What?! You didn't know? It's Happy Cat Day! Every December 27th, is the day to celebrate happy cats.
Today is that wonderfully ancient holiday of Happy Cat Day. Originating in pagan customs of cat worship and discount shopping, Happy Cat Day has become a time for family of all species to come together to eat, drink, shop, purr, and be merry.
Legend holds that 8,000 years ago, Bast, the cat god of the Egyptians, looked upon the people of the world and found them lacking according to kitty standards (but I'm sure cats do the same even today). Bast set a task upon humanity then, to create a religion that would spur the greatest excess of commercialism the world had ever seen. Xmas! With this awe-inspiring shopping holiday, the Western world spends 1/4 of the entire year cruising the malls, clicking on amazon and regifting dusty things from closets. Finally, Bast's vision has been fulfilled! And on this day, December 27th, tradition holds that we must honor Bast the cat god for this economic boon.
Go buy presents for your kitties and other loved ones at severely discounted prices! Eat candy that costs 1/10 of what it did two days ago! Make food (tuna?, salmon?, cheezburgers?), drink wine (tequila, cream?), visit friends (mew?) and shop shop shop (sleep sleep sleep?)!
Bast is purring and cleaning her whiskers for next year.
HAPPY CAT DAY!*
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
D'oh!
I was trying to make sure I had a post here at least once a month and here, by 7 minutes, I have let that goal slip. Wherpsidoos.
I suppose I have had quite a bit to post about in my life, but nothing I actually want to put down in writing; if that makes sense.
I have seen funny movies and shows and crappy movies and shows. My cats have done funny things and gross things and cute things. My family has been alternately nutso (in a funny quirky way) and sweet and thoughtful. My travels have been exciting and complicated and eye opening...lots to write about, no desire to write about it.
Instead, I have been, for some reason, waiting for the "perfect" idea or story to come along for me to riff about. Every so often, I will mark down physically or mentally a particularly intriguing thought or commentary I want to do, and then on further reflection, decide it's actually just sort of lame to write about something like that.
Like, my stories. My stories always sound great in my head or while I am first writing them...but then I think on them weeks or months or years later and I see them as these weirdo little page-long blasts out of nowhere. Like....no context, poor writing skills, not enough detail, not enough understanding of character or scenary. I feel like they are just these clumsy attempts to capture a single mote and blow it out to a full-length description or, conversely; a grand idea that I try to concentrate in a tiny, flimsy story line....neither of these leaves me satisfied. Perhaps if I blew out the mote to a book length thing filled with all that detail and observation. Or, perhaps if I filled in all those empty shelves of a plotted story, plumping it up and giving it heft. hm. But I seem only able to do one or the other. Oh, and taken out of context because at the time I write them down, my mind is filled with those stories or vignettes for days or weeks before I put them down for real in writing (or did as with past journal entries).
Yo. I haven't much changed though. I think in every diary or blog or journal or what-have-you I have ever had, I have this same complaint about myself. It's not all that deep to rehash the same issue over and over in different venues.
bleh, enough of this soul-searching!
It still smells like turkey in our house, and for that, I am thankful. Kitties are sleeping and it looks to be a funnish weekend. up and up.
I want some cookies (thank god I have pie).
I suppose I have had quite a bit to post about in my life, but nothing I actually want to put down in writing; if that makes sense.
I have seen funny movies and shows and crappy movies and shows. My cats have done funny things and gross things and cute things. My family has been alternately nutso (in a funny quirky way) and sweet and thoughtful. My travels have been exciting and complicated and eye opening...lots to write about, no desire to write about it.
Instead, I have been, for some reason, waiting for the "perfect" idea or story to come along for me to riff about. Every so often, I will mark down physically or mentally a particularly intriguing thought or commentary I want to do, and then on further reflection, decide it's actually just sort of lame to write about something like that.
Like, my stories. My stories always sound great in my head or while I am first writing them...but then I think on them weeks or months or years later and I see them as these weirdo little page-long blasts out of nowhere. Like....no context, poor writing skills, not enough detail, not enough understanding of character or scenary. I feel like they are just these clumsy attempts to capture a single mote and blow it out to a full-length description or, conversely; a grand idea that I try to concentrate in a tiny, flimsy story line....neither of these leaves me satisfied. Perhaps if I blew out the mote to a book length thing filled with all that detail and observation. Or, perhaps if I filled in all those empty shelves of a plotted story, plumping it up and giving it heft. hm. But I seem only able to do one or the other. Oh, and taken out of context because at the time I write them down, my mind is filled with those stories or vignettes for days or weeks before I put them down for real in writing (or did as with past journal entries).
Yo. I haven't much changed though. I think in every diary or blog or journal or what-have-you I have ever had, I have this same complaint about myself. It's not all that deep to rehash the same issue over and over in different venues.
bleh, enough of this soul-searching!
It still smells like turkey in our house, and for that, I am thankful. Kitties are sleeping and it looks to be a funnish weekend. up and up.
I want some cookies (thank god I have pie).
Thursday, October 6, 2011
self-defeatist dreams
I have had two dreams in two nights in a row that seemed rather like I have some sort of inferiority complex.
1). Dream one was the other night and I was in a Top Chef competition. At first, I was proud of myself for having made it to compete with all these other talented chefs. I was slicing and dicing and showing off my skill and sweating over saute pans and such. I was talking s**t with the other chefs and stressing over menus and flavor profiles and so on. At some point, I felt myself slipping back and falling into the weeds...getting behind and finding it tough to make up the difference. Sweat was dripping off my nose and I was feeling the stress get to me with shaky hands and weird decision-making. But I kept up, even if barely.
Then came the "talent round." I was sitting there, planning out another dish and menu when I realized the talent round meant we actually had to show off our talent at something and do it as a group. I think we divided ourselves up into the performers and the planners. I got myself put on the planning side of things, as I know my own strengths and they certainly don't lie in public performance. I had only a marginal part in this planning thing, like, writing out a couple words or something and not really part of putting together the big picture. I wasn't even really sure what they would do.
The curtain rolled back on a stage and I was in the back of this gymnasium like auditorium somewhere (we'd been having our cook-offs there as well). This totally involved musical play thing started up with intricate dancing and singing and acrobatics and artistically intriguing set design and costumes. I was totally blown away and it was then that the horror of my situation set in. I totally knew I was out of my depth. I knew, absolutely, that I did not belong there with all these amazingly talented, creative, outgoing people. I saw them doing this elaborate play/mime/interpretive dance and knew I could never have come up with anything that creative and I had no idea how it had been done.
As I stood there sort of inwardly crying for myself, the other shoe dropped and I was shocked to remember or realize that this was just the regionals for the show. This wasn't even the actual Top Chef show! This was just for the East Bay or something. Even if I made it through this round, I would have to go up against more and more talented people from all over the country and the world. I was terrified at the very magnitude of the situation and how insignificant and crappy my own skills were. I had no idea, then, how I had even gotten in to this first group and that my skills and intellect were totally dwarfed by what I was witnessing. It was pretty devastating and I woke up wondering really what my place in life was worth.
In thinking hard on this dream, I had the odd reflection that even though I felt completely overwhelmed by the creativity and talent of others...my brain had actually come up with the whole concept of this super awesome dance, play, musical, art thing...and...like, that kind of goes against the logic of me not having enough creativity to match these people...self-defeatist. weirdo.
2). The second one was jumbled, but what I remember is that there was a summer camp (most of my dreams seem to occur in some sort of institution or group setting) with cabins. I was pretty happy-go-lucky here, showing my camp-mates how to do little things (I guess they were new, and I had pretty much done this before) like start fires or make their beds. Then I decided to show off my personal skill...that of flying.
I tend to fly a lot in dreams. I love it. Whenever I get the chance, I fly. For some reason, it takes a lot of muscle control to fly in my dreams. Like, I have to tense up every muscle in a certain way to lift off ground and to maneuver. Most of the time, when I fly, it is at low altitudes and to get around whatever Victorian manor/girls academy or school or prisoners' work camp or what-have-you faster than others and to show off my skill.
This time flying, I was trying to show them what I could do and teach them how to do it too. We went outside to a low hill between two of the cabins and I instructed them that they might want to get a running start to build up momentum and then fly off the hill, like a para glider, perhaps (though this hill was only, probably a couple of feet tall). I went to show them, confident of my ability and ran off the hill, tensing my muscles and...Blam! I landed in a belly flop with my arms at my sides in the dust at the bottom of the hill. I heard calls from the top of the hill as to whether or not I was ok and also some laughter.
Now, if this had been in the previous dream, I would have fallen to bits and told myself I was not good enough and gotten depressed and angry at myself for showing off or thinking I could do such an awesome thing. I kind of knew that the hill-rise was too low to have given me enough lift really and instead, this time, I sort of started laughing to myself and built up enough energy to raise my body a couple inches off the ground and skim it as I continued flexing to build more momentum to get more altitude. I thought it was hilarious that I was only flying a couple inches off the ground and must look so bizarre, face down, arms at my sides as I sped off over the field. I woke up amused at the situation and my reaction to it.
Two self-defeatist dreams, two different reactions. I am glad I was more comfortable with my own limitations and could see the humor in them by the second one...makes for a happier day awake, for sure.
1). Dream one was the other night and I was in a Top Chef competition. At first, I was proud of myself for having made it to compete with all these other talented chefs. I was slicing and dicing and showing off my skill and sweating over saute pans and such. I was talking s**t with the other chefs and stressing over menus and flavor profiles and so on. At some point, I felt myself slipping back and falling into the weeds...getting behind and finding it tough to make up the difference. Sweat was dripping off my nose and I was feeling the stress get to me with shaky hands and weird decision-making. But I kept up, even if barely.
Then came the "talent round." I was sitting there, planning out another dish and menu when I realized the talent round meant we actually had to show off our talent at something and do it as a group. I think we divided ourselves up into the performers and the planners. I got myself put on the planning side of things, as I know my own strengths and they certainly don't lie in public performance. I had only a marginal part in this planning thing, like, writing out a couple words or something and not really part of putting together the big picture. I wasn't even really sure what they would do.
The curtain rolled back on a stage and I was in the back of this gymnasium like auditorium somewhere (we'd been having our cook-offs there as well). This totally involved musical play thing started up with intricate dancing and singing and acrobatics and artistically intriguing set design and costumes. I was totally blown away and it was then that the horror of my situation set in. I totally knew I was out of my depth. I knew, absolutely, that I did not belong there with all these amazingly talented, creative, outgoing people. I saw them doing this elaborate play/mime/interpretive dance and knew I could never have come up with anything that creative and I had no idea how it had been done.
As I stood there sort of inwardly crying for myself, the other shoe dropped and I was shocked to remember or realize that this was just the regionals for the show. This wasn't even the actual Top Chef show! This was just for the East Bay or something. Even if I made it through this round, I would have to go up against more and more talented people from all over the country and the world. I was terrified at the very magnitude of the situation and how insignificant and crappy my own skills were. I had no idea, then, how I had even gotten in to this first group and that my skills and intellect were totally dwarfed by what I was witnessing. It was pretty devastating and I woke up wondering really what my place in life was worth.
In thinking hard on this dream, I had the odd reflection that even though I felt completely overwhelmed by the creativity and talent of others...my brain had actually come up with the whole concept of this super awesome dance, play, musical, art thing...and...like, that kind of goes against the logic of me not having enough creativity to match these people...self-defeatist. weirdo.
2). The second one was jumbled, but what I remember is that there was a summer camp (most of my dreams seem to occur in some sort of institution or group setting) with cabins. I was pretty happy-go-lucky here, showing my camp-mates how to do little things (I guess they were new, and I had pretty much done this before) like start fires or make their beds. Then I decided to show off my personal skill...that of flying.
I tend to fly a lot in dreams. I love it. Whenever I get the chance, I fly. For some reason, it takes a lot of muscle control to fly in my dreams. Like, I have to tense up every muscle in a certain way to lift off ground and to maneuver. Most of the time, when I fly, it is at low altitudes and to get around whatever Victorian manor/girls academy or school or prisoners' work camp or what-have-you faster than others and to show off my skill.
This time flying, I was trying to show them what I could do and teach them how to do it too. We went outside to a low hill between two of the cabins and I instructed them that they might want to get a running start to build up momentum and then fly off the hill, like a para glider, perhaps (though this hill was only, probably a couple of feet tall). I went to show them, confident of my ability and ran off the hill, tensing my muscles and...Blam! I landed in a belly flop with my arms at my sides in the dust at the bottom of the hill. I heard calls from the top of the hill as to whether or not I was ok and also some laughter.
Now, if this had been in the previous dream, I would have fallen to bits and told myself I was not good enough and gotten depressed and angry at myself for showing off or thinking I could do such an awesome thing. I kind of knew that the hill-rise was too low to have given me enough lift really and instead, this time, I sort of started laughing to myself and built up enough energy to raise my body a couple inches off the ground and skim it as I continued flexing to build more momentum to get more altitude. I thought it was hilarious that I was only flying a couple inches off the ground and must look so bizarre, face down, arms at my sides as I sped off over the field. I woke up amused at the situation and my reaction to it.
Two self-defeatist dreams, two different reactions. I am glad I was more comfortable with my own limitations and could see the humor in them by the second one...makes for a happier day awake, for sure.
Monday, September 12, 2011
adventures at the coffeeshop
Dude!
People watching at the coffee shop is awesome....well, more like listening in to other people's conversations is awesome. I LOVE it. While I am trying to a). not look homicidal b). look thinky c). do puzzles d). write more of our trip to London in '10; I have one ear out for any interesting chatter that might float my way. Usually it is only interesting to me and...but, like, why do coffee shop people talk so loud anyway?
This deserves a new paragraph. Anyway, why do they talk so loud? The music that plays at these places is generally a bare decibel over being able to make out the song itself on the piped radio or Pandora station or whatever. The rest of the place is pretty quiet except for the tippy tapping of keyboards and the nervous knee jiggling of the over-caffeinated. The only real noise comes from whoever that a-hole is that just ordered ANOTHER cappuccino and that screeching milk steaming thing blows like a train whistle through my skull. Actually, you should see my little London Trip journal. You can totally see where someone got another cappuccino where my pen slips now and then...crack! Anyway, people be talking loud and that is fine with me. Even the pretentious people, who, in any other setting would set my nerves on end going on about themselves and their super important whatever b.s. they feel the need to shout about in public to someone who usually is some sort of devoted follower or just maybe not as douchey and generally more polite enough to let someone who thinks highly of themselves ramble on (like just now).
People at the coffee shop/(un)interesting conversations had:
1). Middle-aged lady sitting across from me with devoted follower or colleague ready to lick her boots. She looks artsy and upper-middle class whitey. I would suppose she has something to do with the university. She gives this other mousier woman a lecture about writing class and drops a lot of hints about "my novel, you know?" and throws out some pretty funny buzzwords for writing class people 'in the know' (you know?). Blocking; Arc-strength; Dead-ends; Pruning and then gives some examples of others in the class and the problems they are encountering and how the teacher was like Moses and leading them through the troubled waters of book-writing and the inferno-like hell of the plot-dragging desert. Cute! Other lady is taking some notes and nodding and looking all starry-eyed. Makes me wonder if maybe artsy lady might actually be some writer or professor I should know...which is probably exactly why she is speaking so loudly about her novel, "you know?"
2). Laid-back couple sitting one table up from them. Woman wearing basically yoga clothes and looking about 6-7 months pregnant. Man is either with her or wants to be, the way he smiles at her and stares at her mouth when she is talking. Awwww. He has nice eyes, crinkles on the side when they say something together that gets both of them laughing and rocking in opposite directions away from the table and then swaying to meet each other's eyes in the middle again. Pregnant lady is surrounded by plates of half-eaten food...how pregnant of her! She looks like she is studying something complicated in paperback bound thick-ass booklets of spreadsheets marked through with red and yellow highlighter. At some point, they both get up and leave all their stuff there; all the food, her sunglasses, booklets and so on. My suspicions are that they either went to make-out somewhere, or that they went for more food, or a walk or all three.
3). Two people stand on the corner across the street (I was sitting against the window, how cool am I?), holding hands, both in collared shirts. One (with short hair), wears a light-blue button-down, tucked in and dark pants. The other is a woman with curly hair just below her ears. They are both smiling. Tuck-in turns three-quarters and I see she is a woman as well and seems very anxious to get as much hand-holding and kissy face time in with curly hair. Curly wears a slight smile, Tuck-in wears an expression hovering between smile and gritting of teeth. They walk at the light and here, it looks like, Curly must take her leave as she plans to enter the coffee shop. Tuck-in manages to get a few good kisses and other PDA deals in on the street corner under the awning, and even lamely lets Curly drag her into the shop, through the door. Tuck-in gets a couple more almost desperate kisses, and hugs in before leaving her lovely lady, Curly, and heading out the door and at a brisk pace striding down the sidewalk and away. Her look is refocused, as she faces away from her woman, or maybe just not so needy and more strong but happy. Curly goes to pick out a treat and order her coffee.
5). I got an amazing chocolate chunk sea salt cookie to go with my Earl Grey tea. If someone else was taking surreptitious notes about the people and conversations at the coffee shop, I feel they may have noted in aside about this weird neurotic girl sitting in the corner writing on napkins, tapping her crocs together (to pop my knee back in...I don't know why, it just works), feverishly working (and cheating) on a book of NYTimes crossword puzzles and then exclaiming audibly about how "effing good this cookie is" and smiling that "spa" smile and sipping at her tea while pretending to look uninterested in everyone else's business.
also, I don't think I brushed my hair that day...I probably looked the nuttiest of the bunch, but it's Berkeley, so I figure I can get away with it.
I needs that cookie again. It is my precious.
People watching at the coffee shop is awesome....well, more like listening in to other people's conversations is awesome. I LOVE it. While I am trying to a). not look homicidal b). look thinky c). do puzzles d). write more of our trip to London in '10; I have one ear out for any interesting chatter that might float my way. Usually it is only interesting to me and...but, like, why do coffee shop people talk so loud anyway?
This deserves a new paragraph. Anyway, why do they talk so loud? The music that plays at these places is generally a bare decibel over being able to make out the song itself on the piped radio or Pandora station or whatever. The rest of the place is pretty quiet except for the tippy tapping of keyboards and the nervous knee jiggling of the over-caffeinated. The only real noise comes from whoever that a-hole is that just ordered ANOTHER cappuccino and that screeching milk steaming thing blows like a train whistle through my skull. Actually, you should see my little London Trip journal. You can totally see where someone got another cappuccino where my pen slips now and then...crack! Anyway, people be talking loud and that is fine with me. Even the pretentious people, who, in any other setting would set my nerves on end going on about themselves and their super important whatever b.s. they feel the need to shout about in public to someone who usually is some sort of devoted follower or just maybe not as douchey and generally more polite enough to let someone who thinks highly of themselves ramble on (like just now).
People at the coffee shop/(un)interesting conversations had:
1). Middle-aged lady sitting across from me with devoted follower or colleague ready to lick her boots. She looks artsy and upper-middle class whitey. I would suppose she has something to do with the university. She gives this other mousier woman a lecture about writing class and drops a lot of hints about "my novel, you know?" and throws out some pretty funny buzzwords for writing class people 'in the know' (you know?). Blocking; Arc-strength; Dead-ends; Pruning and then gives some examples of others in the class and the problems they are encountering and how the teacher was like Moses and leading them through the troubled waters of book-writing and the inferno-like hell of the plot-dragging desert. Cute! Other lady is taking some notes and nodding and looking all starry-eyed. Makes me wonder if maybe artsy lady might actually be some writer or professor I should know...which is probably exactly why she is speaking so loudly about her novel, "you know?"
2). Laid-back couple sitting one table up from them. Woman wearing basically yoga clothes and looking about 6-7 months pregnant. Man is either with her or wants to be, the way he smiles at her and stares at her mouth when she is talking. Awwww. He has nice eyes, crinkles on the side when they say something together that gets both of them laughing and rocking in opposite directions away from the table and then swaying to meet each other's eyes in the middle again. Pregnant lady is surrounded by plates of half-eaten food...how pregnant of her! She looks like she is studying something complicated in paperback bound thick-ass booklets of spreadsheets marked through with red and yellow highlighter. At some point, they both get up and leave all their stuff there; all the food, her sunglasses, booklets and so on. My suspicions are that they either went to make-out somewhere, or that they went for more food, or a walk or all three.
3). Two people stand on the corner across the street (I was sitting against the window, how cool am I?), holding hands, both in collared shirts. One (with short hair), wears a light-blue button-down, tucked in and dark pants. The other is a woman with curly hair just below her ears. They are both smiling. Tuck-in turns three-quarters and I see she is a woman as well and seems very anxious to get as much hand-holding and kissy face time in with curly hair. Curly wears a slight smile, Tuck-in wears an expression hovering between smile and gritting of teeth. They walk at the light and here, it looks like, Curly must take her leave as she plans to enter the coffee shop. Tuck-in manages to get a few good kisses and other PDA deals in on the street corner under the awning, and even lamely lets Curly drag her into the shop, through the door. Tuck-in gets a couple more almost desperate kisses, and hugs in before leaving her lovely lady, Curly, and heading out the door and at a brisk pace striding down the sidewalk and away. Her look is refocused, as she faces away from her woman, or maybe just not so needy and more strong but happy. Curly goes to pick out a treat and order her coffee.
5). I got an amazing chocolate chunk sea salt cookie to go with my Earl Grey tea. If someone else was taking surreptitious notes about the people and conversations at the coffee shop, I feel they may have noted in aside about this weird neurotic girl sitting in the corner writing on napkins, tapping her crocs together (to pop my knee back in...I don't know why, it just works), feverishly working (and cheating) on a book of NYTimes crossword puzzles and then exclaiming audibly about how "effing good this cookie is" and smiling that "spa" smile and sipping at her tea while pretending to look uninterested in everyone else's business.
also, I don't think I brushed my hair that day...I probably looked the nuttiest of the bunch, but it's Berkeley, so I figure I can get away with it.
I needs that cookie again. It is my precious.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Evil Dead
Just (re?)watched Evil Dead from 1981 with Bruce Campbell in it.
I feel like I have seen the movie before, but I hardly remembered it at all and I am glad I watched it again.
It was totally gross! but hilarious at the same time. Sam Raimi is a a B-movie genius.
Also, Bruce Campbell was sooooo frickin' young. Amazing.
Or, maybe the movie I am remembering is Army of Darkness. Is that the one he yells at some skeleton woman and calls her an evil bitch or something? Is there also a chainsaw in that one? So many horror movie chainsaws, it all runs together....like guts and mud and slime and ooze....gross.
I think that my favorite part of Evil Dead was probably the irritating/terrifying little girl cackling from the Bruce Campbell's girlfriend/zombie character. That was really creepy....the rest was basically special effects, but that lady's giggling and big open-eyed (albeit, open dead fish eyes), over-painted face really sent home the chills and erky factor.
I look forward to dreams of nibbled fingers and gushing eye sockets and lashing branches.
Actually, I think I will rinse my mind out a bit with a couple episodes of True Blood...ha (no, seriously).
I feel like I have seen the movie before, but I hardly remembered it at all and I am glad I watched it again.
It was totally gross! but hilarious at the same time. Sam Raimi is a a B-movie genius.
Also, Bruce Campbell was sooooo frickin' young. Amazing.
Or, maybe the movie I am remembering is Army of Darkness. Is that the one he yells at some skeleton woman and calls her an evil bitch or something? Is there also a chainsaw in that one? So many horror movie chainsaws, it all runs together....like guts and mud and slime and ooze....gross.
I think that my favorite part of Evil Dead was probably the irritating/terrifying little girl cackling from the Bruce Campbell's girlfriend/zombie character. That was really creepy....the rest was basically special effects, but that lady's giggling and big open-eyed (albeit, open dead fish eyes), over-painted face really sent home the chills and erky factor.
I look forward to dreams of nibbled fingers and gushing eye sockets and lashing branches.
Actually, I think I will rinse my mind out a bit with a couple episodes of True Blood...ha (no, seriously).
Thursday, July 21, 2011
For Reals, yo.
Ok, so that summer thing only lasted a solid week. Oh well! I got to visit the East Coast and sweat and feel stifled and sit out on the porch to catch a breeze and see the lightening bugs and listen to the cicadas and swat at mosquitoes....so it's all good, I suppose.
Other than that, I had some deeeeep thoughts on the plane ride home:
1). There is a gag reflex for the mouth, is there an equivalent for your other end?
2). When you are falling, you are actually weightless.
Let's discuss.
1). Is there some trigger in your lower digestive system that will possibly make you void its contents? This is nasty, but whatever. I was reading something about vomiting (why? probably just 'cause) and there is a kind of vomiting where your intestines spasm in the wrong direction, sending waste material into your stomach, and consequently, out through your mouth....like that South Park episode, sorta. Gross! imagine how many mints you would need to throw down to get rid of that aftertaste.
But, is there, like, a gag reflex for your butt? Like, some trigger area and Whoosh!, instant laxative? Ponder, ponder, ponder.
Why did I start thinking about this on the plane? Do you really want to know? No? whatever, I will tell you anyway. It's cause I was watching a middle-aged woman turn around to talk to the person behind her, while she half leaned, one knee in her seat, facing the opposite direction. My eyes were attracted to her fingers; fingers looking like precursors to arthritis. You know when it looks like someone's fingers are too long for the skin that binds them and they start to crook a bit and get tight at the ends? Anyway, so I was watching her sparkly rings squeezing her finger skin and I noticed what looked like chocolate on her index finger...which, of course, led me to wonder about the actual chemical composition of the substance and from whence it came...leading my brain alllll the way down, down, down to questioning a rectal gag reflex. I think the flight attendants came by with Lorna Doones just then and I was immediately distracted from thinking any further on the subject until now...mmmmmmm, Lorna Doones.
2). I actually figured this out through imagined scenarios in my head. I think I heard about it somewhere (maybe even physics class in high school!), but never quite understood it. You can not have weight unless you are still enough to be measured, on a surface of some sort, a gravity laden environment. If you are falling, you have no weight, because it can't be measured without slowing your fall. And then, if you are just slowing your fall, you are not measuring weight, but more like, gravity or speed or some other force. You can only measure weight before and after a fall, but not during.
But wait! This brings me to a whole, new perplexing question that could probably be easily answered through a quick google search! If you are in outer space, and you are holding 2 tons...no...hold on, just figured it out. That is, in fact the definition of being in outer space...being weightless...so no 2 ton anything. Nevermind! figured it out.
....cats are cutest when they are asleep on your lap-you see? how profound.
Looking forward to more oxygen-deprived, pressure-bound deep thoughts tomorrow. If I remember them, I shall post them.
Exciting! (maybe)
Other than that, I had some deeeeep thoughts on the plane ride home:
1). There is a gag reflex for the mouth, is there an equivalent for your other end?
2). When you are falling, you are actually weightless.
Let's discuss.
1). Is there some trigger in your lower digestive system that will possibly make you void its contents? This is nasty, but whatever. I was reading something about vomiting (why? probably just 'cause) and there is a kind of vomiting where your intestines spasm in the wrong direction, sending waste material into your stomach, and consequently, out through your mouth....like that South Park episode, sorta. Gross! imagine how many mints you would need to throw down to get rid of that aftertaste.
But, is there, like, a gag reflex for your butt? Like, some trigger area and Whoosh!, instant laxative? Ponder, ponder, ponder.
Why did I start thinking about this on the plane? Do you really want to know? No? whatever, I will tell you anyway. It's cause I was watching a middle-aged woman turn around to talk to the person behind her, while she half leaned, one knee in her seat, facing the opposite direction. My eyes were attracted to her fingers; fingers looking like precursors to arthritis. You know when it looks like someone's fingers are too long for the skin that binds them and they start to crook a bit and get tight at the ends? Anyway, so I was watching her sparkly rings squeezing her finger skin and I noticed what looked like chocolate on her index finger...which, of course, led me to wonder about the actual chemical composition of the substance and from whence it came...leading my brain alllll the way down, down, down to questioning a rectal gag reflex. I think the flight attendants came by with Lorna Doones just then and I was immediately distracted from thinking any further on the subject until now...mmmmmmm, Lorna Doones.
2). I actually figured this out through imagined scenarios in my head. I think I heard about it somewhere (maybe even physics class in high school!), but never quite understood it. You can not have weight unless you are still enough to be measured, on a surface of some sort, a gravity laden environment. If you are falling, you have no weight, because it can't be measured without slowing your fall. And then, if you are just slowing your fall, you are not measuring weight, but more like, gravity or speed or some other force. You can only measure weight before and after a fall, but not during.
But wait! This brings me to a whole, new perplexing question that could probably be easily answered through a quick google search! If you are in outer space, and you are holding 2 tons...no...hold on, just figured it out. That is, in fact the definition of being in outer space...being weightless...so no 2 ton anything. Nevermind! figured it out.
....cats are cutest when they are asleep on your lap-you see? how profound.
Looking forward to more oxygen-deprived, pressure-bound deep thoughts tomorrow. If I remember them, I shall post them.
Exciting! (maybe)
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
It's Summer!
There is a season going on in NoCal right now. It's terribly exciting. It is warm...like, REAL summer time warm here. In the upper 80's and, as usual, it's really amusing to see how the locals react to "weather".
Whilst on my neighborly walkabout, I witnessed a few signs of summer:
1) A group of hippies in the park, sitting in a circle, smoking weed and talking about nothing in particular. One of them started getting cheerfully agitated about someone who was acting stupid and not following orders from his family, when in danger. The rest of the hippies laughed and passed the dutchie on the left hand side...good summer fun...(they smelled rather ripe).
2) Exiting their home, a couple of near-to-middle-aged yuppies began a verbal altercation about the politics of shoving. Both of them seemed rather put out by warmth (and severe lack of air conditioning anywhere abouts these parts) and the woman decided to show her frustration by literally pushing her dude out the door. He, understandably, got pissed and spoke about how it was entirely not appropriate as an action to take in public just because she was cranky. Ahhhhhh, that summer sun.
3) Lady in an old Prius and lots of cute liberal bumperstickers espousing a "fighting Democrat" and Darwin fishes and the like, crawls up the street, assumedly looking for a certain house number and not using her reading glasses. Suddenly, there is a revving of engines as another Prius (new, red and shiny) has silently crept up behind her and the driver has just shown displeasure at her snail's pace by revving, honking and angrily pulling around her to zoom off to the stop sign. She, also now angry, screams out her open window, "F--- You!" and flustered, has to remember to stop the car and repossess herself so that she can make out more house numbers further along the block. New Prius, on the other hand, doesn't give a crap and tries to speed off from the stop sign to show her what what...only, you know, Prii don't really rev well in general and therefore, the New Prius sort of quietly turned the corner quickly and left the scene.
4) Cats get bored in the heat. Normally, they sleep all day, but when it's warm, they sleep double hard...except when they get bored and antsy. I saw at least two cats out on my rounds, just chilling out on the pavement, loving the even hotter cooking temperatures of the sun-warmed cement on their furry little bodies.
4.1) There is some sort of bird murder scene on the front lawn. I assume a cat was the "actor" (isn't that what cops call suspected bad guys now-adays?) but it could have easily been a dog. The victim appears to be a male scrub jay, or western blue jay of some sort. After examining the evidence, I could not find a body which further leads me to believe the actor was a cat. Plumage litters the lawn, bright blue feathers with black tips and fluffy grey under plumage feathers in bunches. I believe the victim was caught in our fig tree and perhaps, batted to the ground and tortured for a while before being dragged off home to show some proud (disgusted) owners/parents. My number one suspect is that naughty white cat with brown splotches down the street. He has been seen recently in the area, taunting the dog next door and he has been known in the past to start fights and flirt heavily with our two cats. Bad Kitty!...littering on my lawn...Bad!
5) Sweat.
Whilst on my neighborly walkabout, I witnessed a few signs of summer:
1) A group of hippies in the park, sitting in a circle, smoking weed and talking about nothing in particular. One of them started getting cheerfully agitated about someone who was acting stupid and not following orders from his family, when in danger. The rest of the hippies laughed and passed the dutchie on the left hand side...good summer fun...(they smelled rather ripe).
2) Exiting their home, a couple of near-to-middle-aged yuppies began a verbal altercation about the politics of shoving. Both of them seemed rather put out by warmth (and severe lack of air conditioning anywhere abouts these parts) and the woman decided to show her frustration by literally pushing her dude out the door. He, understandably, got pissed and spoke about how it was entirely not appropriate as an action to take in public just because she was cranky. Ahhhhhh, that summer sun.
3) Lady in an old Prius and lots of cute liberal bumperstickers espousing a "fighting Democrat" and Darwin fishes and the like, crawls up the street, assumedly looking for a certain house number and not using her reading glasses. Suddenly, there is a revving of engines as another Prius (new, red and shiny) has silently crept up behind her and the driver has just shown displeasure at her snail's pace by revving, honking and angrily pulling around her to zoom off to the stop sign. She, also now angry, screams out her open window, "F--- You!" and flustered, has to remember to stop the car and repossess herself so that she can make out more house numbers further along the block. New Prius, on the other hand, doesn't give a crap and tries to speed off from the stop sign to show her what what...only, you know, Prii don't really rev well in general and therefore, the New Prius sort of quietly turned the corner quickly and left the scene.
4) Cats get bored in the heat. Normally, they sleep all day, but when it's warm, they sleep double hard...except when they get bored and antsy. I saw at least two cats out on my rounds, just chilling out on the pavement, loving the even hotter cooking temperatures of the sun-warmed cement on their furry little bodies.
4.1) There is some sort of bird murder scene on the front lawn. I assume a cat was the "actor" (isn't that what cops call suspected bad guys now-adays?) but it could have easily been a dog. The victim appears to be a male scrub jay, or western blue jay of some sort. After examining the evidence, I could not find a body which further leads me to believe the actor was a cat. Plumage litters the lawn, bright blue feathers with black tips and fluffy grey under plumage feathers in bunches. I believe the victim was caught in our fig tree and perhaps, batted to the ground and tortured for a while before being dragged off home to show some proud (disgusted) owners/parents. My number one suspect is that naughty white cat with brown splotches down the street. He has been seen recently in the area, taunting the dog next door and he has been known in the past to start fights and flirt heavily with our two cats. Bad Kitty!...littering on my lawn...Bad!
5) Sweat.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Deeeeeep Thoughts
First of all:
We released a bunch of ladybugs into the garden tonight and I still feel like they are crawling on my skin and in my hair. They are not...but I still feel them. Fly! Fly my pretties!!! (Cackle cackle).
Second of all:
Watching a cheesy movie from the 50's and suddenly wondering how the field grass for battle scenes in movies is so short...'cause, natural fields have long grass. My theory is that people used to battle (shoot war movies) only on pastured land. This can't have always been so, right? But I suppose so in Europe it may have been the rule that any open land was being used as pasture. I wonder if any herds of sheep or cattle ever got caught up in battle?
Third of all:
I am thinking of making mac and cheese for tomorrow night. Being on a strict-ish budget, I will dip into the piggy bank to secure the necessary coins to purchase milk...as we ALWAYS have pounds of butter on hand and frozen peas and I don't need to worry about those.
Fourth of all:
Beet greens are just really beautiful. The deep red veins on the dark green leaf flesh is the perfect color contrast and design...good job, chaos theory/deity/random evolution...good job on that one.
Fifth of all:
Every time the neighbor goes up her stairs, I think it's the cats puking. So, apparently, cat puking has the same aural qualities as a lady's foot falls...We have also noticed this with women walking past on pavement, so it's not just wood. Very confusing! Kitties don't seem to care.
Sixth of all:
I freaking love tea.
Seventh of all:
That is all, please recommence procrastination.
We released a bunch of ladybugs into the garden tonight and I still feel like they are crawling on my skin and in my hair. They are not...but I still feel them. Fly! Fly my pretties!!! (Cackle cackle).
Second of all:
Watching a cheesy movie from the 50's and suddenly wondering how the field grass for battle scenes in movies is so short...'cause, natural fields have long grass. My theory is that people used to battle (shoot war movies) only on pastured land. This can't have always been so, right? But I suppose so in Europe it may have been the rule that any open land was being used as pasture. I wonder if any herds of sheep or cattle ever got caught up in battle?
Third of all:
I am thinking of making mac and cheese for tomorrow night. Being on a strict-ish budget, I will dip into the piggy bank to secure the necessary coins to purchase milk...as we ALWAYS have pounds of butter on hand and frozen peas and I don't need to worry about those.
Fourth of all:
Beet greens are just really beautiful. The deep red veins on the dark green leaf flesh is the perfect color contrast and design...good job, chaos theory/deity/random evolution...good job on that one.
Fifth of all:
Every time the neighbor goes up her stairs, I think it's the cats puking. So, apparently, cat puking has the same aural qualities as a lady's foot falls...We have also noticed this with women walking past on pavement, so it's not just wood. Very confusing! Kitties don't seem to care.
Sixth of all:
I freaking love tea.
Seventh of all:
That is all, please recommence procrastination.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
seasons?
Today, I decided that I was really missing out on all this East Coast weather sitting over here in the rather boring weather zone of Northern California.
I got in my car, rolled up the windows, turned off the AC and allowed the vehicle to get up to whatever temperature it would naturally get in the piercing sunshine. It was glorious! I haven't sweat from heat in two years, I think. I created a minor heatwave in my car, just driving to and from the doctor's office. It felt like real summer time, even if only for 15 minutes at a time. Even my arms were sweating.
I wonder what I can do in the "winter" here to approximate freezing temps and heavy snowfall?
Sticking my head in the freezer doesn't really cut it, you know?
I got in my car, rolled up the windows, turned off the AC and allowed the vehicle to get up to whatever temperature it would naturally get in the piercing sunshine. It was glorious! I haven't sweat from heat in two years, I think. I created a minor heatwave in my car, just driving to and from the doctor's office. It felt like real summer time, even if only for 15 minutes at a time. Even my arms were sweating.
I wonder what I can do in the "winter" here to approximate freezing temps and heavy snowfall?
Sticking my head in the freezer doesn't really cut it, you know?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
mew?
Mr. Tufts tugged on his tie, the heat was getting to him. All the neighbors had gathered together to discuss the situation at the end of the block. Why they decided to hold this meeting indoors while it was a sweaty summer day, Tufts couldn't say. But, being a mild-mannered fellow, he kept his complaining to an understated wheezing, non-obvious adjustments to his person and silently sent death stares at the Hopps couple. Their home, he noted, was decked out exactly as he had imagined it; the walls in frightfully cheerful flower patterns, the carpet a dusty rose and all the sittable surfaces covered in plastic "to keep from all the hair, you know" Mrs. Hops had informed him as she noticed his stare upon entering. The refreshments, too, were rather to be expected with a pitcher of drink-the ice long melted-surrounded by some inedible looking little treats. He had been excited to see the spread, but as he had gotten close enough for a true inspection, he turned his back immediately and made his way to the most comfortable chair in the room to wait for the other to arrive.
Mrs. Hopps snapped a few times to bring attention to the front of the room as all the neighbors were beginning to create a ruckus with all the greetings and complaints already loudly being spoken.
"Ahem! ahem!" She called out, though the snaps had gotten everyone's attention. "Something, must be done about the situation in our sweet little burb" She twitched a bit, as did many there, at the mention of the meat of the meeting. Tufts thought to himself that at least the lady had just decided to get to the point instead of the rambling conversations she was more usually inclined to carry on. "Does anyone have any ideas on how to...solve this problem?" Immediately, Little Jack stood up. "Ah! the floor recognizes Mr. Little Jack" Confused at the formality, but full of fire, Little Jack began to bellow, "We burn the place down! It's insufferable! Kick them out and let them find their way somewheres else! I know they're holed up in that wreck, refusing to leave! We'll make them leave!"
"Oh, Jack, sit down!" Mr. Hopps had stood up now too. "No one's burning anything down and smoking anyone out or anything like that. We need real solutions, not mob-making sensationalized threats." Mr. Hopps smoothed down his mustache and called on Ruby, though she made no obvious movement to add to the discussion.
"Well," she said in a squeaky voice, "we have asked the authorities to help us out, and nothing has come of it. We have tried to talk with them inside and they refuse to answer the door. I suppose, even if Little Jack is a bit over the top-sorry, Jack-he is right in that we need to take matters into our own hands. Believe me, I live two doors down and the smells and the screeching coming from that place every night is just...is just...it just stinks!" Ruby sat back down, lashing back and forth in obvious annoyance and emotion.
"Yes, yes...but what should we do?" Asked Mr. Hopps again, this time in almost a whine.
"We should go out as a group and knock on their door and surround the place until they come out to talk reason about their property. They have to come out at some point and they will know exactly how we feel about the situation there! No burning to the ground required. Perhaps we can convince them to move out. We could even be helpful about it all and suggest a neighborhood intervention in cleaning the place up for them." Mr. Tufts had finally spoke up, surprising himself. The room all turned to look at him and a great grinning smile broke out on Mr. Hopps' face. "Brilliant idea! Brilliant! We should go now! We will have a siege of the situation house!" Mr. Tufts began to mumble alarmedly that he had not meant it be a siege...but he supposed that after all, that is what he had been saying.
The group all sprang from the Hopps' home and down the road, gathering in a circle around the situation house and starting a low drone of conversation with Mr. Hopps calling out to the folks inside, explaining the group's actions and what they hoped to gain from it. People made themselves comfortable on the pavement, happy to be out the stuffiness of the Hopps' living room and to be on the searing hot of the summertime pavement. The siege had begun and soon neighbors took to washing neighbors and themselves, napping, and swatting at small insects as the hours went on. Mr. Tufts had shed his suit and tie from work and was enjoying a bit of shade under a tall tree, absentmindedly flicking away the summer time flies. There were more of them than those inside, and therefore, they could outlast any waiting game. He smiled lazily, as he brushed down his coat again. This had truly become a glaring of cats.
Mrs. Hopps snapped a few times to bring attention to the front of the room as all the neighbors were beginning to create a ruckus with all the greetings and complaints already loudly being spoken.
"Ahem! ahem!" She called out, though the snaps had gotten everyone's attention. "Something, must be done about the situation in our sweet little burb" She twitched a bit, as did many there, at the mention of the meat of the meeting. Tufts thought to himself that at least the lady had just decided to get to the point instead of the rambling conversations she was more usually inclined to carry on. "Does anyone have any ideas on how to...solve this problem?" Immediately, Little Jack stood up. "Ah! the floor recognizes Mr. Little Jack" Confused at the formality, but full of fire, Little Jack began to bellow, "We burn the place down! It's insufferable! Kick them out and let them find their way somewheres else! I know they're holed up in that wreck, refusing to leave! We'll make them leave!"
"Oh, Jack, sit down!" Mr. Hopps had stood up now too. "No one's burning anything down and smoking anyone out or anything like that. We need real solutions, not mob-making sensationalized threats." Mr. Hopps smoothed down his mustache and called on Ruby, though she made no obvious movement to add to the discussion.
"Well," she said in a squeaky voice, "we have asked the authorities to help us out, and nothing has come of it. We have tried to talk with them inside and they refuse to answer the door. I suppose, even if Little Jack is a bit over the top-sorry, Jack-he is right in that we need to take matters into our own hands. Believe me, I live two doors down and the smells and the screeching coming from that place every night is just...is just...it just stinks!" Ruby sat back down, lashing back and forth in obvious annoyance and emotion.
"Yes, yes...but what should we do?" Asked Mr. Hopps again, this time in almost a whine.
"We should go out as a group and knock on their door and surround the place until they come out to talk reason about their property. They have to come out at some point and they will know exactly how we feel about the situation there! No burning to the ground required. Perhaps we can convince them to move out. We could even be helpful about it all and suggest a neighborhood intervention in cleaning the place up for them." Mr. Tufts had finally spoke up, surprising himself. The room all turned to look at him and a great grinning smile broke out on Mr. Hopps' face. "Brilliant idea! Brilliant! We should go now! We will have a siege of the situation house!" Mr. Tufts began to mumble alarmedly that he had not meant it be a siege...but he supposed that after all, that is what he had been saying.
The group all sprang from the Hopps' home and down the road, gathering in a circle around the situation house and starting a low drone of conversation with Mr. Hopps calling out to the folks inside, explaining the group's actions and what they hoped to gain from it. People made themselves comfortable on the pavement, happy to be out the stuffiness of the Hopps' living room and to be on the searing hot of the summertime pavement. The siege had begun and soon neighbors took to washing neighbors and themselves, napping, and swatting at small insects as the hours went on. Mr. Tufts had shed his suit and tie from work and was enjoying a bit of shade under a tall tree, absentmindedly flicking away the summer time flies. There were more of them than those inside, and therefore, they could outlast any waiting game. He smiled lazily, as he brushed down his coat again. This had truly become a glaring of cats.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Take that!
So there!
This time, I decided to live my life and go out and do things when the UPS person was supposed to arrive "at some point" today.
Of course, that meant that as soon as I stepped outside for 45 minutes, she came and left a little note on the door. But so what? I will just torture myself tomorrow instead, locking myself in between the hours of 10am and 2pm, according to her little note.
I declare this day free from all imprisonment by postal companies!
Huzzah huzzah huzzah!
(tomorrow's another matter)
This time, I decided to live my life and go out and do things when the UPS person was supposed to arrive "at some point" today.
Of course, that meant that as soon as I stepped outside for 45 minutes, she came and left a little note on the door. But so what? I will just torture myself tomorrow instead, locking myself in between the hours of 10am and 2pm, according to her little note.
I declare this day free from all imprisonment by postal companies!
Huzzah huzzah huzzah!
(tomorrow's another matter)
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
What is Purgatory?
Purgatory is waiting for the Fedex truck between the hours of 8am-5pm.
This is driving me insane.
I know I have to wait for it, because I have to sign for one of the packages. There has to be a better way, though. This sitting around going nuts thing can't be the most efficient way to deliver packages.
Also! As I was finding something else to do that doesn't require me going out of the house or loud noises or locked in the bathroom, I saw the frickin' truck go by my kitchen window...IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION!
I almost threw down my pet project of the moment and ran outside to flag them down. I would have done it, if I were wearing shoes and think I could have caught them soon enough. (poo on barefoot in the kitchen!)
I have been waiting 5 hours now, with 3, potentially to go...and you know, of COURSE the only time you actually have to sign for a package, they don't show up til the very end of the day when they usually come in around 10am.
Drives me crazy...and I feel like it's going to turn into one of those episodes of waiting for the delivery truck and then it doesn't come at all, but the next day and they say it was just a day hold up, what's the big deal? agh!
I feel like they should give you a call when they are 30 minutes out, so if you are at work, or the store or picking up the kids or at lunch, you have time to get home and be ready to sign. Cause, otherwise...I guess....you just have to...........wait......in.....Fedex purgatory.
This is driving me insane.
I know I have to wait for it, because I have to sign for one of the packages. There has to be a better way, though. This sitting around going nuts thing can't be the most efficient way to deliver packages.
Also! As I was finding something else to do that doesn't require me going out of the house or loud noises or locked in the bathroom, I saw the frickin' truck go by my kitchen window...IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION!
I almost threw down my pet project of the moment and ran outside to flag them down. I would have done it, if I were wearing shoes and think I could have caught them soon enough. (poo on barefoot in the kitchen!)
I have been waiting 5 hours now, with 3, potentially to go...and you know, of COURSE the only time you actually have to sign for a package, they don't show up til the very end of the day when they usually come in around 10am.
Drives me crazy...and I feel like it's going to turn into one of those episodes of waiting for the delivery truck and then it doesn't come at all, but the next day and they say it was just a day hold up, what's the big deal? agh!
I feel like they should give you a call when they are 30 minutes out, so if you are at work, or the store or picking up the kids or at lunch, you have time to get home and be ready to sign. Cause, otherwise...I guess....you just have to...........wait......in.....Fedex purgatory.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Journal entry from 2005
"08/16/2005
6:15 pm
Anyway, why should she be tearing herself up over this? It wasn’t any of her business, not really, anyway. Besides, it seemed that without any actual action, everything turned into a f*cking melodrama.
“So,” she tells herself, “stop biting your lip and making tracks in the dust and just f*cking drop it, for gods’ sakes!” She paused in her pacing, physically shook out her sleeves and headed back to her tent. She knew and could picture her patient Selene sitting there, doing some menial little task, waiting for her after that embarrassing outburst she’d just had. Without even bothering to scratch out a warning, she flipped up the door-flap and let it fall softly behind her. By memory and not even allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness within, she turned around and latched the flap closed. Her eyes quickly came back to normal with the fire glowing in the side-pit.
“Hey,” she said to the figure hunched over pit, poking coals absently with a stick. Selene turned calmly around, one hand easily resting on a knee, her hair high-lighted by the soft fire light.
“Hey,” she said back in a deep guttural Southern accent, flashing a pretty little smile. At once, Roje felt her shoulders relax. She knew in her heart that Selene would be there, calm and collected every time, no matter what. But even so, when her temper got the better of her like this, she felt sure that Selene would get wise and just leave her sorry ass behind.
“Sit down and let us talk about this thing, hm?” Why did that southern accent always sound so damned sexy? Selene’s face, half-turned from the fire looked radiant. Soft shadows in the curves of her cheek bones, lips and jaw. Part of the fire light shone right through one of her eyes, like the light was emitted from within, long, dark lashes lazily half-lidding them.
Roje grunted, the anger which had consumed her gone now. But she couldn’t just jump into the reconciliation. Northerners just didn’t let up on their anger and pride and all that shit so easily.
Selene twisted a bit, planting her ass on the ground and patted the space next to her on the hearth rug. Roje moved to sit next to her.
“So, tell me what is really eating you, mapaj,” Selene purred, swallowing her r’s and l’s the whole way. A shrug from Roje and then an angry, petty little,
“It’s all just so frustrating!” She knew she sounded like a brat youngster or something like that, but she felt petulant at the moment. Had they all been in on this? Maybe to teach her a lesson. Sometimes it really felt like everyone spoke to each other about Roje, just not to her."
Friday, March 18, 2011
Idle Thoughts
So, here I am contemplating life while eating a sandwich and watching G.I. Joe, the movie on Netflix streaming (because it is a rainy day, dontchano, and why not?). And I thinks to myself, "Self! This whole concept is flawed in this here movie. By gummy, if someone did unleash nanobots that ate metal on the battlefield, there would be a whole lot of issues going on, besides tanks that disintegrate and buildings falling down due to jellifying of steel supports."
Issues with nanobots as portrayed:
waste material!
How is there no waste material? Now, I am no expert on nanobot technology (obviously, an expert on nanobots probably wouldn't have a blog called Glaring of Cats), but I am pretty sure (between bites of the perfect combo of cheddar, mayo, lettuce and tomato) that once someone devours something else, there is always some sort of waste material. This must apply to nanobots too. Unless Cobra Command is claiming that nanobots not only devour metal, but then poop it out to make more nanobots or something? They never said so, though...sooo I am thinking no. In which case, where does all that waste go? Cause in our cool graphic portrayals in this movie, the stuff just sort of vanishes into a cloud of nanobots.
Nanobots look like microscopic cockroaches!
Why? Why would scientists take the time to create tiny little insect-looking nanobots? Wouldn't that take forever to make enough to load into a bazooka and shoot at a tank? I can imagine nanobots with flagella or something; but little wings, antennae, eyes, pincers? That's just absurd (not to mention this whole blog post is absurd, but whatever).
Nanobots can do anything!
Within the first 20 minutes of this movie, I have seen nanobots destroy armies, cities, mind-control muscle dudes, extrude snake venom from mind-controlled muscle dudes's arm. I look forward to seeing what else microscopic cockroaches are capable of.
"Nanobot" is not a word to be corrected!
weird. I fully expected to see the red underline time and time again in this post, but I guess nanobot is an accepted word in the online dictionary. This is, for some reason, highly amusing.
Knowing is Half the Battle! Go Joe! (munch munch munch...it might be time for a cuppa tea)
Issues with nanobots as portrayed:
waste material!
How is there no waste material? Now, I am no expert on nanobot technology (obviously, an expert on nanobots probably wouldn't have a blog called Glaring of Cats), but I am pretty sure (between bites of the perfect combo of cheddar, mayo, lettuce and tomato) that once someone devours something else, there is always some sort of waste material. This must apply to nanobots too. Unless Cobra Command is claiming that nanobots not only devour metal, but then poop it out to make more nanobots or something? They never said so, though...sooo I am thinking no. In which case, where does all that waste go? Cause in our cool graphic portrayals in this movie, the stuff just sort of vanishes into a cloud of nanobots.
Nanobots look like microscopic cockroaches!
Why? Why would scientists take the time to create tiny little insect-looking nanobots? Wouldn't that take forever to make enough to load into a bazooka and shoot at a tank? I can imagine nanobots with flagella or something; but little wings, antennae, eyes, pincers? That's just absurd (not to mention this whole blog post is absurd, but whatever).
Nanobots can do anything!
Within the first 20 minutes of this movie, I have seen nanobots destroy armies, cities, mind-control muscle dudes, extrude snake venom from mind-controlled muscle dudes's arm. I look forward to seeing what else microscopic cockroaches are capable of.
"Nanobot" is not a word to be corrected!
weird. I fully expected to see the red underline time and time again in this post, but I guess nanobot is an accepted word in the online dictionary. This is, for some reason, highly amusing.
Knowing is Half the Battle! Go Joe! (munch munch munch...it might be time for a cuppa tea)
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
In Like a Lamb
Hello!
It's already March! Holy crap! Out here on the west coast, March is coming in pretty tame, does that bode a stormy exit? It's been sunny and mild temperatures. I know the east coast is just about had their limit of snow and ice and all that, but here it is the same boring day, one after another.
Except for last Saturday! That was exciting. Somebody started a rumor about snowfall in California last week and everyone got so excited, it was the only thing people would talk about wherever you went. "Didja hear? Snow's a comin'!" was the refrain up and down the coast. Everyone got all jittery about temperatures falling to around 32 degrees and our neighbor was on a non-stop chopping spree with his firewood. People started discussing stew recipes and wearing their big puffy jackets and moaning about how it was "freezing" at 50 degrees in the day time. Woowhee! People got all antsy in their pantsy about this drop in temp and the snow.
Then, wouldn't you know it, Saturday a new sun dawned and people all blinked and slowly made their way outside, expecting to see a winter wonderland and have everything closed down due to snowfall. What they met instead was...another boring weather day in California, or, as the tourists like to call it, "wow! it's beautiful out here!" Yup. No snowfall. No freezing pipes. Perhaps up in the mountains they had snow (we did see a bit of a dusting of white cap on a distant mountain), but none in normal elevations. We visited around and the closest anyone got to snowfall was a man we caught discussing how white his lawn was that morning.
"White! Did you get snow?!" at least four people jumped on him to answer. He looked suddenly as if he'd bit into a lemon wedge on half his face and swallowed his excited words with a, "no, no snow. Frost!" but it was lame and everyone knew it. Frost. Who cares about frost? Oh well.
I remember last year, the area got all excited because the temperature was dipping down to 32 degrees one night. Public advisories were sent out warning citizens on the danger of frozen pipes and protecting pets and children from the cold. They even gave specific instructions on how to wrap newspaper around your pipes to protect them from the cold.
I swear, if some freezing temperatures or snow ever did actually fall in this area, people would just panic or something. The crazy people carrying the signs bashing gays downtown would declare it the end of the world. The hippies would all freeze to death outside loving on mother nature. Everyone's pipes, pets and children would burst from the dip into the low 30's. It would be a miracle if anyone survived...well, except the homeless. They have about 20 layers going on already, so they'd probably be all set.
It's already March! Holy crap! Out here on the west coast, March is coming in pretty tame, does that bode a stormy exit? It's been sunny and mild temperatures. I know the east coast is just about had their limit of snow and ice and all that, but here it is the same boring day, one after another.
Except for last Saturday! That was exciting. Somebody started a rumor about snowfall in California last week and everyone got so excited, it was the only thing people would talk about wherever you went. "Didja hear? Snow's a comin'!" was the refrain up and down the coast. Everyone got all jittery about temperatures falling to around 32 degrees and our neighbor was on a non-stop chopping spree with his firewood. People started discussing stew recipes and wearing their big puffy jackets and moaning about how it was "freezing" at 50 degrees in the day time. Woowhee! People got all antsy in their pantsy about this drop in temp and the snow.
Then, wouldn't you know it, Saturday a new sun dawned and people all blinked and slowly made their way outside, expecting to see a winter wonderland and have everything closed down due to snowfall. What they met instead was...another boring weather day in California, or, as the tourists like to call it, "wow! it's beautiful out here!" Yup. No snowfall. No freezing pipes. Perhaps up in the mountains they had snow (we did see a bit of a dusting of white cap on a distant mountain), but none in normal elevations. We visited around and the closest anyone got to snowfall was a man we caught discussing how white his lawn was that morning.
"White! Did you get snow?!" at least four people jumped on him to answer. He looked suddenly as if he'd bit into a lemon wedge on half his face and swallowed his excited words with a, "no, no snow. Frost!" but it was lame and everyone knew it. Frost. Who cares about frost? Oh well.
I remember last year, the area got all excited because the temperature was dipping down to 32 degrees one night. Public advisories were sent out warning citizens on the danger of frozen pipes and protecting pets and children from the cold. They even gave specific instructions on how to wrap newspaper around your pipes to protect them from the cold.
I swear, if some freezing temperatures or snow ever did actually fall in this area, people would just panic or something. The crazy people carrying the signs bashing gays downtown would declare it the end of the world. The hippies would all freeze to death outside loving on mother nature. Everyone's pipes, pets and children would burst from the dip into the low 30's. It would be a miracle if anyone survived...well, except the homeless. They have about 20 layers going on already, so they'd probably be all set.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Birthday Socks, Birthday Socks
At 32, are you too old to go to gokarts on your birthday?
Is this something that teenagers do? I don't know, because when I was a teenager, I did things like go out to Chinese with my friends for my birthday or stay at home and my dad bake me a cake and make my favorite meal.
I am trying to do something new and interesting each birthday these last few years. A new restaurant, a new activity, etc.
I was going to try to go to a shooting range for this birthday but there seem to be pesky rules about needing to know how to use a firearm to use a shooting range. Apparently, you can't just waltz in there and ask for a gun. oh well! Maybe I can go skeet shooting next year. Although, I have to admit, when I told people what I wanted to do, most of the responses I got were more than a little tinged with horror or some extreme worry for my safety around guns...What does this say? hm. But, of course, I was envisioning me accidentally shooting myself in the foot or receiving a black eye from the kickback.
So! Gokarting it was. I have never been gokarting. Or, at least, I think I went once, but I don't remember it being as intense as this place was. We had to put on special jumpsuits, and head socks and real driving helmets. I was waiting for the gloves, but we never received any. I kind of wish we had, I feel like everything from the flu to ebola could have been crawling on the steering wheel. Wow. Gokarting is definitely not an activity for the risk averse! I thought it would be fun to drive little race cars around a track with my friends. It was rather terrifying! I was last in line and they waved us out and the straps were tight and choking me and I couldn't turn my head and the wheel was heavy to turn (no power steering on suped up lawnmowers) and my breath was fogging the visor of the helmet. agh! So I decide to go easy and it was mostly ok, except that people kept passing me and I kept getting flagged to pull to the side and let others pass. I suppose I was going really slow. But my favorite time was when the whole group of other people had zipped by and I had clear, empty track in front of me to drive my little car. When we got back to the results area, I suddenly realized that we had been running a race. I looked up at my time and saw I was dead last. I hadn't known it was a race. No one said that's what you do at gokarts. I felt dumb. Still, I probably wouldn't have changed anything. I took my turns slowly and looked both ways (as much as I could), I didn't go too fast, so as not to spin out going on the curves and I politely let everyone pass me. I could have been a granny out there.
Well, at least I know I am a conscientious driver, even in a minicar on a track with bumpers and wearing two seat belts and a helmet. I think what convinced me to drive safely the first (and second times, I came in second to last and was a lot more worried about dying as I spun around the curves) time around was when I picked up my helmet from the shelves; it had scratches on the visor. Actually, they ALL had scratches on the visor, which means they were all involved in collisions of some sort. It's probably why I strapped my first helmet on too tight and choked myself...didn't want it flying off and those scratches instead occurring on my head.
So, really though...is this something that 32 year olds do for a birthday? Because, obviously, I didn't even know it was about racing...maybe it is just something 21 year-olds do. Maybe I should go back to that pasta and mushrooms potlach I did for my 30th. Although, then it wouldn't be something new and pushing my own boundaries. Hmmm, I suppose I've got some thinking to do on that one. 33 better be good though, all's I'm saying.
Is this something that teenagers do? I don't know, because when I was a teenager, I did things like go out to Chinese with my friends for my birthday or stay at home and my dad bake me a cake and make my favorite meal.
I am trying to do something new and interesting each birthday these last few years. A new restaurant, a new activity, etc.
I was going to try to go to a shooting range for this birthday but there seem to be pesky rules about needing to know how to use a firearm to use a shooting range. Apparently, you can't just waltz in there and ask for a gun. oh well! Maybe I can go skeet shooting next year. Although, I have to admit, when I told people what I wanted to do, most of the responses I got were more than a little tinged with horror or some extreme worry for my safety around guns...What does this say? hm. But, of course, I was envisioning me accidentally shooting myself in the foot or receiving a black eye from the kickback.
So! Gokarting it was. I have never been gokarting. Or, at least, I think I went once, but I don't remember it being as intense as this place was. We had to put on special jumpsuits, and head socks and real driving helmets. I was waiting for the gloves, but we never received any. I kind of wish we had, I feel like everything from the flu to ebola could have been crawling on the steering wheel. Wow. Gokarting is definitely not an activity for the risk averse! I thought it would be fun to drive little race cars around a track with my friends. It was rather terrifying! I was last in line and they waved us out and the straps were tight and choking me and I couldn't turn my head and the wheel was heavy to turn (no power steering on suped up lawnmowers) and my breath was fogging the visor of the helmet. agh! So I decide to go easy and it was mostly ok, except that people kept passing me and I kept getting flagged to pull to the side and let others pass. I suppose I was going really slow. But my favorite time was when the whole group of other people had zipped by and I had clear, empty track in front of me to drive my little car. When we got back to the results area, I suddenly realized that we had been running a race. I looked up at my time and saw I was dead last. I hadn't known it was a race. No one said that's what you do at gokarts. I felt dumb. Still, I probably wouldn't have changed anything. I took my turns slowly and looked both ways (as much as I could), I didn't go too fast, so as not to spin out going on the curves and I politely let everyone pass me. I could have been a granny out there.
Well, at least I know I am a conscientious driver, even in a minicar on a track with bumpers and wearing two seat belts and a helmet. I think what convinced me to drive safely the first (and second times, I came in second to last and was a lot more worried about dying as I spun around the curves) time around was when I picked up my helmet from the shelves; it had scratches on the visor. Actually, they ALL had scratches on the visor, which means they were all involved in collisions of some sort. It's probably why I strapped my first helmet on too tight and choked myself...didn't want it flying off and those scratches instead occurring on my head.
So, really though...is this something that 32 year olds do for a birthday? Because, obviously, I didn't even know it was about racing...maybe it is just something 21 year-olds do. Maybe I should go back to that pasta and mushrooms potlach I did for my 30th. Although, then it wouldn't be something new and pushing my own boundaries. Hmmm, I suppose I've got some thinking to do on that one. 33 better be good though, all's I'm saying.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Journal entry from 2000
"Back down on the beach, the breezes were picking up. Sniffing the air, Jeff could somehow tell a storm was brewing off coast. He crouched inthe sand, resting one arm loosely on his knee. A bright, smooth stone had caught his eye, glittering in that strange metallic sunlight that happens right before a storm. His hair whipped about as the wind rushed through, moving the waters and beach grasses. His jacket, snapping about his arms, was plastered to his chest and his nose was turning rosy in the cooling temperature.
Back at the house, the white wooden columns holding up the veranda stood out like beacons on the deep browns and greens of the beach. Back up there on the dune, Miri was, or at least, should be making dinner. He imagined a mussel soup with ginger and white wine broth, perhaps. The imagined aroma made Jeff rise up from his crouching position, smooth stone clasped unconsciously in his hand. He turned from the ocean towards the house, trying to see into the dark, dead eyes of the windows.
Noticing the little azalea bush being pushed back and forth, the small read flowers the only specks of color in the diachrome world; Jeff's eyes slid the parking circle. Something was missing from his vision. Realizing with a shock that made him unclasp the stone, Jeff saw that his wife's car was not parked at the house or anywhere near it. Had it been there when he had looked up at the house a while ago? He couldn't remember and his brows furrowed as he concentrated. Staring at the windows and the wild azalea bush, he noticed a seagull flopping dangerously in the air currents above. Realizing himself, he bent to brush the sand from his knee and picked up the dropped stone. Where had she gone? He didn't even see the ground slide beneath him as he made his way up the wooden stairs leading to the house. Perhaps she'd left a note of some kind. After all, there was not really any place she could have gone that would be close by. Their nearest neighbors were about 5 miles away and the town was about 45 minutes by car. He trudged up the gravel path to the side door, letting it squeak open as he entered the house. It felt lifeless and close inside.
There had been no note on the door, but perhaps the front door of the fridge? Jeff passed through the family room to the glass front door. Even though he could see both sides, he wanted to make sure and cracked the door to run his hand along the wooden frame. No note there, either. He frowned, playing with the stone in his pocket, flipping it through his fingers. He turned from the door and shuffled through the eating room to their wide, white kitchen. None of the lights were on in the house and it was getting darker fast with the approaching storm. No notes on the fridge as well. Where had she gone and not left a note? Had she said something to him that he had just forgotten? He started to get worried now, pinching the stone ever harder between his fingers in his pocket as his frown became deeper. He stepped over to the big calendar on the side wall facing the bathroom. No, nothing written down. He checked the phone messages. There was only some message from the tailor's shop in town saying something about the alterations on his suit pants. Now angry, Jeff shoved his finger into the "Erase Messages" button. She hadn't said a word! Jeff could feel his ears burning and knew his face was red. She hadn't made dinner! He looked into the refrigerator and saw the same old set up; no prepared meals, only condiments and raw ingredients. He slammed the refrigerator door.
"Where the f--- did she go?!" He yelled out in frustration as he pounded his fist onto the kitchen island counter top. Huffily, Jeff marched to the hall closet, ripped off his jacket and threw it inside. He now went on a search through the house to find any clues to Miri's disappearance. Nothing! Nothing seemed out of place which would lead him to any conclusions.
He went into the bedroom and searched quickly over the drawers and bureau surfaces. Stopping to look out at the dark sky and first splatters of rain against the glass pane, and out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw a small, white piece of paper, half-tucked into his side of the bed."
Back at the house, the white wooden columns holding up the veranda stood out like beacons on the deep browns and greens of the beach. Back up there on the dune, Miri was, or at least, should be making dinner. He imagined a mussel soup with ginger and white wine broth, perhaps. The imagined aroma made Jeff rise up from his crouching position, smooth stone clasped unconsciously in his hand. He turned from the ocean towards the house, trying to see into the dark, dead eyes of the windows.
Noticing the little azalea bush being pushed back and forth, the small read flowers the only specks of color in the diachrome world; Jeff's eyes slid the parking circle. Something was missing from his vision. Realizing with a shock that made him unclasp the stone, Jeff saw that his wife's car was not parked at the house or anywhere near it. Had it been there when he had looked up at the house a while ago? He couldn't remember and his brows furrowed as he concentrated. Staring at the windows and the wild azalea bush, he noticed a seagull flopping dangerously in the air currents above. Realizing himself, he bent to brush the sand from his knee and picked up the dropped stone. Where had she gone? He didn't even see the ground slide beneath him as he made his way up the wooden stairs leading to the house. Perhaps she'd left a note of some kind. After all, there was not really any place she could have gone that would be close by. Their nearest neighbors were about 5 miles away and the town was about 45 minutes by car. He trudged up the gravel path to the side door, letting it squeak open as he entered the house. It felt lifeless and close inside.
There had been no note on the door, but perhaps the front door of the fridge? Jeff passed through the family room to the glass front door. Even though he could see both sides, he wanted to make sure and cracked the door to run his hand along the wooden frame. No note there, either. He frowned, playing with the stone in his pocket, flipping it through his fingers. He turned from the door and shuffled through the eating room to their wide, white kitchen. None of the lights were on in the house and it was getting darker fast with the approaching storm. No notes on the fridge as well. Where had she gone and not left a note? Had she said something to him that he had just forgotten? He started to get worried now, pinching the stone ever harder between his fingers in his pocket as his frown became deeper. He stepped over to the big calendar on the side wall facing the bathroom. No, nothing written down. He checked the phone messages. There was only some message from the tailor's shop in town saying something about the alterations on his suit pants. Now angry, Jeff shoved his finger into the "Erase Messages" button. She hadn't said a word! Jeff could feel his ears burning and knew his face was red. She hadn't made dinner! He looked into the refrigerator and saw the same old set up; no prepared meals, only condiments and raw ingredients. He slammed the refrigerator door.
"Where the f--- did she go?!" He yelled out in frustration as he pounded his fist onto the kitchen island counter top. Huffily, Jeff marched to the hall closet, ripped off his jacket and threw it inside. He now went on a search through the house to find any clues to Miri's disappearance. Nothing! Nothing seemed out of place which would lead him to any conclusions.
He went into the bedroom and searched quickly over the drawers and bureau surfaces. Stopping to look out at the dark sky and first splatters of rain against the glass pane, and out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw a small, white piece of paper, half-tucked into his side of the bed."
Monday, January 24, 2011
the wide, wide world
I was released into the wild yesterday!
I packed up my bag with essentials like Energy Vitamin Water, real water, laptop, one moleskin sketchbook, one moleskin journal...and the small pocket full of pens, erasers, pencils, pencil sharpeners...and aspirin. I always keep aspirin with me...but literally...in case I should feel the onset of a heart attack...I'm serious. Moving on!
Anyway! I packed all this up in order to leave M and give her some needed time to herself (it was a Christmas present, she loves it!). I hiked on up to the Anthropology Museum (which is free) and just breezed on in.
Since becoming a housey-wife, I realize my social skills with strangers has gone pretty much nonexistent. But that's ok...until I am running around in public with strangers, I guess. So I breeze on in to this museum and I am all intent on my task I have presented myself of trying to look at and read about EVERY little thing in the place. The two college girls manning the gift shop desk are all, "Hi there! How are you?" and I had to actually back up and go back into the gift shop to reply (in what I am sure sounded a very Aspbergerish way), "I am well thank you, how are you?" All shifty-eyed and sweating from my two-mile hike and looking supremely uncomfortable in the presence of two well-groomed youngsters. "Good, good," They answered me. I nod curtly, adjust my cadet hat and turn swiftly into the room with the exhibition to get to my task. I am a weirdo. I know it. I try to avoid the conversation and looking at other people when I am by myself in public. Maybe it is some sort of lizard-like response, some self-preservation thing. Maybe it is me trying to let people know that I am invisible, please allow me to do whatever I want without noticing me. Actually, I think this generally works out, as I almost always get away with saying and doing whatever I want in public...or maybe people just look over at this large girl doing weird-ass things and just smile to themselves and post blogs about it...ha.
Right. So, I settle in, and make a viewing bench my office area, neatly draping my jacket vest over it, laying my hat on top and placing my backpack beneath. I take out my little sketching moleskin and get to work at the sketching! Hurray! I don't remember the last time I have done that for reals. Very exciting. I love sketching art and such at museums, the subjects never move and they are always exactly the same when you come back months later, so you can finish up a drawing or get a new angle. Yes, thrilling, I know. I felt all accomplished about actually just doing that.
Really though, I feel like the creative side of my brain has melted away in the last few years (maybe more, I like to try and think the best of my brain) and I sit down to doodle or something and the same boring things pop up in my drawings. My brain is so lazy! Like, come up with something new, and dazzling! hm, oh well.
I got a couple good drawings in, my neck started cramping (lordy lord, I am getting old, yo), and I decided that I had spent an appropiate amount of time being all artsy and getting back in touch with that right side of my brain again. I packed up my stuff and sort of meandered around, trying to read everything about everything and learning some weird stuff of phalli attachments for ancient Greek busts and crocodile cults in Egypt and how confusing it is that Sekhmet is a lion-headed goddess in ancient Egypt who deals in war and destruction, but also in healing...and Bastet is a cat-headed goddess (or sometimes just a cat) who is basically the goddess of pleasure. Two feline-headed goddesses! Does this constitute a "glaring" of goddesses? please please please.
Cattle aside (my own term for multiple cats...yes, I am that cool), I got my stuff together and quickly examined the contents of the gift shop, deftly avoiding the bored and questioning eyes of the gift shop girls (they should start a band with that name!). I went out with them calling after me "Bye bye, now!" I think they were actually trying to be friendly, but I gotta say, probably not. I was listening to their conversation while I was sketching an African mask for a women's cult of womanhood (I mean, what else would a "women's cult" be about?) and I was not encouraged to become besties here. "OMG, did he invite you to that party?!" "No, he totally didn't and ___ told me about it and I was all, 'OMG, you didn't invite me to your party' and he was all texting me and stuff and I was like, 'WTF?' you know?" "Oh, I totally know. What an asshole," "totally" "So, what are you doing later?" "Going to this party that ____ told me about" "Oh! that party? yeah, I might stop by. I have to finish this paper (audible eye roll). Oh! did you hear about ____?" (giggling and whispering ensue). Yup. wow. good times. I suppose they are just volunteers, so who cares?
So, I head back out into the PUBLIC (oh, didn't I mention the obligatory Jews for Jesus hawker on the corner? Ahhhhh, universities) and keep my head down and walk on back to hang out in the tea shop to check my email, and get some more written in my DAMN travel journal. I had three goals for the day: 1). go to Anthropology Museum, 2). sketch random art in museum and 3). write more in my DAMN travel journal about our trip to Israel and London.
I get myself a pot of tea and a cinnamon bun (cinnamon buns are necessary to a happy tea shop experience, I think) and set myself up to do what I came there for. I delayed for a while though, playing computer games, answering emails, reading the news...the usual...all the while listening the group of women in the corner have a very loud and boisterous conversation about having sex with (what I assume were) their husbands and male significant others. They interspersed this conversation (there must have been at least 4 of them) with cute little anecdotes of their kids. Maybe it was some mommy group or something. I was really tempted, a few times, to turn around and tell them that if they wanted their husbands to start doing that to them, like they had seen in some movie, that they should probably entice him by taking a bacon bath or maybe shaving football field patterns into their "personal area." Whatever, their conversation was amusing at least, and made me happy I don't have to deal with husbands or male significant others and that I hadn't just seen something like that in some movie either. Yay! girls!
Finally, I cracked open the DAMN travel journal and hunkered down to get some more unnecessarily detailed description of our travels logged away in those pages. As I was doing this, a petite, stressed-out, yoga-taking looking woman blew into the tea shop and set up her space right behind me. She needed some power for her laptop and there was a power strip right under my feet, so I told her she could just use that instead of resituating herself. So, hm...usually I am the socially retarded one who says things that are just slightly off and strange (but endearing, right?). This lady though, beat me to the punch. She gets all flustered about the power cord being under my table and starts going on about how she is just going to nip in there and plug in her stuff and oops! She's definitely not making a pass at me, don't worry! She's not trying to feel me up or anything, don't worry! (I was not worried). And she mumbled something about how she would, of course, make a pass at me but for the sorry fact that she was unfortunately heterosexual (she actually said, "I am, unfortunately, heterosexual.") And I tried not to let my extreme amusement at her social weirdness show too much on my face, managing to mumble back something like, "s'ok, s'ok" Like, I am forgiving her, her heterosexuality. I wanted to think of a witty retort, and I can usually come up with something, but everything that flashed through my mind was particularly uncouth or mocking, so I decided to just shut up and enjoy the awkwardness of my interaction with 'other human being'....I managed to get up to stepping into the water of the Dead Sea...day 3 of our Israel trip, and already about 20 pages into the journal....too much detail! But now that I have started, I must continue the slog...must...continue...slog.
Later, when yoga-lady realized frantically, that power wasn't getting to her laptop at all and oh dear! what's wrong, oh dear! She checks every cord and frets and starts getting physically frantic and I decide to jump in here and solve the problem for her before she starts burrowing under my feet and apologizing for enjoying the company of men again. I replug her computer into the actual power strip instead of the aux outlet. She lauds me and calls my praise, loudly claiming I am magic or a genius (I am neither) and I sort of shush her letting her know that she just plugged it in wrong. I look at the clock and pack up my things, heading out the door and I hear her sort of mumbling and saying she hoped she didn't scare me away, titter titter. And I pretty much mumble back, "pat, pat no you didn't, of course, I must be somewhere, bye now! good luck with that power cord!" and then shake my head at my parting remark as I make my way back home to M. "Good luck with that power cord!" right, cause that's what a genius would say...yup.
Sekhmet has a male lion's mane...this is confusing....Sekhmet is female. Maybe it was just a headdressing....or a wig, I mean, she IS ancient Egyptian. Ok, I can deal with that. It is not a male lion mane, it is a lion mane wig. Sort of like the statues of Hatshepsut (no depictions of her at the museum, alas) and she is depicted sporting the little King Tut beard, like the rest of the pharaohs...but it was a wig beard. I wonder what a wig beard for the face is called (not a merkin, obviously)?
Bastet was probably the goddess of pleasure cause kitties like to purr...and make biscuits...and chirp at birds...right? right?! Biscuits!
I packed up my bag with essentials like Energy Vitamin Water, real water, laptop, one moleskin sketchbook, one moleskin journal...and the small pocket full of pens, erasers, pencils, pencil sharpeners...and aspirin. I always keep aspirin with me...but literally...in case I should feel the onset of a heart attack...I'm serious. Moving on!
Anyway! I packed all this up in order to leave M and give her some needed time to herself (it was a Christmas present, she loves it!). I hiked on up to the Anthropology Museum (which is free) and just breezed on in.
Since becoming a housey-wife, I realize my social skills with strangers has gone pretty much nonexistent. But that's ok...until I am running around in public with strangers, I guess. So I breeze on in to this museum and I am all intent on my task I have presented myself of trying to look at and read about EVERY little thing in the place. The two college girls manning the gift shop desk are all, "Hi there! How are you?" and I had to actually back up and go back into the gift shop to reply (in what I am sure sounded a very Aspbergerish way), "I am well thank you, how are you?" All shifty-eyed and sweating from my two-mile hike and looking supremely uncomfortable in the presence of two well-groomed youngsters. "Good, good," They answered me. I nod curtly, adjust my cadet hat and turn swiftly into the room with the exhibition to get to my task. I am a weirdo. I know it. I try to avoid the conversation and looking at other people when I am by myself in public. Maybe it is some sort of lizard-like response, some self-preservation thing. Maybe it is me trying to let people know that I am invisible, please allow me to do whatever I want without noticing me. Actually, I think this generally works out, as I almost always get away with saying and doing whatever I want in public...or maybe people just look over at this large girl doing weird-ass things and just smile to themselves and post blogs about it...ha.
Right. So, I settle in, and make a viewing bench my office area, neatly draping my jacket vest over it, laying my hat on top and placing my backpack beneath. I take out my little sketching moleskin and get to work at the sketching! Hurray! I don't remember the last time I have done that for reals. Very exciting. I love sketching art and such at museums, the subjects never move and they are always exactly the same when you come back months later, so you can finish up a drawing or get a new angle. Yes, thrilling, I know. I felt all accomplished about actually just doing that.
Really though, I feel like the creative side of my brain has melted away in the last few years (maybe more, I like to try and think the best of my brain) and I sit down to doodle or something and the same boring things pop up in my drawings. My brain is so lazy! Like, come up with something new, and dazzling! hm, oh well.
I got a couple good drawings in, my neck started cramping (lordy lord, I am getting old, yo), and I decided that I had spent an appropiate amount of time being all artsy and getting back in touch with that right side of my brain again. I packed up my stuff and sort of meandered around, trying to read everything about everything and learning some weird stuff of phalli attachments for ancient Greek busts and crocodile cults in Egypt and how confusing it is that Sekhmet is a lion-headed goddess in ancient Egypt who deals in war and destruction, but also in healing...and Bastet is a cat-headed goddess (or sometimes just a cat) who is basically the goddess of pleasure. Two feline-headed goddesses! Does this constitute a "glaring" of goddesses? please please please.
Cattle aside (my own term for multiple cats...yes, I am that cool), I got my stuff together and quickly examined the contents of the gift shop, deftly avoiding the bored and questioning eyes of the gift shop girls (they should start a band with that name!). I went out with them calling after me "Bye bye, now!" I think they were actually trying to be friendly, but I gotta say, probably not. I was listening to their conversation while I was sketching an African mask for a women's cult of womanhood (I mean, what else would a "women's cult" be about?) and I was not encouraged to become besties here. "OMG, did he invite you to that party?!" "No, he totally didn't and ___ told me about it and I was all, 'OMG, you didn't invite me to your party' and he was all texting me and stuff and I was like, 'WTF?' you know?" "Oh, I totally know. What an asshole," "totally" "So, what are you doing later?" "Going to this party that ____ told me about" "Oh! that party? yeah, I might stop by. I have to finish this paper (audible eye roll). Oh! did you hear about ____?" (giggling and whispering ensue). Yup. wow. good times. I suppose they are just volunteers, so who cares?
So, I head back out into the PUBLIC (oh, didn't I mention the obligatory Jews for Jesus hawker on the corner? Ahhhhh, universities) and keep my head down and walk on back to hang out in the tea shop to check my email, and get some more written in my DAMN travel journal. I had three goals for the day: 1). go to Anthropology Museum, 2). sketch random art in museum and 3). write more in my DAMN travel journal about our trip to Israel and London.
I get myself a pot of tea and a cinnamon bun (cinnamon buns are necessary to a happy tea shop experience, I think) and set myself up to do what I came there for. I delayed for a while though, playing computer games, answering emails, reading the news...the usual...all the while listening the group of women in the corner have a very loud and boisterous conversation about having sex with (what I assume were) their husbands and male significant others. They interspersed this conversation (there must have been at least 4 of them) with cute little anecdotes of their kids. Maybe it was some mommy group or something. I was really tempted, a few times, to turn around and tell them that if they wanted their husbands to start doing that to them, like they had seen in some movie, that they should probably entice him by taking a bacon bath or maybe shaving football field patterns into their "personal area." Whatever, their conversation was amusing at least, and made me happy I don't have to deal with husbands or male significant others and that I hadn't just seen something like that in some movie either. Yay! girls!
Finally, I cracked open the DAMN travel journal and hunkered down to get some more unnecessarily detailed description of our travels logged away in those pages. As I was doing this, a petite, stressed-out, yoga-taking looking woman blew into the tea shop and set up her space right behind me. She needed some power for her laptop and there was a power strip right under my feet, so I told her she could just use that instead of resituating herself. So, hm...usually I am the socially retarded one who says things that are just slightly off and strange (but endearing, right?). This lady though, beat me to the punch. She gets all flustered about the power cord being under my table and starts going on about how she is just going to nip in there and plug in her stuff and oops! She's definitely not making a pass at me, don't worry! She's not trying to feel me up or anything, don't worry! (I was not worried). And she mumbled something about how she would, of course, make a pass at me but for the sorry fact that she was unfortunately heterosexual (she actually said, "I am, unfortunately, heterosexual.") And I tried not to let my extreme amusement at her social weirdness show too much on my face, managing to mumble back something like, "s'ok, s'ok" Like, I am forgiving her, her heterosexuality. I wanted to think of a witty retort, and I can usually come up with something, but everything that flashed through my mind was particularly uncouth or mocking, so I decided to just shut up and enjoy the awkwardness of my interaction with 'other human being'....I managed to get up to stepping into the water of the Dead Sea...day 3 of our Israel trip, and already about 20 pages into the journal....too much detail! But now that I have started, I must continue the slog...must...continue...slog.
Later, when yoga-lady realized frantically, that power wasn't getting to her laptop at all and oh dear! what's wrong, oh dear! She checks every cord and frets and starts getting physically frantic and I decide to jump in here and solve the problem for her before she starts burrowing under my feet and apologizing for enjoying the company of men again. I replug her computer into the actual power strip instead of the aux outlet. She lauds me and calls my praise, loudly claiming I am magic or a genius (I am neither) and I sort of shush her letting her know that she just plugged it in wrong. I look at the clock and pack up my things, heading out the door and I hear her sort of mumbling and saying she hoped she didn't scare me away, titter titter. And I pretty much mumble back, "pat, pat no you didn't, of course, I must be somewhere, bye now! good luck with that power cord!" and then shake my head at my parting remark as I make my way back home to M. "Good luck with that power cord!" right, cause that's what a genius would say...yup.
Sekhmet has a male lion's mane...this is confusing....Sekhmet is female. Maybe it was just a headdressing....or a wig, I mean, she IS ancient Egyptian. Ok, I can deal with that. It is not a male lion mane, it is a lion mane wig. Sort of like the statues of Hatshepsut (no depictions of her at the museum, alas) and she is depicted sporting the little King Tut beard, like the rest of the pharaohs...but it was a wig beard. I wonder what a wig beard for the face is called (not a merkin, obviously)?
Bastet was probably the goddess of pleasure cause kitties like to purr...and make biscuits...and chirp at birds...right? right?! Biscuits!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
hobbies
Besides liking to talk about myself, my family and my views on everything, I also really like to watch movies and read. Yay! not very interesting sounding, I know, but the volume of material I read and watch is...well...probably not good for me in some way.
I was trying to count it up and figured I probably spend about 1/3 to 1/2 my waking time reading and about 1/2 of that time watching something. Perhaps I am media junkie. Only, I have found that radio has totally been squeaked out of the equation. Growing up, it was all radio and TV and maybe the paper after school. Now it is CNN online, SFGate online, NYTimes, NPR online; not to mention the blogs and social sites I read through every day. Added to that, I watch perhaps 1-2 movies a day and 1-2 TV shows a day. I also then read the physical NYTimes Sunday paper and this usually takes me a couple days, reading a section here and there, in between all the other information I am consuming. And then! on top of that, I will read about an hour before going to sleep at night from whatever book I am on, or Kindle story/book is next in my queue.
Most of the time, I realize, I don't have anyone to really share with in the funny/disturbing/poignant/stupid ideas I glean from all this information. I have M, to be sure. I am like my Aunt or Mom, sending her the highlights from the articles and posts I read during the day and night, if I think she would also be interested/amused in them. But there are others that I know she just wouldn't care about and would just give me a "yes yes, there there" look and go back to looking at food blogs. Also! The extreme variety of movies I watch, she is not into. She is much more inclined to watch romcoms, silly comedies, and movies about food. I am inclined to watch EVERYTHING!
I am pretty sure Netflix is having a hard time keeping up with my interests (or lack of coherent interests). I think the only stable choices they have going for me right now are "dark, visually stimulating, foreign dramas" and "lesbian." But I will go for anything, really. I watch both DVDs and streaming. I think the only thing I am not that into is anime/manga and even there, I will sometimes watch a movie or a show. There is something about the gigantic, wiggling eyes that freak me out about this genre.
Today, for example: I watched a movie called "Monique" about a French woman that comes to live with a boring English couple to take care of their kids. The movie was made and set in 1969, and it gets pretty obvious, pretty fast that they are all swingers that just need a nudge out of their non-swinger shells to enjoy the happiness that is polyamoury. Everything works out swell for everyone involved and that is actually pretty refreshing, considering how this movie probably would have gone if made in 2010 vs. 1969. I suppose they were all a bit more optimistic about that whole "free love" thing then. Anyway, I think the take-away from this film was that bringing in a hot nanny who likes men and women to live in your home will save your marriage and turn your frigid housewife into a raging nympho. Hurray for the 60's! Wait, but there is one scene where the French woman (Monique, obviously) is unpinning her hair and hubby is watching her. It takes forever! It was fascinating watching how many pins and extensions this woman unclipped from her scalp. No bump-its involved. weird.
Anyway, and now I am watching a Spanish movie about some kid who is turning into a vampire made in 2008. It is done in an appealing foreign way to how this movie would be done in America. There's no rock-star status given to the vampire kid and there is definitely a Grimm's fairy tale sort of vibe going on with "something dangerous is eating sheep in the woods, don't go in the forest!"(why are sheep in the forest, anyway? Don't these people have fences?). This one's called "Shiver" and so far very enjoyable. Also on my mantle, waiting to be watched on DVD are "Mary Poppins," and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." Not exactly "Monique" there, but I suppose that Netflix must have suggested (confusedly) "Mary Poppins" seeing as how I was enthusiastically clicking on "Monique." Similar stories, you know...a nanny comes to help out a married couple's life with the kids and makes everyone happy? Maybe I should pay really close attention to see any strange juxtapositions between the two movies. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Banks are swingers and I just didn't see the signs before. hmmmm.
I was trying to count it up and figured I probably spend about 1/3 to 1/2 my waking time reading and about 1/2 of that time watching something. Perhaps I am media junkie. Only, I have found that radio has totally been squeaked out of the equation. Growing up, it was all radio and TV and maybe the paper after school. Now it is CNN online, SFGate online, NYTimes, NPR online; not to mention the blogs and social sites I read through every day. Added to that, I watch perhaps 1-2 movies a day and 1-2 TV shows a day. I also then read the physical NYTimes Sunday paper and this usually takes me a couple days, reading a section here and there, in between all the other information I am consuming. And then! on top of that, I will read about an hour before going to sleep at night from whatever book I am on, or Kindle story/book is next in my queue.
Most of the time, I realize, I don't have anyone to really share with in the funny/disturbing/poignant/stupid ideas I glean from all this information. I have M, to be sure. I am like my Aunt or Mom, sending her the highlights from the articles and posts I read during the day and night, if I think she would also be interested/amused in them. But there are others that I know she just wouldn't care about and would just give me a "yes yes, there there" look and go back to looking at food blogs. Also! The extreme variety of movies I watch, she is not into. She is much more inclined to watch romcoms, silly comedies, and movies about food. I am inclined to watch EVERYTHING!
I am pretty sure Netflix is having a hard time keeping up with my interests (or lack of coherent interests). I think the only stable choices they have going for me right now are "dark, visually stimulating, foreign dramas" and "lesbian." But I will go for anything, really. I watch both DVDs and streaming. I think the only thing I am not that into is anime/manga and even there, I will sometimes watch a movie or a show. There is something about the gigantic, wiggling eyes that freak me out about this genre.
Today, for example: I watched a movie called "Monique" about a French woman that comes to live with a boring English couple to take care of their kids. The movie was made and set in 1969, and it gets pretty obvious, pretty fast that they are all swingers that just need a nudge out of their non-swinger shells to enjoy the happiness that is polyamoury. Everything works out swell for everyone involved and that is actually pretty refreshing, considering how this movie probably would have gone if made in 2010 vs. 1969. I suppose they were all a bit more optimistic about that whole "free love" thing then. Anyway, I think the take-away from this film was that bringing in a hot nanny who likes men and women to live in your home will save your marriage and turn your frigid housewife into a raging nympho. Hurray for the 60's! Wait, but there is one scene where the French woman (Monique, obviously) is unpinning her hair and hubby is watching her. It takes forever! It was fascinating watching how many pins and extensions this woman unclipped from her scalp. No bump-its involved. weird.
Anyway, and now I am watching a Spanish movie about some kid who is turning into a vampire made in 2008. It is done in an appealing foreign way to how this movie would be done in America. There's no rock-star status given to the vampire kid and there is definitely a Grimm's fairy tale sort of vibe going on with "something dangerous is eating sheep in the woods, don't go in the forest!"(why are sheep in the forest, anyway? Don't these people have fences?). This one's called "Shiver" and so far very enjoyable. Also on my mantle, waiting to be watched on DVD are "Mary Poppins," and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." Not exactly "Monique" there, but I suppose that Netflix must have suggested (confusedly) "Mary Poppins" seeing as how I was enthusiastically clicking on "Monique." Similar stories, you know...a nanny comes to help out a married couple's life with the kids and makes everyone happy? Maybe I should pay really close attention to see any strange juxtapositions between the two movies. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Banks are swingers and I just didn't see the signs before. hmmmm.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Oh yesteryear
I have been reading through my highschool and college writing journals. My highschool journals seem to be mostly about how much I hated high school and that I was really ready to be done with that place. My college journal, I suppose, I put more work and time into. (can't end a sentence with "into," oh well).
I will post here my first entry in my recently found, moldy and beaten up college writing journal:
"I heard about government funded witch hunts in Iryan Jaya and at the time, thought that they would be good fodder for stories. But after a few weeks, the idea just died and didn't resurface. They may not be as interesting as I first thought. Or maybe I am just too lazy to think about it and write up a story. Also, I don't know anything about Iryan Jaya; even if this is the right way to spell the country's name. The picture of the man in the New York Times article looked rather upset and full of himself. I don't know if I could get past that angry smug fellow to write a story about the whole thing. I wouldn't be able to get past it. The caption for the picture named the guy as the local witch finder and torturer. He was quoted as being one of the main people responsible for the deaths of something like 100 witches. The government, in the form of police groups, help out these witch hunters because they say that the accused witches are troublemakers.
They rip them apart, as I remember. They rip the witches apart because if the witch is in pieces, his or her evil can not work anymore. There was a story of a group of people running into an old woman's hut. She was a healer but everyone she came to heal, died. The people said she was a malicious old woman harboring evil spirits. In a classic movie scene, the village people gathered and rioted around this woman's home and ripped her apart by hand while she still screamed for life.
I imagine a dark, moonless night and palm leaves brushing my skin as an observer. The villagers are lit up by the torches they carry, yelling with twisted faces, running down the path towards a dilapidated little hovel. The air is thick and hot. Flying insects, stinging ones at that, are constant in the night air. While running down the path, villagers unconsciously swat at mosquitoes and stinging flies while at the same time, avoiding the vegetation growing on the side. Who knows what lives in the grass or what will jump out? If these people are so afraid of witches and evil forces, they are definitely frightened of unseen dangers.
These people yell and mutilate out of fear; government supported fear. That has to be one of the strangest parts to me. I think the reason that witch hunter looks so full of himself is because, even though he's instigated riots and hundreds of murders, his government finds him in the right. He stands with crossed arms and the slightest smile with angry brows. He would be a great character in a story...if only I could get past the fact that he is real and the things he has done are real as well."
I will post here my first entry in my recently found, moldy and beaten up college writing journal:
"I heard about government funded witch hunts in Iryan Jaya and at the time, thought that they would be good fodder for stories. But after a few weeks, the idea just died and didn't resurface. They may not be as interesting as I first thought. Or maybe I am just too lazy to think about it and write up a story. Also, I don't know anything about Iryan Jaya; even if this is the right way to spell the country's name. The picture of the man in the New York Times article looked rather upset and full of himself. I don't know if I could get past that angry smug fellow to write a story about the whole thing. I wouldn't be able to get past it. The caption for the picture named the guy as the local witch finder and torturer. He was quoted as being one of the main people responsible for the deaths of something like 100 witches. The government, in the form of police groups, help out these witch hunters because they say that the accused witches are troublemakers.
They rip them apart, as I remember. They rip the witches apart because if the witch is in pieces, his or her evil can not work anymore. There was a story of a group of people running into an old woman's hut. She was a healer but everyone she came to heal, died. The people said she was a malicious old woman harboring evil spirits. In a classic movie scene, the village people gathered and rioted around this woman's home and ripped her apart by hand while she still screamed for life.
I imagine a dark, moonless night and palm leaves brushing my skin as an observer. The villagers are lit up by the torches they carry, yelling with twisted faces, running down the path towards a dilapidated little hovel. The air is thick and hot. Flying insects, stinging ones at that, are constant in the night air. While running down the path, villagers unconsciously swat at mosquitoes and stinging flies while at the same time, avoiding the vegetation growing on the side. Who knows what lives in the grass or what will jump out? If these people are so afraid of witches and evil forces, they are definitely frightened of unseen dangers.
These people yell and mutilate out of fear; government supported fear. That has to be one of the strangest parts to me. I think the reason that witch hunter looks so full of himself is because, even though he's instigated riots and hundreds of murders, his government finds him in the right. He stands with crossed arms and the slightest smile with angry brows. He would be a great character in a story...if only I could get past the fact that he is real and the things he has done are real as well."
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