steamboat Willie," where even current characters took on the 1928 Disney animation look. The rest of the enjoyable aspects were mostly things that were established and carried over from the first game. (theme music, etc.) Oh, and one last thing: I always love a moogle.
The bad: If this tells you anything, at this point, I'm playing the game out of sheer stubbornness. The worlds may be pretty, but so far, they're uninteresting, straightforward and flat. They're tiny. No secrets or mysteries--nothing to collect. At least in the first game, one had the entertaining challenge of finding little balconies and ledges with treats on them, or leaping and gliding to interesting places. I've been looking. Believe me. I just don't see those sorts of places in this game. This far in, I can't see suddenly discovering there's a whole new world (pardon the pun) on the rooftops above Agrabah.
One massive annoyance is the simple existence of Atlantica. How does this make sense: "The universe is in peril! Only we can save it!...What? You want us to sing and dance in your ridiculous undersea musical extravaganza and waste countless precious hours we could be using to save the world?? .....Sure!!" I loathed Atlantica in the first game. Why would I like it now, when there is absolutely no reasonable explanation for me being there?
I hear that unless you complete every one of the thousand or so semi-impossible nit-picky missions Jiminy records in his journal, you don't get the "special ending." Just...screw you, Jiminy.
I don't need a special ending that badly. That's what YouTube is for.
I can have a passable good time by only poking around at the things I'm interested in--fighting matches, completing smaller missions, finding special "gummi" pieces for ship building, etc. But this doesn't further the story at all. To keep things interesting, the Boy and I, giggling like middle schoolers, designed a giant spaceship shaped like something I couldn't show my mother. The Penny Arcade guys would be proud.
Update: I actually finished the game tonight. The last hour or so was about as enjoyable as the eternal screech of nails on a chalkboard. Maybe I'm just an old-fashion kind of girl, but when I beat a boss, I prefer to have them stay beaten, not morph into some larger, uglier version of themselves and declare that we're going to throw down again. (somehow that's sort of *more* okay in Final Fantasy. Not completely okay, but less aggravating.) More button mashing, more inexplicable retarded pseudo-philosophy about "light and dark," more stale Disney platitudes about friendship and hearts... The Boy will bear witness to the fact that I carefully ran through my entire vocabulary list of cusses several times to make sure I had not skipped any.
"Why?" you may ask. Why would I bother finishing it? Because I'm stubborn and dumb, that's why. I kept hoping that something earth-shatteringly cool would happen. It did not.
Kingdom Hearts II gets 5 stars out of 10. Because I'm generous that way.
Unfortunately, there are people out there who would (and probably will) send hate-mail declaring, "OMG!!!1 your a moran its the awesomest game EVAR!!1!! FU!" Just as an FYI - Don't bother. I'll delete your comment. You can vent over at IGN or somewhere. Move along, now.
Small Stories: Deer at the Door
A few years ago, my brother-in-law was working on someone's house in a woodsy area across the road from a large, gated property with tall hedges. As he was standing in the driveway, a bizarre-looking deer came jogging out of the trees. (As a side note, Michigan deer are tall, sleek, and slender, and that particular "deery" color of brown.) This one was practiacally white, tiny and stunted looking, and decidedly fuzzy.
The guys stopped what they were doing to watch the grizzled little deer as it trotted along. As if the sighting of a peculiar deer weren't enough, it made a beeline for the large gates at the property across the road. It marched up and down for a few seconds, obviously wanting to get in. Then the gates slowly opened. The deer briskly waltzed inside, and the gates closed again behind it.
We learned later that the property was owned by an eccentric European collector of different breeds of deer, but I don't think that makes the story any less bizarre or entertaining.
The guys stopped what they were doing to watch the grizzled little deer as it trotted along. As if the sighting of a peculiar deer weren't enough, it made a beeline for the large gates at the property across the road. It marched up and down for a few seconds, obviously wanting to get in. Then the gates slowly opened. The deer briskly waltzed inside, and the gates closed again behind it.
We learned later that the property was owned by an eccentric European collector of different breeds of deer, but I don't think that makes the story any less bizarre or entertaining.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Oh--and...
Thanks a bundle to those of you who submitted names for the little felt creature. Jane suggested a mixture that incorporated Anna's cute suggestion as well: I shall call them Feltsies. Individually, they'll have their own little names, but as a species (?) they are Feltsies. Thank you to both Anna and Jane! Thanks! Thanks!!
Question: Does anyone know the likelihood that Nintendo would sue me for sewing and selling a spoils bag like the one in Zelda: Windwaker? I sewed one a few years ago, and gave it away. I'm thinking now that someone might have paid for something like that. Hmmm.
Question: Does anyone know the likelihood that Nintendo would sue me for sewing and selling a spoils bag like the one in Zelda: Windwaker? I sewed one a few years ago, and gave it away. I'm thinking now that someone might have paid for something like that. Hmmm.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Ninjas+Pirates: The Eternal Clash
I have discovered another webcomic worthy of note. Prepare yourself for
The Adventures of Dr. McNinja!
He's not just a ninja--he's a doctor.
The art is fun, but the writing is what makes me snicker uncontrollably. That's something that not many online comics are capable of. Many of them are humorous, yes--but this one has a dry, sharp wit that's relentless. The character of Dr. McNinja is all at once stealthy, bumbling and full of melodrama.
Dr. McNinja: Okay...Dinosaur in my office. How could that be? The door should have been locked.
(Pause)
Dr. McNinja: Oh! They are extinct! Dinosaurs are extinct! Dinosaur can't be in the office (his eyes narrow) because it should be extinct.
It reminds me of the comics drawn by that really smart but goof-off kid who used to sit behind you in algebra. 'Nuff said.
The Adventures of Dr. McNinja!
He's not just a ninja--he's a doctor.
The art is fun, but the writing is what makes me snicker uncontrollably. That's something that not many online comics are capable of. Many of them are humorous, yes--but this one has a dry, sharp wit that's relentless. The character of Dr. McNinja is all at once stealthy, bumbling and full of melodrama.
Dr. McNinja: Okay...Dinosaur in my office. How could that be? The door should have been locked.
(Pause)
Dr. McNinja: Oh! They are extinct! Dinosaurs are extinct! Dinosaur can't be in the office (his eyes narrow) because it should be extinct.
It reminds me of the comics drawn by that really smart but goof-off kid who used to sit behind you in algebra. 'Nuff said.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Contest alert!
This little guy is the result of a sewing machine test from the other day, and I thought it was fun, despite the half finished seams and randomly mismatched thread. I'm thinking I might make some proper varieties for Etsy, but then there's the issue of what to call them. Anyone have any ideas?
Something short and cute oughta do it, but I'm drawing a blank.
Submissions are welcome--I will profusely publicly thank whoever submits the winner!
In honor of that little guy:
I bought some plain white baby onesies when I got home from visiting Teeny Will and family at the hospital, I made this: 
As I told my sister, "It's cute! It's a robot! It's cute-bot!" I'm thinking I will make more cute-bot items for selling on Etsy. Incidentally, that is a link to my little shop. I don't have an awful lot in it at this point, but I figured it's better to stick something in there than wait forever until I feel like I have enough stock. If you have any requests or suggestions, just let me know!
As I told my sister, "It's cute! It's a robot! It's cute-bot!" I'm thinking I will make more cute-bot items for selling on Etsy. Incidentally, that is a link to my little shop. I don't have an awful lot in it at this point, but I figured it's better to stick something in there than wait forever until I feel like I have enough stock. If you have any requests or suggestions, just let me know!
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
It's a...boy?!
Strangely, after several months of being told she was having a girl, my sister had a baby boy this morning. All is well.
William Edward Nightingale, 7 pounds 7 ounces.
Status: cute
William Edward Nightingale, 7 pounds 7 ounces.
Status: cute
The Department of Labor
It is currently 1:15 AM, and my sister has just called to say she's at the hospital in labor. Freakin'-finally. She sounded exhausted, but at least she gets to evict Tiny after all this time.
Just wanted to pass the word to those of you wondering what's been going on.
Just wanted to pass the word to those of you wondering what's been going on.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Small Stories: Dance of the Tenacious Shingles
I tend to anthropomorphize things. Here is an example:
There is a little leaded glass window in an alcove next to the desk in my study. Some time ago, while gazing distractedly through it, I noticed that a small line of shingles on the roof of the house across the street had come loose and were a little cockeyed. The next morning when I sat at my computer, I glanced out to find that they had slid a little further.
Day by day, I watched as they edged slowly down the roof, sometimes mere centimeters at a time. It eventually became a game. Before I looked out, I'd try to guess where they'd be, and whether they would have fallen. After about a week, the shingles had crept all the way to the very edge of the roof. The next day it rained, and when I looked out, they were dangling by a corner from the gutter. Through the next week of wind and rain they clung there, and I kept glancing over, expecting any second to see them flop wetly to the porch below. One day when I looked out, they were gone. I checked the surrounding area, but didn't see them, and I assumed they'd been found and thrown out.
But the next day, someone had stuck them right back where they started, on the roof. How strange. Since there was nothing to hold them there, they did their little dance once again, but this time when they fell, they never came back.
There is a little leaded glass window in an alcove next to the desk in my study. Some time ago, while gazing distractedly through it, I noticed that a small line of shingles on the roof of the house across the street had come loose and were a little cockeyed. The next morning when I sat at my computer, I glanced out to find that they had slid a little further.
Day by day, I watched as they edged slowly down the roof, sometimes mere centimeters at a time. It eventually became a game. Before I looked out, I'd try to guess where they'd be, and whether they would have fallen. After about a week, the shingles had crept all the way to the very edge of the roof. The next day it rained, and when I looked out, they were dangling by a corner from the gutter. Through the next week of wind and rain they clung there, and I kept glancing over, expecting any second to see them flop wetly to the porch below. One day when I looked out, they were gone. I checked the surrounding area, but didn't see them, and I assumed they'd been found and thrown out.
But the next day, someone had stuck them right back where they started, on the roof. How strange. Since there was nothing to hold them there, they did their little dance once again, but this time when they fell, they never came back.
Mayhaps and Mishaps
It's May, and I'm entirely thrilled that I put in the effort of planting about 15 million bulbs last fall, because several of them have actually come up, and are making things beautiful around here. We've done the requisite lawn seeding and fertilizing that proves we're grown-up homeowners (though...what does that make us all the years we didn't seed or fertilize?) and the lawn is feebly attempting to comply.
It's been a good Spring. Things are growing, I've been creating little things via sewing machine, crocheting, felting, etc. (which always makes me happy), and I've reconnected with several dear folk from my past over the last little while.
But about that "spring cleaning" thing... er. I guess so.
It's been a good Spring. Things are growing, I've been creating little things via sewing machine, crocheting, felting, etc. (which always makes me happy), and I've reconnected with several dear folk from my past over the last little while.
But about that "spring cleaning" thing... er. I guess so.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
A Little Real-Life Story
I love "little real-life stories." They're tiny little things, sometimes practically just a scene, but they say a lot about people, and about life.
One of my favorite ones from a sister is this: She was walking around the block, and as she rounded the corner, she saw a little boy untangling himself from his bicycle, where he'd just fallen. He looked determined not to cry, and sort of embarassed as he was standing up, but once on his feet, he hopped on his little bike and rode away quickly.
I like that one. It's just the ending of a story, but it's a nice little scene. What made the boy crash his bike? We'll never know. What we do know is that he was embarassed but brave. And that's all we need to know.
Once, before my cell phone, I was lost at night on the way to a friend's new place. I was kind of in the middle of a wintery nowhere, but there was a little gas station with a pay phone, so I pulled in. There was a guy huddled up the phone, stamping his feet to keep warm. As I got out of the car, he shouted into the phone, "Dammit Janice--it's VALENTINE'S DAY!" slammed it down and drove off. As I reached the phone, it rang. It was Janice. I had to tell her Dave drove off. And then I realized Dave was right. I'd forgotten--It was Valentine's Day.
So many little things going on in that one.
The reason I thought of little real life stories is that the Boy called a few minutes ago becasue he needed to tell me one he'd just seen: He was walking through the emergency room at his hospital, and some paramedics came rushing in with a guy on a gurney--obviously writhing in pain and roaring, "My left nut!! My left nuuut!!" The nurse at the desk looked up and primly inquired, "Now what do we have here?" One of the paramedics looked back and seriously said, "It's his left nut, Ma'am."
Come on! Do little real stories get any better than that?
And good luck with your... um... nut, Buddy. Seriously.
One of my favorite ones from a sister is this: She was walking around the block, and as she rounded the corner, she saw a little boy untangling himself from his bicycle, where he'd just fallen. He looked determined not to cry, and sort of embarassed as he was standing up, but once on his feet, he hopped on his little bike and rode away quickly.
I like that one. It's just the ending of a story, but it's a nice little scene. What made the boy crash his bike? We'll never know. What we do know is that he was embarassed but brave. And that's all we need to know.
Once, before my cell phone, I was lost at night on the way to a friend's new place. I was kind of in the middle of a wintery nowhere, but there was a little gas station with a pay phone, so I pulled in. There was a guy huddled up the phone, stamping his feet to keep warm. As I got out of the car, he shouted into the phone, "Dammit Janice--it's VALENTINE'S DAY!" slammed it down and drove off. As I reached the phone, it rang. It was Janice. I had to tell her Dave drove off. And then I realized Dave was right. I'd forgotten--It was Valentine's Day.
So many little things going on in that one.
The reason I thought of little real life stories is that the Boy called a few minutes ago becasue he needed to tell me one he'd just seen: He was walking through the emergency room at his hospital, and some paramedics came rushing in with a guy on a gurney--obviously writhing in pain and roaring, "My left nut!! My left nuuut!!" The nurse at the desk looked up and primly inquired, "Now what do we have here?" One of the paramedics looked back and seriously said, "It's his left nut, Ma'am."
Come on! Do little real stories get any better than that?
And good luck with your... um... nut, Buddy. Seriously.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Misanthropy in 3...2...1
I've said before how I enjoy the idea of "freecycle" where people offer extra/unwanted items at no cost, and people can request items they need. I still enjoy the idea of it. But the fact that people are involved makes it quite the crapshoot.
Bear with me:
I recently pruned my massive lilac bush, and have an abundance of cuttings and branches that could easily be grown into lots of bushes by someone with a semi-green thumb. In fact, years ago, one of my younger brothers stuck a lilac stick into the ground, and it's still growing there.
I decided that since plants can be expensive, I could kill two birds with one stone by offering the cuttings on freecycle to 1. give someone a chance to have a nice lilacky (?) yard and 2. get the darn things out of my way. I made sure in my listing there could be no POSSIBLE way one could misinterpret what I was offering: three big bundles of lilac branches.
Just trying to cover all the bases here. Simple, right?
1 moron + "Simple, right?" = Not simple. Not right.
I follow the "first come, first served" approach, so when I got an email from a woman who lives in the same city as I do, I gave her the address of my house at 39 Blankity blank street, which is off of Such-n-such, down from this main road in this city. My first clue something was amiss should have been when I got an email back that said (and I'm cutting and pasting straight, here people):
Hey Steph. What is the pusical address, I don't know pontiac very well.
Pus-ical address? Ewwww. As opposed to a scab-ical address? Or maybe it's pronounced like "musical?" Ah well. I emailed her back and let her know my pusical address (again) and becasue she seemed sort of unobservant, I let her know I had bundled up the branches and put them at the side of the house by the driveway for her.
No problem. Her husband will pick them up.
Today I got an email complaining that when her husband arrived, instead of lilac BUSHES, it was just branches! What the..? Can she even make a branch grow? Huff! She's going to check the WEB. ( the all caps was her thing.)
I'm such a misleading conniving bitch trying to trick other people into taking away my useless yard waste, dontcha know?
First of all, if they can't be rooted, why the heck would I be offering them?? And secondly, did I NOT specifically write about that in the posting? Was I confusing and unclear? So I checked back through every email from the posting on, and these are the word usage stats--
"branches": 4
"cuttings": 3
"bundles": 2
"bushes"or "plants": 0 ...as in not any.
RROOARR!
__________________
In other news, the next door neighbors have cleaned up their trash heap of a yard, and now their daylilies are growing, and their house looks quite pretty.
NOT rroaarr! Something nice!!
Bear with me:
I recently pruned my massive lilac bush, and have an abundance of cuttings and branches that could easily be grown into lots of bushes by someone with a semi-green thumb. In fact, years ago, one of my younger brothers stuck a lilac stick into the ground, and it's still growing there.
I decided that since plants can be expensive, I could kill two birds with one stone by offering the cuttings on freecycle to 1. give someone a chance to have a nice lilacky (?) yard and 2. get the darn things out of my way. I made sure in my listing there could be no POSSIBLE way one could misinterpret what I was offering: three big bundles of lilac branches.
I cut my huge lilac bush back a lot this spring, and have three
big bundles of branches and cuttings to give away. Lilacs can be
rooted pretty easily, so in a couple years, you'd have a whole
backyard of lilacs if you wanted.
The branches are beginning to bud even on their own, but I can't
guarantee that every single branch is still alive. I checked several, and
those were still flexible and green inside, though.
big bundles of branches and cuttings to give away. Lilacs can be
rooted pretty easily, so in a couple years, you'd have a whole
backyard of lilacs if you wanted.
The branches are beginning to bud even on their own, but I can't
guarantee that every single branch is still alive. I checked several, and
those were still flexible and green inside, though.
Just trying to cover all the bases here. Simple, right?
1 moron + "Simple, right?" = Not simple. Not right.
I follow the "first come, first served" approach, so when I got an email from a woman who lives in the same city as I do, I gave her the address of my house at 39 Blankity blank street, which is off of Such-n-such, down from this main road in this city. My first clue something was amiss should have been when I got an email back that said (and I'm cutting and pasting straight, here people):
Hey Steph. What is the pusical address, I don't know pontiac very well.
Pus-ical address? Ewwww. As opposed to a scab-ical address? Or maybe it's pronounced like "musical?" Ah well. I emailed her back and let her know my pusical address (again) and becasue she seemed sort of unobservant, I let her know I had bundled up the branches and put them at the side of the house by the driveway for her.
No problem. Her husband will pick them up.
Today I got an email complaining that when her husband arrived, instead of lilac BUSHES, it was just branches! What the..? Can she even make a branch grow? Huff! She's going to check the WEB. ( the all caps was her thing.)
I'm such a misleading conniving bitch trying to trick other people into taking away my useless yard waste, dontcha know?
First of all, if they can't be rooted, why the heck would I be offering them?? And secondly, did I NOT specifically write about that in the posting? Was I confusing and unclear? So I checked back through every email from the posting on, and these are the word usage stats--
"branches": 4
"cuttings": 3
"bundles": 2
"bushes"or "plants": 0 ...as in not any.
RROOARR!
__________________
In other news, the next door neighbors have cleaned up their trash heap of a yard, and now their daylilies are growing, and their house looks quite pretty.
NOT rroaarr! Something nice!!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Square One
It's been a while since I've written. With the exception of this blog and work, I've done almost nothing in terms of writing for a few years now. I'm not sure why I stopped journaling with a pen into a paper book. I'm not sure why I stopped writing fiction and poems on a regular basis.
It's also been a long time since I've worked on music or songwriting--more creative things I abandoned for no good reason. So weird to think that there was a time in college where almost every spare moment was spent recording or songwriting or spilling ennui into the pages of some unsuspecting journal. I occasionally dig out recordings from that era and it's like listening to someone else sing words I don't remember making up. Fortunately, a good friend got things rolling in the music field again, and this week we got together to work on some songs. I took some time this week to go through my stack of old journals and poetry and find things that are worth reworking or using as ideas.
They say that one must write 1,000 pages before anything worthwhile comes out of your pen. I believe it. Heck--make that 2 or 3,000...10,000 pages. And it's not exactly like riding a bike, this. I haven't song-written in a while, and it shows. It's going to take some awkward maneuvering and major rewriting to get back to a point where I have anything worthwhile on paper. I have managed to carefully eke out a couple things this week that I'm not embarassed to sing.
That's a pretty darn good start. Things are looking up.
It's also been a long time since I've worked on music or songwriting--more creative things I abandoned for no good reason. So weird to think that there was a time in college where almost every spare moment was spent recording or songwriting or spilling ennui into the pages of some unsuspecting journal. I occasionally dig out recordings from that era and it's like listening to someone else sing words I don't remember making up. Fortunately, a good friend got things rolling in the music field again, and this week we got together to work on some songs. I took some time this week to go through my stack of old journals and poetry and find things that are worth reworking or using as ideas.
They say that one must write 1,000 pages before anything worthwhile comes out of your pen. I believe it. Heck--make that 2 or 3,000...10,000 pages. And it's not exactly like riding a bike, this. I haven't song-written in a while, and it shows. It's going to take some awkward maneuvering and major rewriting to get back to a point where I have anything worthwhile on paper. I have managed to carefully eke out a couple things this week that I'm not embarassed to sing.
That's a pretty darn good start. Things are looking up.
Electro-sketch
I've been entertained by a couple online doodling places recently. One of them I can't remember the name of, but it basically was a site where the premise was that you sketched something, and then were rewarded by seeing an animation of the process of someone else's drawing. I think watching some random stranger's drawing actually emerge was the most interesting part. Apart from the obligatory huge wang from a thirteen year-old, the site had some interesting impromptu art.
I've been poking at Mai'Nada Comics today. Basically the same idea, but you don't have to draw anything to watch other people's sketches, and you are allowed to rate pieces. (mwahaha!) I notice that some of the things I think are really interesting and beautiful are not rated very highly. Hmm. I choose to believe it's because everyone else wants a crappy manga-type scrawl of a girl with big hooters, or a comic revolving around the word"poop."
I've been poking at Mai'Nada Comics today. Basically the same idea, but you don't have to draw anything to watch other people's sketches, and you are allowed to rate pieces. (mwahaha!) I notice that some of the things I think are really interesting and beautiful are not rated very highly. Hmm. I choose to believe it's because everyone else wants a crappy manga-type scrawl of a girl with big hooters, or a comic revolving around the word"poop."
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