On Blogging

I was reading the old posts on Steven Brust's blog, and I started thinking about how I felt I needed to acknowledge certain events in my blog.

Why? Why should anyone care how one stupid English-major nitwit in Smalbany feels about the September 11th anniversary? The Columbia Shuttle...I guess we can call it an accident. Tragedy seems like too big a word. As does disaster. Anyway, so I post like crazy about those. Who cares? Why would anyone read this?

I haven't written about the clubs which had stampedes and fires, or the people who've died because of the weather, or anything like that. Why write about what I did? I guess because I felt like I was personally affected. I spent a childhood dreaming about moving to NYC and the space program. (I'm probably the only person here at this website who remembers Sagan's Cosmos series. I watched it obsessively even though I was just a little kid.) But still, why should I write about it? Brust is a writer of not spectacular renown, but he's published a great deal (and is good! read him! now! go! shoo!). He doesn't feel the need to write about it on a semi-public space like a blog.

Semi-public? Well, yes. No one has the time to visit every blog. There are far too many out there. And, to be honest, there are far more interesting ones. I can't imagine anyone I don't know reading this. There's nothing to hold a stranger's interest, especially since I'm writing partially for myself and partially for friends far away. Strangers are not my target audience. So, even though anyone with access can read this blog, I can't imagine they would. So, semi-public.

I also haven't written about the clubs because I'd probably write something really horrible I'd be ashamed of ten years from now. So, we're avoiding that. And the people who died because of the weather.

I think maybe I shouldn't post so much. Granted, I think it's been a couple of days, anyway, between posts. But, really, I haven't much to say of interest even to those who know me. Other than ranting about my parents. And who really needs to read that? You know me, you know the story. I haven't really been doing anything, except catching up on reading for class and forgetting to turn in an assignment. (Dumbass!) I haven't even written anything of note. (At least I writing, though, which is a major improvement over a year ago.)

Please forgive the typos, by the way. I can't review and edit posts from here.

Lion

I love cats, I do, but this had me cracking up. Another view of the "lion" can be found here.

Polish McDonalds

I thought I'd share this picture from today's New York Times with you. (The article with which it's associated is here.)

Powers of Persuasion

(Note: the only reason I could spell the word "persuasion" on the first try is I'm an Austen fan. I can also spell "sensibility" and "prejudice" in less than half a second and without blinking. Go Jane.)

Mom and I drove to Bennington, VT, to get some groceries. Ostensibly due to expected inclement weather (rain icing on roads, icey rain, freezing rain, general ickiness which is the reason why I prefer snow in the winter to all other forms of precipitation). We need to store up on food stuffs to last out any crappy weather, right? But, mostly to get the hell out of the house, the hell out of the capital region. Albany is a depressing place, even when your front yard is looking all picturesque with the drifting, glittering snow and small-mammal footprints. So, off to lovely Vermont, which is close to persuading me to buy a house there if I ever have the money to buy a house. (Practically ever acre of Vermont is so damned picturesque it makes my non-property-owning teeth ache. Massachusetts' north shore is similarly picturesque, but I haven't spent as much time there, scouting out living arrangements.)

(Please note that whenever I type out "pictaresque," I hear my mom saying "picture-skew," which is helpful in getting a handle oin the spelling. The problem is I occasionally actually say "picture-skew," much to my English-major chagrin. )

I went into the store while Mom tried to park the car in the three square inches Spice n Nice has allocated to them for parking. I picked out milk and bread and a couple of other staples. Dutiful daughter. Then I wandered over to their extensive tea collection and found they had Persimmon White Tea by the same folks who made the yummy teas my sister gave me for Christmas. I picked up the tin and met Mom at the door. I told her I got two half-gallons of milk, etc., etc., then held out the tea tin and bounced on my toes, making a half-whimpering sound that many spoiled children make when trying to get something out of their parents. Most spoiled children can get cars and skiing trips this way. I got myself a $12.50 tin of tea. I didn't even need to use words.

When we were finished, I carried the bags out to the car and Mom opened the trunk of the BMW. She turned to me and said, "Pull our lunch out of the bags."

"What lunch?"

"You didn't get us lunch?"

"No. You didn't tell me to."

Mom proceeded to get huffy. "I shouldn't have to tell you."

"Mom, I'm not going to spend your money without an okay."

grrrrrrr!

"But I already got the tea. I wasn't going to–"

grrrrrrrr!

"But–"

"I bring you on these trips so you can pick out the good stuff!" grrrrr! growl!

Well, that's a shocker. I'm supposed to be her shopping id, picking up the chocolate cookies and sweet potato Frites while she buys butternut squash and frozen peas. I promptly went inside and picked up stuff I'd like to eat. Mom happily munched half a bag of Frites as we drove the scenic route back to Albany.

Now I have cookies and persimmon white tea. mmmmmm

Ready?

Thought you guys might appreciate this: Ready.gov - Be Informed - Visual Guide. Be sure to go through all of the threats and how you can prepare yourself!

on that note

I think this is appropriate (or this, if you prefer streaming MP3s to Real Audio).

Kick Ass Couple

I didn't know until I flipped through my Entertainment Weekly a couple of days ago that Laurence Fishburne (Morpheus of The Matrix) and Gina Torres (formerly Zoe of the ill-fated Firefly) got married about six months ago. Their babies will be the most badass babies ever born.

Sword to 'Sabers

The man behind Samurai Jack is now the man standing in front of George Lucas and behind the new Star Wars cartoon coming to the Cartoon Network.

...

I've really nothing further to say on this.

Acoustic Kitty

Oh my fucking god. I bumped into Dave Barry's blog, which is a hell of a lot more amusing than his essays, and found this post, which leads to this website which, when you go to Document 27, talks about a project dubbed "Acoustic Kitty." And yes, a real cat was involved. Read the memo. Most importantly, read the testimony by Mr. Marchetti:

[excerpt]
they slit the cat open, put batteries in him, wired him up. The tail was used as an antenna.

Please, please, say something. I'm turning purple with laughter.

We're Almost There

Thanks to Warren Ellis' blog for pointing out this website which facilitates the purchase of private islands. Now all ET needs to do is win the monster-sized lottery. Then, DORKTOPIA! You'd better start sucking up to ET now if you'd like to visit the grandeur and spectacle of the glory of dorkness that shall be DORKTOPIA.

Free Books!

The family of a friend of mine has to move, quickly, from their apartment in Queens. The brother of said friend has a bunch of science fiction and fantasy books he's dumping. If he doesn't find someone to give them to, he's going to "recycle" them (read: throw in the trash). I figure there are enough SF/F geeks reading this blog who have SF/F geek friends that posting here might get things in motion and these books can be rescued from being dumped on a barge then dumped into the Atlantic.

I'll post a list of what's available as soon as I get it. Post a response to claim and include your e-mail address in the response and I'll contact you directly with the info. Don't e-mail me! I'm getting lazy about checking e-mail and only really go online for classwork and this blog (and reading other blogs).

Maybe-maybe I can get my friend (or my friend's brother) to bring the books into the NYU SF/F Club. But I seriously doubt it.

Anyway, keep an eye on this blog for the list.

Presidential News

"Washington, DC (February 13, 2003)

"A tragic and sad fire has destroyed the personal library of President George W. Bush. Both of his books have been lost.

"The president is reportedly devastated—apparently he had not finished coloring the second one."

Break Like a Twig

That crunching sound you heard tonight which disturbed your rest was the sound of my spine shattering into little bits. I have ordered the Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Once More, With Feeling CD. No, I haven't a job. No, I haven't any money left from the loan (the books cost a buttload this semester). I'm just very, very stupid.

I am also pretending that one of my friends bought it for me as a surprise. How nice! Ain't you guys grand, getting me the CD like that! You're a swell bunch, I gotta say. If I play pretend convincingly enough, Mom will believe me and hopefully not poop her pants when I beg her to pay my credit card bill for me. ("It's charges for class stuff," I'll claim.)

I'm such a terrible, horrible person. I am. Really. And I'd better learn to drive, fast, as it's the only thing which is preventing me getting a job at Borders (at least, it was three weeks ago). Must. Get. A. Job. At a bookstore, natch, to supplement my habit.

The Complete Military History of France

(The following was forwarded to me by my eldest sister, who is married to a Frenchman of ancient lineage and living in a small town outside of Paris.)

Gallic Wars Lost. In a war whose ending foreshadows the next 2000 years of French history, France is conquered by of all things, an Italian.

Hundred Years War Mostly lost, saved at last by female schizophrenic who inadvertently creates The First Rule of French Warfare: "France's armies are victorious only when not led by a Frenchman."

Italian Wars Lost. France becomes the first and only country to ever lose two wars when fighting Italians.

Wars of Religion France goes 0-5-4 against the Huguenots.

Thirty Years War France is technically not a participant, but manages to get invaded anyway. Claims a tie on the basis that eventually the other participants started ignoring her.

War of Devolution Tied. Frenchmen take to wearing red flowerpots as chapeaux.

The Dutch War Tied.

War of the Augsburg League/King William's War/French and Indian War Lost, but claimed as a tie. Three ties in a row induces deluded Frogophiles the world over to label the period as the height of French military power.

War of the Spanish Succession Lost. The War also gave the French their first taste of a Marlborough, which they have loved every since.

American Revolution In a move that will become quite familiar to future Americans, France claims a win even though the English colonists saw far more action. This is later known as "de Gaulle Syndrome," and leads to the Second Rule of French Warfare: "France only wins when America does most of the fighting."

French Revolution Won, primarily due the fact that the opponent was also French.

The Napoleonic Wars Lost. Temporary victories (remember the First Rule!) due to leadership of a Corsican, who ended up being no match for a British footwear designer.

The Franco-Prussian War Lost. Germany first plays the role of drunk Frat boy to France 's ugly girl home alone on a Saturday night.

World War I Tied and on the way to losing, France is saved by the United States. Thousands of French women find out what it's like to not only sleep with a winner, but one who doesn't call her "Fraulein." Sadly, widespread use of condoms by American forces forestalls any improvement in the French bloodline.

World War II Lost. Conquered French liberated by the United States and Britain just as they finish learning the Horst Wessel Song.

War in Indochina Lost. French forces plead sickness, take to bed with the Dien Bien Flu.

Algerian Rebellion Lost. Loss marks the first defeat of a western army by a Non-Turkic Muslim force since the Crusades, and produces the First Rule of Muslim Warfare: "We can always beat the French." This rule is identical to the First Rules of the Italians, Russians, Germans, English, Dutch, Spanish, Vietnamese, and Esquimaux.

War on Terrorism France, keeping in mind its recent history, surrenders to Germans and Muslims just to be safe. Attempts to surrender to Vietnamese ambassador fail after he takes refuge in a McDonald's.

giggle

Go to Warren Ellis' blog and read this entry on CSI and CSI Miami and nearly pee yourself while laughing like I did. Nearly.

Snow Day

This guy from the university called for my dad at around 9:30 tonight (well, last night). He and Dad talked for a while, then, on the 11 o'clock news, there was this wonderful, wonderful notice:

All classes are cancelled tomorrow at University at Albany.

Woo-hooooooooo!

This is a very good thing, considering I haven't finished the reading required to finish that damned paper, let alone support the argument the professor put forth in last Tuesday's class regarding economic influences on the witch-hunt of the mid-17th century. Oh, and there are the readings for two of my other courses I haven't read. And journals for those courses to catch up on. So forth. So on. This lovely, beautiful, snowy-snowy blizzard gives me until Thursday to get things together. Blessèd winter storm!

So, thank you, thank you, thank you, ET, for whatever you did to improve my lot on the ass-end of the NKS.

And here's a few GKP coming at you, JubiLee, to help you in dealing with your evil-bastard landlord and the family crap-fest, as you seem to be in great need and I'm sitting here, wasting them horribly.

(Note I am up at 3:00 AM watching cable television instead of sleeping so I can get up, bright-eyed and bushy-haired, and get crackin' on my assignments, which are why Albany County is suffering through this winter emergency thingy. All for my lazy-ass self's benefit. Tra la. Tra la. But it was really informative cable television. You know, how the T-Rex was actually a scavenger not a predator and how a coroner used carpet fibers found on this bloated, discolored corpse to catch the sicko-bastard in 'Jersey who tortured and murdered a bunch of prostitutes on the 'Jersey-Delaware truckers route some years ago and how much Bebe Newirth desperately wants and desires Jon Stewart. These are important things. Truly. Indeed.)

It Talks!

I'm not entirely sure what it says, but the Death Star ET gave me lights up and talks. It's something along the lines of what the Emperor says to Luke before he tells the Commander to shoot at the Rebel ships (Return of the Jedi). I can't tells you exactly what the effect is because the Christmas lights have been put away and the plug only fits into the Christmas lights socket, not an actual wall socket. Poopie. No non-Christmas fun. I can't wait for the Christmas tree to be put up next year, so I can get it to start talking like a Darth Lord of the Sith. Good, geeky fun!

Spike Sings!

ET was kind enough to drop off a copy she made of her recording of "Once More, With Feeling" from season six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Everyone in the Buffy fanclub knows this as the musical episode. It is too fabulous for words. Whedon does a great musical (he wrote the music and the lyrics! he's too wonderful! drop and worship at his clay feet!). It was funny and apt ...and Tara has a surprisingly good singing voice. Spike is sexy even when being a little silly while dancing and singing his way into Buffy's ...annoyance. (I must get the soundtrack! Now!)

So, I am officially posting a big, fat THANK YOU to ET for taking the time to copy the episode for me so I could finally see it, and bringing me the Death Star, which is appropriate, as ET is the closest to Sith among my friends.

Reprieve!

I misspelled that word when I e-mailed my Witchcraft & Historians professor to thank him for letting me turn in my first paper a week late. [5:39PM: And again when I typed in the title, apparently. I blame it on the near-zero weather.] This means I really have to finish taking notes on the readings so far so I can get the damned thing written. It's tough, 'cause I know somewhere in his head he'll be comparing it to the papers written by the grad students in the class. This means I'll be pushing myself to write a perfect paper which completely revolutionizes the historical study of the witch-hunt phenomenon 1450-1750. But, phew! I think the reason he's being so nice is he's on serious drugs for back pain. And God help me if anyone from my class happens upon this post. Or my professor. I shall surely die. But, I had to share my joy with my readers. Tra la! Now, to the grunt work.

Why It's Better To Live Alone

...you don't have to share the television.

This is a stupid complaint, but I've no one to call and complain (can't afford long-distance calls, anyway), and even if I did, no one would care. So, I'm venting on my blog. Your stupid fault for reading this boring thing.

There are two televisions in this house. All three of us generally watch the same evening programming. We're like that. One of our few bonds. However, my parents have decided that Dad gets to watch television on downstairs and Mom gets to watch television upstairs. This means if, say, I want to watch Angel while they watch West Wing, well, I'm screwed. Fuck you, Sugar Kat. We don't give a shit we're both watching the same fucking show. You still can't watch yours. I could have been sitting at the television for half an hour, watching Angel, I still have to get up and give up the television when Dad shows. I hate this very, very much. When I leave here, I will live alone. I don't care if it's a fucking hole and the size of, well, my last apartment. Anything is better than sharing living quarters.

No giving up one of the few T.V. shows I wish to watch regularly, no worrying about where the fuck my stuff is. Yes, it doesn't matter whose it is, my parents feel they have to right to move shit any place they feel like it. Beauty part: they forget where they put the stuff. Oh, yay. I've lost bills this way. Bank statements. I. Hate. Living. With. Other. People. Cats are good. They don't have thumbs and are very willing to watch whatever you're watching. And they don't have the damned T.V. on twenty-four hours a day. I had no idea my parents watched so much television. There really isn't that much on there worth watching. But, every night, the television is blaring. Every damned night.

I will now miss the rest of the entire fucking season. Dammit. (I've tried taping from cable while they're watching, but it hasn't worked. Especially since my parents are both VCR 'tards. Why didn't I decide to dorm it?)

Homework? What Homework?

I just cannot get enough of these personality quizzes. Besides which, look! I'm Jon Stewart! Woo-hoo!

Hm

Well, that's a surprise. Halifax posted a comment. I'm assuming it actually was him and not ET masquerading as him. I wonder if the knowledge that Halifax is reading this blog as well will cause me to change the way I write this blog.

...

Probably not.

Bonus Points To Me

When making my last-minute edits to the paper due in Writing & Tutoring class today, I exchanged an inappropriate hyphenate for "superscilious", which is The Word of the Day. Didn't know the word was so-honored at the time, so I get useless, metaphysical gold stars for vocab. Go me.

Procrastination

Textbooks are boring. Thought I'd retake the Edward Gorey death quiz.


You will be sucked dry by a leech. I'd stay away
from swimming holes, and stick to good old
cement. Even if it does hurt like hell when
your toe scrapes the bottom.

Can this be considered an improvement? Maybe. Reminds me of Stand By Me. First time I saw a leech, even if it was a fake movie leech. Thing is, I really, really need to get my reading/writing done. And I'm re-taking internet personality quizzes. This is getting to be pathological procrastination.

Enetation

There's some sort of error on at my comments provider. Who knows when it'll be cleared up. It's a free service run by donations, so they may take a while, due to lack of funds, etc. On the other hand, this may possibly give ET another chance to "pop [my] comments cherry", which seemed to make the little rabbit happy before.

An Actual, Honest-to-Goodness Mascot

One thing which always kind of bothered me about NYU was the mascot: the Violets. It's pretty much impossible to root for a team with that lame a name (why not Purple? it scans badly, but at least it isn't as weak as Violet). The mascot at the ill-attended basketball games was the BobCat, which was named after the catalogue system at Bobst Library. That's just pathetic. That and the fact that the team sucked very hard even in the non-conference of which they were part, led me to drop out of the habit of following the basketball team. (I'd been a big Terps fan when my dad worked at UMaryland, and I still pull for them a bit when I know they're playing.)

Now I'm at a university where the sports, though not as big or splashy or, let's face it, good as they are at, say, UWisconsin-Madison (Go Badgers! Woo!), are half-way decent. The basketball team was recently accepted into the America East conference level, and while the guys are about shoulder-height to the rest of the teams in the conference, they play with a hell of a lot of heart and keep the games surprisingly close. So, there's a team to root for. And there are enthusiastic rooters, with confetti and signs and weird hats and flags and chanting and rhythmic stomping of the bleachers (how I love that thundering sound). This is fun. College basketball is one of my favorite things to watch, as long as the team is halfway decent; as in, they have a chance of winning. (UAlbany has a bit to learn about turnovers, but some of it can't be helped, considering their arms don't reach as far as the other teams'.)

But the best part is our mascot UAlbany Great Dane. The costume looks a bit like Scooby Doo's bigger, badder cousin, without the black spot and pot-head companion. The logo looks more like Marmaduke. And... I love this... they have this big, fat meet every year called the Big Purple Growl. It's such a silly name! It's adorable. (The kids barked when one of the guys hit a three-pointer, "Woof! Woof! Woof!") I just love the Great Dane. (Probably because I really wanted one when I was a kid. Something about a pony-sized dog.) It was fun to cheer on the school team in basketball again. Haven't done that since Len Bias played for the Terps. And, lord, that was very, very long ago.

(One nice thing: a surprisingly large percentage of our athletes are on the honor roll. I can't recall the number exactly, but it's above 20%. We have the most athletes with academic honors in the conference/whatever-its-called. And they're not slacking their way onto the list. They're studying things which require brains, like criminal justice, mathematics and psychology. They're not just jocks: they have brains, too. Let's go, Great Danes!)

...Check me out, being all school-pride-y. How new.

Best Personality Quiz Yet

Horrible Edward Gorey deaths!


You will be smothered under a rug. You're a little
anti-social, and may want to start gaining new
social skills by making prank phone calls.

"What horrible Edward Gorey death will you die?" brought to you by Quizilla.

and, because I couldn't resist...

Don't forget to check out the other results of the Ideal LotR Mate quiz. Cracked me up.

addedum to post twenty minutes later. . .

I just went to my blog and noticed that if the pictures above loaded, they took forever and a day to do so. However, mostly the pictures just wouldn't load. Hopefully, this is just the usual shit I have to deal with being an AOL user. If not, I do apologize. I can't figure out what might be wrong, especially considering they load up just fine on the editing page preview section. Sorry. Just go to the quizzes and check out all of the answers. You'll see the pics then.

A Note On Commenting

Not that I think anyone besides ET and JubiLee is reading this, or that ET will do anything but comment on rare occasion with ET's particular brand of tact (JubiLee won't comment at all--too busy), but I thought I should post, for the record, my comments "policy". It's not much of a policy, hence the pretentious quotes. My policy is as thus: -> this is not a public forum but a private web log. If I find anything posted in my comments to be offensive or unnecessary, I will delete it. No fun stuff. Just gone.<-

Again, I can't imagine the two people reading this blog will post anything that obnoxious (though I know you are capable of doing so if you felt like it). I just thought I'd put something in... well, it's not print... something legible? ...to which I can refer anyone if I get pissed off in the future. Tra la. That's done. That having been said, if you have an opinion which you wish to state and I delete it off of my comments, you can always post it on your own blog. Ain't that the American way, then? Freedom of speech ...on your own fucking blog.

Golly, that was rude, wasn't it? Perhaps I shouldn't have had so much sugar after dinner. At least we got that unpleasantness out of the way.

brushes invisible specks of dust off sleeve then smiles stiffly

Strawberry Jell-o, anyone?

Yeah, That's About Right

Amusing yet depressing and kinda scary. Someone had some extra time, so they put together this simulation of what might happen if the U.S. and the U.K. go to war with Iraq. Enjoy. I guess. sigh

It's kinda becoming a "when", isn't it? Yes, their leader's a psycho infant-goat-fucker and he shall have a very toasty spot in hell, but I am almost positive that any action we take there will lead to more terrorist attacks than any nation, even ours, can withstand. Especially when our armed forces are all half-way around the world. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. And we gave him the weapons he'll be using to fight us. Same as with the Taliban. I swear to God, our leaders don't have the foresight of a three-year old.

Applesauce?

I sat on the sofa, determined to end the long run of procrastination which has been going since the beginning of the semester. I brought with me a boring textbook, a pencil to make notes, and a cup of raspberry applesauce. The cat, Oscar, was lying on the blanket next to me, purring away as he always does whenever I sit next to him. As I ate my applesauce and attempted to focus on the very boring textbook, Oscar sat up, squinting and sniffing the air as he does when I'm eating pork chops or chicken or something like. The "something smells tasty" look. I dipped the tip of a ring finger into the applesauce and held it in front of Oscar to prove to him I was eating something he wouldn't like. It's just super-mushed fruit, Cat. You won't like it. He sniffed it very delicately yet very thoroughly, then proceeded to lick the applesauce off of my fingertip. Once he determined the fingertip was absolutely clean, he gave me the "more?" look. He wanted more applesauce. A cat eating applesauce. This is so weird, I thought as I gave him the empty dish so he could clean the it out.

Then again, the other cat, Floof, digs raisin bran anything in a major way. Muffins, cereal, you name it; she can't get enough of it.

I can understand the begging for tunafish and ham, turkey and chicken, as they are meat and cats eat meat. But applesauce and raisin bran? How very odd.

Albany Weather Update

It snowed about one and a half inches today. The trees and bushes are lightly frosted and the dirty snow on the side of the road was covered up. Monday/Tuesday, it was in the 40's, everything was wet and slushy, and it rained cold, icky, penetrating winter rain. Today, it's pretty, drifting, powdery snow (hiding thick ice amd old snow). Six more weeks, the Pennsylvanian rodent said. Not that I mind. I hate winter rain. More snow, I say.

Invisible!

Look, ma! An invisibility jacket! Just like Harry Potter! Keen!

Smilies Reference Post

The stuff in bold is the code that'll give you the smilie indicated next to it. There are lots to choose from, which should make this, uh, fun. My personal favorite is as he's so cutely grumpy and has a good name: nonono. Enjoy!

:clap:                        
:clown:                      
:confused:                 
:-? or :???:                 
8-) or :cool:               
:cry: or :tear:             
:o, :-o, or :eek:          
:evil:                         
:D, :-D, or :grin:          
:invasion:          
:lol:                           
:x, :-x, or :mad:         
:naughty:                  
:nod:                         
:nonono:                    
:oops:                        
:ouch:                        
:puke:                      
:P, :-P, or :razz:          
:roll:                          
:(, :-(, or :sad:            
:sleep:                       
:sleep2:                     
:), :-), or :smile:          
:| or :stun:                 
:tooth:                       
;), ;-), or :wink:           

On Today's Word

I thought, considering some of the debate I've read of late, it would be a good idea to post the Did you know? section from the Merriam-Webster online dictionary listing for bardolater as word of the day:

George Bernard Shaw once described a Shakespeare play as "stagy trash." Another time, Shaw said he'd like to dig Shakespeare from the grave and throw stones at him. Shaw could be equally scathing toward Shakespeare's adoring fans. He called them "foolish Bardolaters," wrote of "Bardolatrous" ignoramuses, and called blind Shakespeare worship "Bardolatry." Oddly enough, Shaw didn't despise Shakespeare or his work (on the contrary, he was, by his own admission, an admirer), but he disdained those who placed the man beyond reproach. The word "bardolater," which Shaw coined by blending Shakespeare's epithet — "the Bard" — with an affix that calls to mind "idolater," has stuck with us to this day, though it has lost some of its original critical sting.

It's too bad it has lost that sting. Even though I probably could be classified as one of those "bardolatrous ignoramuses", I do believe that the idolotry of any particular work or writer/artist should be questioned. If the work/artist/writer withstands questioning over time, well, bully. And the dismissal of past works should be questioned as well. After all, perhaps those who lived at the time when the work was created and dismissed it could not see the significance that particular work might have on future generations, as the world changed.

Look at me, being all pontificky. How unpleasant.

When Is Sleeping Not Sleeping?

There was a facinating story on a bizarre sleep disorder was written up in the NYT 's Sunday magazine. I love the pictures. Anyway, fodder for story ideas.

Scary Thoughts for Family and Friends of Gay Men

I was about to post something specific about Dan Savage's article last week, but decided to let him speak for himself.

"We Hate Everyone": the blog

Interesting blog, on occasion, but the best thing I've seen by them of late is this fabulous pondering upon the "What Would Jesus Drive" campaign by one of their contributors Canadian. (are they all Canadian? Possibly, considering they hate everyone. Either that or New Yorkers. Tough to say. I guess that's why Toronto stands in for NYC so often in filmmaking.)

Sass Back

Well, I decided I couldn't wait any longer for HaloScan to open up registration again ("closed temporarily" my lily-white ass). So, I've gone with Enetation.co.uk, which, as you can see, is run out of the U.K. [insert image of Silent Bob shrugging at the obvious here] They're free, which is the important thing, but they have tendency to run v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y and crash occasionally, and they stick ads into my comments. Same deal as Blogger, so I guess we're all used to that, right? (Some day, I shall have money. Then, no ads and much speed! Dammit!)

I'm still way, way behind when it comes to actual template-building, so please excuse me while I learn to tweak the comments template and my blog template to the point where I'm kinda happy with them. And, you know, they work. cough At any rate, I'm going to be posting a separate post which will be the reference point for all of the smilies available to you, the commenter. I'm going to try and link to the smilies post from the comments box itself, as I don't expect you guys to remember what the hell they are.

Here's hoping I can get this all to work. I'm such a ...okay, so what do you call a dork-ish person who can't do the nifty things dorks are supposed to be able to do with computers? Oh, and is a math 'tard? Hm, I guess loser will cover it for now.

[added twenty minutes later: Um, the smilies post ain't working. At least not so's I can refer you to it. This is very frustrating! Grr!]

[added the next evening: I still can't get the refer thing to work. For some reason, this particular post wants to refer to the post immediately preceeding it. Arg. Frustration! Arg! I'll keep trying, but until then, refer to the abridged smilies listing I've linked the ::view smilies:: bit to. (Grrg!)]

(Speaking of sass, my Rhetoric (which I keep mispronouncing, like I'm Dubya's much-younger cousin or something) professor used to write for the magazine which became "Sassy" when it was imported to the States from Australia. Well, I guess it paid. Getting paid for writing is a good thing. He's married, but he's very effeminate.)

Again with The Onion

They did it again. Nuclear arms found in North Dakota! Eep!

Bird of Spring

Puxawtawny Phil saw his shadow, so we all know the Northeast is destined for six more weeks of winter. Except a robin was perched on the backyard fence today. He was shorter than I'm used to robins being, and a little squat, though the squatness may be explained by the poofed-out feathers. It's below freezing again. I can't imagine what he's doing up here right now. There's many inches of ice and snow on the ground, and even he he found an exposed spot, the ground itself is frozen. No worms here, little friend. I hope he flies back south instead of trying to stick it out up here. He'll either starve or freeze to death. But it was very nice to see his round, red breast this morning. It's almost spring, he tells me. And, who knows? Maybe Phil was wrong.

Cat On Desk = BAD! THING!

Floof is perched on the desk again, purring away, occasionally checking my typing (which has degenerated severely). Mom caught her up there a couple of days ago and had an absolute fit. Scream, scream, yell, yell, fit, fit. So, I've decided to be more careful and only let Floof sit up there when I know Mom won't catch her. Like, when Mom's asleep. Which is all the goddamned day, lazy bitch. And then there's the psychosomatic illnesses which keep her whiny and bedridden. Unless she wants raspberry pie and ice cream. Then she can manage to drive down to Delmar. Rrrg. Floof, you stay right where you are, cutie. You keep on purring. I won't let that bitch do a thing to you. Grrrr.

Buffy

This is not about tonight's episode, which I enjoyed muchly. This is about the woman who watched tonight's episode with me and got all weepy when Willow had her "I let her go!" crying session. (Poor Willow! And, may I say, I do not like Kennedy. I hope she's one of the wanna-bes who dies horribly. Bleh-phooie on her manipulative ass. Mom doesn't like her, either.)

My mom is now bordering on Buffy-fandom. Why? Not the writing, not the funtastic demon action, oh no. She's now hooked for the same reason I initially got hooked. What was that, you ask?

Spike. The yumdilicious Spike.

"They can't let him die," she said at one point tonight, "he's too gorgeous."

My initial reaction was a very Scooby-Doo "Bauwr?!"

And then I agreed.

Yup, that's my mom, diggin' the cheekboned Spike. And can I tell you how weird it is she and I are sitting there, drooling over Spike together? Seriously, this is not a good mother-daughter bonding moment. Igh.

And I saw him first, dammit. Dibs.

Possum!

We have an oppossum in our yard! She's living behind the shed. We're assuming she's a she. She could be a he. We can't tell from here.

She has a long, pink tail, pink feet, and a white face with beady black eyes and a pink nose. Gray coat. She's cute! We like her. Haven't named her yet, but we will.

Mom thinks she moved to our yard when our evil, evil, evil neighbors tore down practically every freakin' tree (evil!) in the neighborhood and put up their ugly, cheap-ass house (evil!!). Poor possum. She can stay as long as she wants. She looked hungry tonight, so we tossed her some bread. We're nice to our cute, marsupial neighbors. Not the evil, evil, evil ones. Those we send mental curses and call names.

Harry Potter

You've heard the shit spewed by the evangelical-types linking the magic and wizard school in the Harry Potter books with Satan. You'd think the Roman Catholic Church would follow suit, yes? They'd done dumber things in the past ten years.

But no. It teaches the difference between good and evil, says the RCC. And Rowling is a Christian in her heart, or some such thing. It's a-okay by them. Don't believe me? Check out this article.

They eat the Flesh and drink the Blood of the Son of God (religious cannibalism! whoo!). Their leaders wear silly hats and dress in vibrant shades of purple, red, and white. And they're allowed to read Harry Potter. Bu-ha! The Catholics have a hell of a lot more fun than those stoopid, book-burning Protestants!

Which is to say, not very much fun, and sure as hell a lot less than...well, pagans. sigh

And there is the whole thing with Harry Potter being a boy and the predilictions of a certain group of priests.... Ick. Stoopid Catholics.

On Today's Word

John Adams argued with Jefferson that the word was spelled "unalienable", not "in-". Or told Jefferson it was supposed to be "in-", not "un-". Something like that. There was disagreement. At any rate, the text was changed in the publication to read as Adams wanted it to read. At least in some of the printings. This might be a... um, what would this be called? A fiction? A falsehood? Historical myth? Who knows. I think I heard it on PBS, though, and in my mind, they're a good authority on stuff ya' learn, so I'm going to continue to believe it.

It's also one of my favorite sentences: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." I love that document. Some day, I'm going to get a copy of it. Maybe one of those little, leather-bound books. One of the Declaration of Independence, one of the Constitution, one of the Bill of Rights. And then I'll memorize them, starting with the Declaration. I guess I could pick up something like that at the National Archives in D.C.

And I'd also like to get a copy of the collected letters exchanged between Adams and Jefferson. That would be fascinating. (I'm such a geek.)

Typing Lesson

Our cat, Floof, a blue-point himalayan, which means she has fine-haired fur which is super-fluffy and poofy and that's where she got her name.... Where was I? Right. Anyway, Floof, who usually sits in the lap of whomever is sitting at the computer, has decided that the desktop might be more interesting today. She has positioned herself so that she is daintily perched above the keyboard, beneath the giant-ass monitor Mom bought herself, and for the last twenty minutes, she has been watching me type as if she were trying to learn to do the same.

(Kind of ironic, when you consider her previous owners declawed her. Declawing involves the surgical removal of the first knuckle of the toe/finger. So, look at your hands. Imagine the knuckle where your fingernail is is no longer there. Now imagine that is the case with every single one of your fingers, including the thumbs. Floof would probably not be a very good typist, even with a lot of practice.)

It's exceedingly cute. She's very still, except for her ears, which seem to flick to one side only when I make a typo. It's also very good positioning, as all I have to do is lift my hand a couple of inches to scratch her on her forehead, which is covered with a Persian-carpet-thick patch of fur and is therefore very pleasureable to wiggle my fingers through.

(The people who declawed Floof are the people who decided, when she was about to turn three years old, that she was too old and no longer cute, so they were going to put her to sleep. Mom rescued her. Those were evil, evil people with far too much money on their hands. Do you have any idea how much a pure-bred himalayan kitten costs? Sheesh! Also, they had named her Corduroy, which is a stupid frickin' name for a super-fluffy-poofy cat.)

Some day, I'll figure out a way to post one of my own pictures on here and I'll post pictures of the two cats, so you can see what I consider to be irresistably cute in feline terms. Except for the behavior, I can't post that, and that's where a great deal of the feline cute factor lies.

Ohhh, you're so cute, Floof! scratch scratch pet scratch pet pet pet "purr... purr... purr...."

What Poetry Form Am I?

Apparently I'm a split personality. Either I am ottava rima:
Ottava rima? Me? That can't be right!
   Too frivolous? But tut, there's no such thing!
Let others ponder thoughts of wrong and right,
   Or sit and think how much they love the spring;
I'd rather spend my time in gleeful spite,
   Or maybe laugh, or maybe sit and sing.
Besides, it might be fun to be inspiring -
But surely it would get so very tiring.
Or I am a haiku:
Short, terse, unfriendly,
Yet sometimes quite emotive;
I am the Haiku.
How, erm, interesting. Don't get it, but it's kinda cool to be considered a haiku, I have to say, if only half-way haiku.

What poetry form are you? A special quiz for English major geeks.

Which Adolescence of Utena Character Am I?

Look! Another personality quiz! Let's waste more time, shall we?


Name: Touga Kiriyuu
Gender: Male
Name Means: ?
Color: Red Rose
Touga: Was Utena's boyfriend/playmate as a child. He saved a little girl from drowning one day, but died himself. Somehow he meets up with Utena at school. He loves her. He's a nice guy that just gives. But he knows everything. Everything about the cruel world, but since he died here he has to stay here. He would like Utena to stay with him, but she wants to escape this sick world with Anthy. He wants her to. In fact, he helps her. He just wants to see her happy.


You: Are a good person. You suffered for being so good, but you are still good. You arent the strongest or bravest, but you will help the strongest or bravest if you can. You're noble. You're wise. You know how crazy the world is. But for some crazy reason, you're optomistic. Everyone seems to like you. You will help others reach their dreams.

Look. I'm a nice...guy. A nice, dead guy who's in love with a girl who dresses like a boy and is dating another girl. Sheesh. But then, that's anime for you. And, look! Pretty hair! Whee!

BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

or, Stupid Fucking CSFB

CSFB is my former employer. The evil bastards who worked me like a dog and refused to pay me appropriately for my O.T. I hate them. I wish them great harm. This harm, in my happiest world, is to come through their misbehaviors coming to light and the government of many cities, states, and nations slamming them ruthlessly.

Now it appears that my happy dreams are slowly coming true. Huzzah! Smash them to bits, NASD! For details, check out this article in the NYT. Then, celebrate with me! Whee! Root, root root for the NASD! gloat gloat gloat

The Onion, Again

This article toasts my monkeys almost as much as this article did.

We Are Pepys' Grandchildren

There was an article in the Saturday New York Times on Pepys being the "grandaddy of blabbermouths", the forefather of those who maintain weblogs today in the early part of the 21st century. Me and Pepys. Only, I think his diary is more interesting....

Keep Them Flying

There is an article in Time magazine demanding the space shuttle program be stopped. It's a waste of money. We don't need it. Etc. Meanwhile, the generally hyper-conservative poll respondees at AOL posted the following:

Shuttle Future?
Should the space shuttle program continue?

Yes               82%  358,924
No                11%    50,126
I don't know    5%    24,598

I think that guy at Time can go take a long walk on a short pier. Those people gave their lives for a "waste of money"? They were wasting their time when they were in space? They wasted, basicially, their lives? I don't think so. This guy has no grasp of the science they were exploring. Who the hell is he to say what they did was, essentially, worthless? Astronauts know they are potentially risking their lives to go into space and perform these experiments and complete their projects. After all, people have died before now. It's worth it, asshole. And I'd much rather my tax dollars went to this than, say, whatever dumb-ass war the Bushies want to start to deflect attention from the economy and the complete lack of capture of anyone involved in 9/11.

Why Do I Do This To Myself?

I'm very teary today (well, yesterday), as the more I see of the astronauts who died yesterday (Saturday) morning, the more it hits me that the bright, shining, shooting star on the television was really, truly the Columbia, the space shuttle of which my brother and I had a toy/model back in the early days of the shuttles, before the Challenger blew to bits over the shores of Florida; that these people died and were worth twenty-five of me, each of them. Smarter, stronger, more dedicated. They were among the few of our planet who got to see it from the outside, to float weightless and see how beautiful our world is from the thrilling, cold emptiness of space. The first Indian woman in space, the first Israeli in space, one of the few Black astronauts. There's all sorts of firsts and fews. It was McCool's rookie mission as pilot.

So, I'm feeling that gray, dragging feeling that I get after horrible events like these, ones unassociated with me personally but which still hit me, over time, like I was personally involved. And what do I do? Go to the North Shore Animal League America online kennel to see the animals there. Now I'm all blubbery again, because I can't even save one, sick, old cat named Martin. I suck. I contribute nothing to the world but my mental spewings in this blog. I can't even give a poor, lonely cat a home in his sickly, waning years. I suck. I can't even do this tiny thing to help. I suck.

STS-107 Crew

We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the friendly skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth.
--Robert A. Heinlein

Rest in peace: David Brown, Rick Husband, Laurel Clark, Kalpana Chawla, Michael Anderson, William McCool, Ilan Ramon.

The Space Shuttle Columbia

You've probably heard about it before now. What happened. The shuttle lost a piece of its wing during take-off. It was considered to be not a big deal by the engineers and the mission continued. Then the shuttle fell apart upon reentry, debris flying off onto Texas. Here's a breakdown of what happened on Spaceflight Now, for those who caught on late, like I did (start from the bottom--they've been tracking the shuttle from the beginning of the mission, so it was just their misfortune to be the ones to track the accident from the begining of the breakup in California).

This wasn't a terrorist attack, so don't get started. They were too high up for missles. Yeah, there was the first Israeli on board, but this was the engineers making a mistake, not a malicious act. How do I know it's the misjudgement of the engineers who gave the okay to the mission? Well, nevermind they were something like 200,000 feet up and going 17, 18 times the speed of sound. What missle could hit that? How could someone hoping to plant a bomb on board get past the heavy security of every mission? It didn't blow up, it fell apart. I've watched the tapes enough to see that.

I remember Challenger. A couple of days over seventeen years ago; January 28, 1986. I remember hearing about it in homeroom in middle school and going home and crying all night watching the tape over and over on the afternoon and evening news. I'd really thought they wouldn't let something like that happen again. (I'm numb today. I can't believe this actually happened this morning. Watching certain events on television is like that for me. Unreal.) Travelling to and from space is still very risky. But this horrible, horrible accident is still unexpected and somehow unbelievable. Hubris, I guess. I can't believe our scientists can't get past the danger of it, make it safer than driving. And now seven of the very brightest and strongest of humanity are gone.

The worst part is that this happened slowly. They were alive in that cockpit while the shuttle was breaking apart around them as a shooting star over Texas and they knew what was going to happen. What kind of hell that must have been. (Their pilot's name was Willie McCool. That is a very good name. Very Irish cowboy. The Entry Flight Director at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida is Leroy Cain, which strikes me as ironic, like the Palestine, Texas, thing. What Mr. Cain and the rest of Ground Control must be going through right now. My heart goes out to them when I see them on C-SPAN.)

More information:
-The New York Times coverage.
-Space.com, which followed the mission all the way through, as it does every mission.
-Time's photoessay.
-William Gibson's touching post.
-Post and following discussion on Patrick Nielsen Hayden's blog full of useful links and thoughts.
-Moby makes a good point about what we've lost.
-A copy of the poem former astronaut and moonwalker Buzz Aldrin read on NBC before breaking down in tears.

And here I was, planning what my Chinese New Year post was going to look like. For those of you celebrating, I hope you have a happy new year and lots of good food and lots of very fat little red envelopes. And that you didn't find out about this until well after the celebrations were over today.