Mood Weather

Do you ever have the weather match your mood? Like, you're in a terrifically good mood and the sun comes out, not too warm, and shines happily while fluffy white clouds drift blissfully through a periwinkle-blue sky. This happens to me on occasion. No connection, naturally, outside of coincidence, but still, I find it interesting.

Like today. I've been put on this hormone therapy 'cause of unpleasant chick stuff I really don't want to go into because it's private and upseting. Today's the last day of the heavy-duty doses, and in a couple of days, I go on a more regular thingamabob. Hormone therapy seriously whacks out your emotions. It whacks out your ability to deal with shit which flies in your direction, and makes you more likely to freak. (I think the reason I was so damned hyper until a short while ago is the stuff that's going on which requires me to take these pills.)

Living with my parents is not exactly a treat. My parents should have gotten a divorce years ago. I mean decades. They should have gotten a divorce when I was elementary school. Or earlier. They have serious fucking issues, as individuals and as a couple. They both need serious therapy. They should neither of them be in a relationship of any kind. They are both very twisted, psychologically. They have their good side, each of them, and I love them, because they are my mom and dad and I remember those good things.

But since I have moved back in with them, they both have decided I am part of this war they have been waging against eachother since before I was born. Many little things. Many, many, many little things. Occasional big things, but mostly small, even tiny. I don't want to go into details, but lies and accusations and insults are included.

I am punished by either parent for the behavior, recent or long-term or imagined, of the other. This is not particularly fair. I am not a perfect housemate, but I do try. I'm no longer that 18-year old, whiny bitch. I'm nearly thirty and have a sense of responsibility. I do my best to pull my weight here, chore-wise, making meals, cleaning up. I do my own laundry. I do their laundry. I fold their laundry when I find they've left it sitting in the dryer for a week. I clean up after they cook. I clean up the mess after they do laundry (there's this whole thing with lint I will not go into). I clean growing things out of their fridge and wipe up the strange and sticky brown spills. I vacuum. I try to leave a minimum of my things lying about the house, only leaving something somewhere if I really need it to be in that partcular place in the house. Et cetera. Et cetera.

But this isn't enough. It could never be enough, especially since they don't even notice or one of them claims to have done what I've done. I haven't flipped out. I just sigh or shrug my shoulders and keep quiet, even when they're screaming at me. Any further reaction would only make matters worse.

Until this week, with these damned hormones. I'm irritable and hyper-sensitive. Not a good state of mind when dealing with these two. All week, when something happened, I'd whisper angrily at the door through which the parent who had upset me had gone. Trying to keep my temper down. A flare of temper only makes it worse, it only makes it worse. But I could get calm. Angry whispers at no one, then calm. But today, I snapped. I slammed a wall with my fist and swore at the top of my lungs. I was in the basement and no one was there, but I just couldn't take that one last thing this week. That one last straw. That one last piece of undeserved blame, that one last lie, that one last passive-agressive act. After the outburst, my mom came to the top of the stairs and asked me just what the hell I thought I was doing. I told her exactly what was wrong, as loudly as I could, unable to keep myself from screaming at her exactly what was wrong, wrong, wrong, always. She quietly said, "Oh," and walked away.

My throat aching and my entire body shaking, I came upstairs and, lo!, the very skies had opened and a thunderous torrent had been unleashed from the heavens! It was like the world reflected exactly what happened to me. Boom! Everything came pouring out in a grey, vertical river, the rain hitting the ground so hard it bounced back up higher than the roof. I almost cried, but I didn't. There's no point to crying. It changes nothing, just makes my face puffy and bloched-red. There really wasn't a need for me to cry. Or yell or scream or slam and kick walls. It's stupid, juvenile behavior. I'm better than that. I hope.

I've stopped shaking, but I feel nauseated and my throat is still rough and sore. I'm hoping I can get back to the passive calm I had earlier, now that I no longer have to take this pill anymore. But I do wish I had one of those big, hanging punching bags like Buffy Summers practices on when she's training. It'd be good to have something to punch, just in case. I really don't want to lose my temper like that again. It changes nothing and just makes me feel sick.

The rain helped, though. I wonder whom I should thank for that quick storm.

Best Headline of the Week

"Sudden, Unexplained Death May Kill Many Adults"

Further Thoughts On Private Riley

Reading over what I wrote, I noticed the private's name was Riley, like Buffy Summers's ex, who worked for that black-ops-y military organization. So, in my weird, twisted, dork mind, Private Riley is now Buffy's Riley (even though that's the private's family name, not his first name). Which makes me very depressed. And feel like a complete ass. And just plain stupid. And like I'm doing something wrong in my head. Mostly depressed. And worried. And sad. And scared.

I hate this.

How completely unfair is it that there's no such thing as superheroes?

And Because Sex Is Funny

Thought you might like to peruse this article: "That's One Very Old Dildo" (Nov 29 2002).

(excerpt) A 2,000-year-old sex aid for women has gone on show in a Hong Kong display of relics from China's Han Dynasty.

The ancient phallus - made of bronze - is part of an exhibition at the Hong Kong Museum of History which also includes a number of Xian's famous terracotta warriors.

The phallus is believed to have been used by frustrated courtesans living in the imperial palace during the Han and Qin dynasties which span 221 BC to 220 AD, according to the South China Morning Post.

Arrogance and Ignorance

Bush II interrupted my television-viewing this afternoon. He was addressing a group of veterans. You know, the people from whom his budget would take loads of benefits. He spent the first five minutes talking out of the side of his mouth, being smarmy and disgustingly smirky. I muted the next ten minutes, then turned off the television entirely, no longer able to tolerate even catching his slimy smirk with the corner of my eye.

Then I read Teresa Nielsen Hayden's blog entry from this morning. Very eloquent statement on what makes me so angry about this man. Well, one of the things.

(excerpt) One more observation. Consider Bush’s statement: Maybe somebody needs to explain to me why they say something, but I don’t feel like I owe anybody an explanation. That is not and cannot be the voice of a public servant. What you’re hearing there is a long-accustomed and automatic assumption of privilege: You’re there for me. I’m not there for you.

Now Visiting Books of Wonder

It's a good idea to check the Books of Wonder website for their store events, as they get lots of nifty visitors. Thought I'd let you know about the visitors I'd like to meet:

Saturday, April 19

• Susan Cooper, author of The Dark is Rising sequence.
  Noon – 2pm

Saturday, May 10

• Eoin Colfer, for his new release, Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code.
  Noon – 2pm
  He's an Irish school teacher and writes in a distinctly Irish tone. His best so far is The Wish List (apparently not available in the States), though my nephew adores the Artemis Fowl series. Mr. Fowl is a super-genius kid who uses his gift for crime.

Surfing around the site, I noticed they have a 19th century edition of Adventures of Tom Sawyer, which is kind I want, with the blue cover and gold stamping. It could be mine, if I had $650. Not exactly an impulse purchase.

Books!

I am inordinately happy that there is a new Honor Harrington book out. It is not great fiction, but it is fun space opera with interesting characters and creatures and more tech detail than I can shake a stick at. Nice thing is, it’s in hardcover, which used to annoy the crap out of me, but this time means I’ll have time to get a job and make some money before the mass-market paperback comes out, which is the format in which I’ve been getting the series. The same could be said for the goodness of the latest Amelia Peabody still being hardcover.

Not good because of the temptation to spend money I don’t have is the 14th Amelia Peabody book being out in mass-market. Bad Sugar Kat! No! Bad!

But they’re so goooood! (Guilty pleasure without too much guilt, as the characters are well-realized, etc., etc.)

… Well, I have to get my nephew his birthday present and the Harry Potter movie is cheap when pre-ordered, but I still need a certain amount for free shipping, so….

I guess I just have to buy The Golden One.

sigh How unfortunate. Forced into buying a book.

Responding to What Was Said

ET wrote this post over on her blog. I started to compose a response in her comments, but decided I had too much to say, so I'm posting it here instead. Sort of a preemptive strike against my comment being clipped out of her commets section and posted in mine here. So, here's my uneloquent reply to her blog's thread:

It's the individual stories which get to me the most during things like this. I got a little flipped out when I realized the woman P.O.W. was a cook who'd never expected to be in battle conditions, let alone a POW. My mind kept going over what she might have been thinking, as "just a cook," in that situation. Empathy. I'm putting myself in her place, and am further horrified by this mental exercise.

The "tribal" bit of "Riley's an SF dork, man" carries the empathy through in this case. Reading through the comments on the linked thread, I saw people thinking what shared reading experiences they've had with the captured private, and the idea of him being in such a vulnerable and dangerous position hurt all the more for this.

There is something more specialized about the reading of a book than living in a large city. There are specific trains of thought you've probably shared with this private if you've both read The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress or The Man In The High Castle. Okay, so I'm pretty much repeating what ET's just said, but not saying it as well. But I think my point is it's when the story is personal that it hurts. Ten people dead don't mean as much until you find out their individual stories, and sometimes not even until you find out something specific which you have in common with them, such as dorkiness.

According to one of the comments posted at Electrolite, a lot of the guys over there have played RPG games. That just bugs me out 'cause in my head (irrationally), those soldiers and sailors and pilots (and cooks) have turned into Halifax and ET and a whole crowd of people I know and would rather not have blown up into little bits or tortured (usually).

There is also the concern for those with whom I've a relatively passing connection. There are a lot of students from U-Albany who have been called into duty. I am terrified by the idea of these kids (and they are kids; they're exceptionally young), these students, getting killed or (possibly even worse) disabled (physically or mentally) in this war started for unconvincing reasons by the Bush II regime. One of my professors cancelled a class last Thursday, first day of this war. He was nearly in tears as he spoke of the several students who had come to his door, wearing cammies, asking for an incomplete for the semester. His students, he called them. He couldn't imagine talking about literary theory after that.

Even Ari Fleischer Is Flummoxed

Q. Yes, why was the French toast named Freedom toast? (Laughter.)

Q. Is that a White House decision?

MR. FLEISCHER: I'm not a Hobbit, so I didn't have a second breakfast. I had my breakfast before I came in. Is that what it said?

Q. Yes.

MR. FLEISCHER: It said Freedom toast?

Q. Yes.

Q. Was that at the administration request, or was that --

MR. FLEISCHER: I just -- we're always proud of the men and women of our Air Force. (Laughter.)

Excerpt from March 26, 2003, press briefing, from The Press Gaggle.

I like the "second breakfast" reference. This makes me almost like a man to whom I've a physical aversion, by association with Pippin, my favorite character in the books (well, so, he is, so there). Good job, Fleischer. (We'll see how long this lack of gagging lasts.)

There, That's Better

I just realized that the links under the first two "et cetera"s were incorrect. Fixed 'em.

Why? Because I'm completely blocked on two—count 'em!—two papers which are due tomor– sigh later today. I have nothing to turn in. I'm so very, very screwed. whimper

and I quote

"...[A]ny time you got the Pope and the Dixie Chicks against you, your time is up."
-Michael Moore, while the music played, after pissing off many people

et cetera

I was wondering about that.

et cetera

Oh, boy, is this true.

et cetera

Exactly!

And then there's this not-humorous bit at Electrolite.

Oscars

If everything were right with the world, the Academy Awards show would have been as hokey and cringe-inspiring as usual. Instead, though it's still highly-paid people congratulating themselves for making money for themselves, last night's show didn't annoy me half as much as they normally do. Highly-contested war, strangely enough, is good for the Oscars.

Also, if everything were right with the world, I would have been at my friend C.'s Oscars party in Boston, stuffing myself on the world's best vegetable dumplings and fake-pork chops. sigh

I will now list things I feel like listing, completely out of order, even though you really don't care about my opinion of the things listed, or even the Oscars.

• Best acceptance speech: Adrian Brody. Even if he hadn't been so beautifully surprised (so were the rest of us, Mr. Brody) and beautifully articulate, he would have won this blog's best speech award simply for that celebratory yet overwhelming snogging of the ever-gorgeous Halle Berry. That was fabulous, darling.
  
  
• Best wit: Peter O'Toole. Why the hell didn't this man win an Oscar for Lawrence of Arabia? Well, at least they acknowledged his talent last night. Better late than never? Not sure. However, he was everything that is wit and grace. "As I totter into antiquity...." Everyone should be so lightly eloquent. Three cheers for Mr. Chips.
  
  
• Moment I cheered the hardest: Spirited Away winning Best Animated Feature. I was convinced they'd give it to a more widely-shown film, but they started off the show giving the award to the most deserving nominee in its category. Yay! Very good way to start the awards ceremony.
  
  
• Best surprise other than Brody: Eminem winning Best Song for "Lose Yourself." This was the first year in a long time I liked all of the nominees, but I really felt his song was the best. And, surprisingly enough, so did the Academy. Huzzah! (Homophobia and misogyny are evil things, but that was a good song, dammit.)
  
  
• Best win other than Spirited Away: Chicago for Best Film Editing. The editing made the performances what they were, especially Renée Zwelleger and the ever-annoying Richard Gere. Other than the professional dancers, the editing was the best performance in the film.
  
  
• Most totally predictable moment: Michael Moore's protest/speech. God, didn't they know he'd use that moment to piss off the conservatives/moderates? Haven't they seen his films? Sheesh. (Still, it made me laugh. Good old Moore.)
  
  
• Most ridiculous and therefore wonderful outfit: Sean Connery. It took major brass cojones to dress like that. I admired that. Giggled, but admired.
  
  
• Most ridiculous and therefore best hair: Pedro Almodóvar. Weird. Eccentric. Whatever. It's just totally him. I dug it. (Yes, I checked the spelling.)
  
  
• Moment I drooled the most: Damn, but Gael Garcia Bernal was hot. Wow. R-r-r-r-r! (Yes, I had to look up his name.)
  
  
• Sexiest bald head: Daniel Day-Lewis. R-r-r-r-r!
  
  
• Best eyes: Salma Hayek. Always serious, but the most increadible pair of eyes on the screen, male or female.
  
  
• Best boobs: Queen Latifah. Damn, man. That is one, big, queenly woman. I should be that bold.
  
  
• The Dear-God-I-Hope-I-Look-That-Good-When-I'm-That-Age award: Tie Susan Sarandon and Meryl Streep. One was sexy, the other was regal. Both were beautiful. I can only hope my genetic material allows me to look half as good when I'm their age.
  
  
• I might chop off a limb to look this good: Jennifer Garner. Sheesh. That's just totally unfair. (By the way, how freakin' lame was that Mickey bit she had to do? Oy.)
  
  
• Still butt-ugly: Hilary Swank. Ew.
  
  
• Coolest fat lady: As always, Kathy Bates.
  
  
• Coolest loser: Martin Scorsese. The man grinned as if his name had been announced, stood up and gave Roman Polanski (statutory rapist at large) a standing ovation. That, my friend, is class. (Bonus points to me for spelling either of those names correctly.)
  
  
• Two things which should have won but weren't even nominated, dammit: Best Makeup to The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and Best Picture to Far From Heaven. I am pissed about both. Far From Heaven was as close to perfect a film as I've seen since Amélie and, dear lord, did you not see The Two Towers? That makeup kicked Frida's ass! Not to disparage the artistry of Frida, mind. But, seriously, what the hell was the Academy thinking?
  
  
• Person who should have won but wasn't even nominated, dammit: Best Actor In A Supporting Role to Dennis Quaid in Far From Heaven. In a film full of brilliant, spot-on performances, his shone the most. I am deeply pissed he was so utterly ignored. Grr!
  
  
• Best host: Steve Martin. I hope they bring him back again next year. I actually laughed at his jokes.

In all, I wasn't too pissed about this winners this year. Was Chicago really the best film released last year? No, it wasn't. But it sure as hell was enjoyable. I heartily recommend it to everyone. Anyone who can't enjoy themselves watching that movie... well, there may be something wrong with you, dear. You may want to have, ah, something checked. (Better coverage elsewhere: EW.com.)

IKEA-y Goodness

After my afternoon doctor's appointment on Friday, Mom drove us down to the IKEA at Elizabeth Center in 'Jersey. I. Love. IKEA. We did much exhausting shopping, wandering all over, looking at everything displayed, getting ideas for the front bathroom and the kitchen. Eating very tasty 99-cent plates of Swedish meatballs (yum!) and doing even more shopping. We got loads of stuff for a little over $100. I never feel ripped off at IKEA. Plus, Mom purchased the following for me:

• print of arching-stretching cat brush painting
  
• clip frame for stretching cat print
  
• Mammut, the furry, rubbery, teal alarm clock with interesting feet
  
• Espressivo, the super-bright, extending desk lamp (goes-with-everything black)

...none of which I could find on the IKEA website, darn it. But, they're nifty. And all under $10! (I'm stealing Mom's little-bitty tropical plant with pink spots, too. She'll find out when I move out.)

They're Not Even Being Original

So, everyone knows by now of the dumbass move of the Congress renaming french fries and french toast "freedom fries" and "freedom toast" just because the French had the audacity not to agree with Bush II's regime. So the fuck what, I say. The French have made a habit of disagreeing with us since at least the close of WWII. Why is this a big deal.

Anyway, it was an intensely stupid and childish thing to do, even more disturbing behavior when you consider the people running our government are our representatives and supposedly the best and brightest. Gak. International embarrassment once again. Gee, golly, Congress. Thanks for making Americans look like asses, again. Not like Bush II's pathetic "diplomacy" hasn't done that already.

Best thing is, this move to rename foodstuffs is not original. During WWII (I believe), sauerkraut, the cabbagey stuff that some people like to eat on their hot dogs, was renamed "freedom cabbage." Which is possibly even worst than "freedom fries" and "freedom toast."

Except this: look at the words. Freedom is fried and toasted now. Abused. There's a certain poetry to this, considering the formalization of the institution of Big Brother.

Okay, I've made myself all depressed. Off to listen to the Amelie soundtrack again. And then maybe Spike crooning. (Yumdelicious Spikey goodness.)

Re: Buffy Alert

I want to apologize to everyone who tuned into Buffy on FX tonight to watch "Once More, With Feeling." I wasn't aware FX edited episodes so drastically. I'm generally forgetful, but I remember songs like they're imprinted on my brain, so when you mess with a musical, I'm going to notice it, straight off. I'm more than a little pissed at FX. But then, what can you expect? It is Fox. Rat-bastards.

In Case You're Curious About The War

You might like to keep track of Kevin Sites' blog: "First-person account of a solo journalist's life on the front lines of war.
(Kevin Sites is a CNN journalist, but this is a personal website not affiliated with, endorsed by, or funded by CNN.)"

Quick notes and essays and photographs by a CNN commentator on the front lines of the war in Iraq. Sounds good to me. It's interesting, and not outrageously political one way or the other. Photos are great. Not pretty, but good. Anyway, bookmark it and check it out once in a while. I've put it in my blogs list here, in case you don't feel like bookmarking.

Buffy Alert!

I'm just a little obsessed. I've been watching the reruns on FX every freakin' weeknight. This is how I know that at 6:00 PM (ET) tomorrow (that's March 20, bubbie), they'll be running the musical episode from season six, "Once More, With Feeling." Yay! One of the best episodes, ever! Whee! Buffy, the Musical Vampire Slayer! Happy, happy!

By the bye, how much did Angel kick butt tonight? I loved it when Faith kicked the shit out of annoying-whiner Conner. And go super-Willow, defeating evil, First-y Cordy! Woo! The Angel-Buffy angst bit at the end was good, as well, with Angel looking soulful and Willow smiling all Willow-like. Total gas, her thinking Fred was making a pass. Also enjoyed her brief interaction with Conner ("androgynous"! ha!) and Wesley ("Anything else change?" "Oh, just little things."). However, you could tell, I think, that Alyson Hannigan very much adores new hubby Alexis Denisof. She was super-glowy the entire time they were on the screen together. (Aw, how cute!) Happy me, happy me. I think I'll spend this war watching Buffy and her spin-offs, which are fictional in their demony evil and death, and the good guys win in the end.

Rare E-mail From My Brother

My brother is currently employed by the State Attorney General's office in Texas.

Subj: death

The Electric Bill garbage pail kid keychain that you gave me was a big hit in the capital litigation department.

Joss Whedon Haunts My Dreams

Well, not quite. Something else is haunting my dreams at the moment, actually. I won't go into that. But I cannot get the soundtrack to "Once More, With Feeling" out of my head. Those songs are so damned catchy! (And "The Gift," from the season five ender, keeps making me weepy when I hear it.) Cheers to Joss Whedon for keeping me up at night with Spike singing,

Life's not a song
Life isn't bliss
Life is just this
It's living

You'll get along
The pain that you feel
Can only be healed
By living
You got to keep on living
So one of us is living

Brilliant? I don't know. But I can't get it out of my head.

H  A  P  P  Y   S  A  I  N  T   P  A  T  R  I  C  K  '  S   D  A  Y  !

Corned beef with cabbage, potatoes, and carrots is one of the yummiest meals there is. I adore corned beef. Yet another reason I'll never become a vegetarian.

Oh, and Guinness bottled draft is surprisingly good. The second beer-type beverage I've had which did not make me want to spit it out and rub my tongue with my napkin. Not that I was willing to drink more than a half-bottle and—blasphemy!—I preferred it ice cold, but it was surprisingly potable. Guinness bottled draft goes with corned beef like how certain French wines merge perfectly with certain French cheeses. It is a culinary delight. Yum. My tummy is distractingly happy. Thank you, St. Patrick, former slave and chaser of fictional snakes, for this day of corned-beefy goodness.

(Yes, I'm actually part Irish. So there.)

So, We're Going To War

Not that this a surprise or anything.

On a lighter note, a fella who calls himself South Knox Bubba has discovered that Bush has a "tell" when he lies (credit to Tom Tomorrow for pointing this out). Good to know.

Word of the Year

I love this word more than I can say. I can't believe it actually exists in a dictionary. Huzzah for

crapulous • \KRAP-yuh-luss\ • (adj.)
1 : marked by intemperance especially in eating or drinking
2 : sick from excessive indulgence in liquor

Example sentence:
If you're feeling crapulous the morning after the big celebration, drinking lots of water and taking some aspirin will help.

Did you know?
"Crapulous" may sound like a word that you shouldn't use in polite company, but it actually has a long and perfectly respectable history (although it's not a particularly kind way to describe someone). It is derived from the Late Latin adjective "crapulosus," which in turn traces back to the Latin word "crapula," meaning "intoxication." "Crapula" itself comes from a much older Greek word for the headache one gets from drinking. "Crapulous" first appeared in print in 1536. Approximately 200 years later, its close cousin "crapulence" arrived on the scene as a word for sickness caused by drinking. "Crapulence" later acquired the meaning "great intemperance especially in drinking," but it is not an especially common word.
(copyright the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary)

It's Quiz Night

Can you tell I'm avoiding homework?


I like them tall, dark, sexy, and fun.
(brought to you by Quizilla)
Karl Urban? Not especially (and definitely not when he's a Rider of the Riddermark bleh), but, yeah, the description's about right. ;-d

I'm Liking grittynoir's Quizzes

Well, this is a pleasant result, I must say.


I'm Ripley. Believe it or not.
(brought to you by Quizilla)

Sweet!

Thanks to Sam, for pointing the "Which B-Movie Badass Are You?" quiz out. It made me one happy, cheering dork, 'cause it turns out I'm...


"Gimme some sugar, baby."
(brought to you by Quizilla)
This is me doing my happy-dork dance at my mom's desk. Yee-haw!

More Than Just The Flu

So, have you heard about this one: "WHO Issues Advisory on Atypical Pneumonia" (AP report).

"Until we can get a grip on it, I don't see how it will slow down," WHO spokesman Dick Thompson said in Geneva. "People are not responding to antibiotics or antivirals, it's a highly contagious disease and it's moving around by jet. It's bad."

So, it's East Asia for barely-curable influenza and pneumonia, but Africa for Ebola outbreaks and witch hunts.

Chatty Carp

Everyone must read this: "Fish Talks, Town Buzzes." One of the most amusing NYT articles I've read in years.

Cops

Guess who just got here? Grandma. Madame d'Alzheimer's herself. She super-freaked when she didn't see Mom after she found her way out of the bathroom, like a two-year old when Mommy disappears.

"Where is she? Where is she? Did you find her?"

I turned and pointed to the dining room, where Mom was sorting through Grandma's luggage, trying to find Grandma's hearing aids. "She's in there, Grandma."

Mom, not being deaf, immediately came to where we were.

"No, not her," Grandma said, waving her hands vaguely. "Not her."

"It's me, Mom. It's J---."

Grandma blinked and said, "Oh, yes. Your glasses. You were wearing your glasses."

"My sunglasses, Mom. I took off my sunglasses. It's me."

"Yes, yes," and Grandma laughed her fake laugh, "ho ho ho," which she does now whenever she's trying to cover for one of her lost moments.

Why is Grandma here, you ask, after Mom told her sister that she wasn't going to be involved anymore? Oh, the answer to that is soooo special!

Grandma walked out of my aunt's house, wandered around the neighborhood, through the trees, then went into a neighbor's house. The neighbor wasn't home. My cousin, S., was supposed to be watching her, as my aunt has disappeared to Australia again to meet with her billionaire boyfriend. My cousin, eventhough he knows my grandmother is in a bad state and should never be left alone, left her alone in the house for hours. This is the equivalent of leaving a very young child, a three-year old, alone. It's unbelieveable that he would do that. When he returned, Grandma was not to be found. Eventually, the police were called. They found Grandma in the neighbor's house. They then told my slacker cousin that he was no longer allowed to watch after Grandma, as he obviously, in abandoning her, is neglecting his caretaking duties. They demanded to speak with my aunt. Call to her cell in Australia. She was told that if there is not a caretaker with Grandma 25-7, Grandma will be taken away by Social Services and cared for by the state.

So, Mom gets a panicked call from her sister last night. She needs Mom to take care of Grandma until she gets back. Whenever that will be. Except, we have doctor's appointments in the City next Friday and tickets to see A Little Night Music at the City Opera next Saturday. We have to return her next Thursday, my mother tells my aunt. My cousin S., who is on spring break at the moment, so I've no freakin' idea where the hell he disappeared for so long, was told he has to find someone to take care of Grandma from next Thursday until my aunt returns.

Fortunately, my mom's baby brother, who's only about ten years older than my eldest sister, decides he's had enough. He finds, after two phone calls, someone to take care of Grandma next week. He also has his friend at the bank my grandma uses stop my aunt from taking money out of my grandmother's account. He's also looking to take over Power of Attorney from my aunt. Thank God. But for now, we have Grandma here. I am a complete stranger to her. I stand there and smile and if Mom's not there, Grandma freaks out. So I can't watch over her while Mom runs errands anymore. Mom has to be with Grandma, always. I don't know how Mom's going to take this. She's not exactly young and sprightly, and this is a very exhausting job, physically but especially emotionally.

It's so weird to look at my mother's mother and have her look back at a stranger's face.

Well, I Think It's Good News

Saw this AP report this morning: "NASA Planning Space Return by Fall." I actually cheered. It's good to see they're not going to stop the program entirely like they did for all those years after the Challenger. I still hurts to think of those lost in the Columbia (especially after watching that video filmed by the crew during reentry), but I still believe the program needs to continue.

Explain This To Me

Okay, so I've bitched plenty about how crap-ass my job and boss were at that certain investment bank. Then I stopped, 'cause I'm too busy whining about how I've all this work to do here with my Writing major and all. (DUH, Sugar Kat. It involves writing. Ya stupid cow.) However, there have been weird developments since I quit that crap-ass job with Evil Incorporated mid-August:

1) my former, highly unappreciative boss sends me an unsolicited (meaning I didn't send her one so there was no obligation on her part) Christmas card thanking me for all of my hard work after not peeping in my direction once since August. She also included an Amex gift check for $50. Yeah, that bizzare noise and strange wind the beginning of January was me gasping hugely when I cracked open that baby. Once I regained consciousness, I sent her a return note thanking her and thought I was done. Until

2) Evil Incorporated told me I owed them for an overpayment of about $450. I hear about this late-January, roughly five months after I left the goddamned place. First off, what the blankety-blank do they mean they overpaid me? What is that all about? Are they crack-addled? And even if they are, isn't there a fricking computer program monitoring this stuff? Ignoring that issue, where the hell am I supposed to get $450? I'm a feckin' unemployed student, after all. (I borrowed it from my sister. I am now suffering massive amounts of guilt. I am evil. Bleh-phooie on me. Guilt, guilt, guuuuiiiiiiiiillllt.) Oh, and did I tell you they never paid my O.T. from my last two weeks, the ones where I worked the equivalent of an extra two-and-a-half weeks? I mean it when I call them Evil Incorporated, 'cause they're, like, evil. More so even than I. I who take money from my sister who needs it to pay for house stuff and kid stuff and car stuff and other mom-type stuff. Evil. Gak! The evil! Phaugh! But all was silent until

3) I just checked the account folks still stranded at Evil Incorporated use to e-mail me. And my former boss' husband sent me this chipper e-mail: "You escaped without saying goodbye!! I hope you're having a ball." For pete's sake, I left six freakin' months ago! His wife sent me a Christmas card and gift! What is with the random-fucking "have a good life?" This is weird and socially awkward. I dealt with him a lot over the phone when I was working for his wife: we were a client of his—H U G E conflict of interest issues, y'all—but sending me random, friendly e-mail was not our thing. It was business-y.

So, what do I say? Do I respond? Should I cc his wife? Tha hell?! Shouldn't this be a complete non-issue by now? Why don't these people leave me alone! I'd even do without the $50 gift check to find some peace. Waah. Sob. Bitch. Moan. Help!

Doris Egan

...is a regular writer and producer of The Agency, which is doomed to fail because CBS can't figure out where to put it (of late, it's been squrreled away at the 10 PM slot on Saturday nights—D O O M). (Mom is a frustrated fan. I told her she's lucky she's not a Firefly fan.) But at least Egan has regular work, which is good. And that regular work means she's writing on a regular basis, which is better. I've watched two episodes of The Agency beginning to end now (it's good), and can confirm she wrote both episodes, as I actually read the credits. From Dark Angel (member of writing staff (bleh! phooie!)) to Smallville (member of writing staff (fun)) to The Agency (main writer/producer (surprisingly good)). It could be another Egan, but somehow I doubt it. I just wish she had time to get going on the follow-up to City of Diamond. sigh

Hm. She's on AOL. I think I shall fan e-mail her to ask if it's really her. Updates in about six–eight months.

Most Pathetic Spring Break, Ever

The Swedish singing horses site is still a favorite. It's amazing how much time I can waste introducing and clicking off each of the four horses according to some weird pattern in my head. Apocalyptic? (Or is that five? I can never remember. Bad Catholic! Bad! (Well, we knew that already.))

Most Amusing Piece of News

Poking about BBC News, I found this: Botox 'may cause new wrinkles'. Not only are you infecting yourself for large sums of money, killing off parts of your face and destroying your ability to have a facial expression, you may be creating new wrinkles. I can now mock botox users even more than I did before. Mock! Mock, mock! Mock! Mock-mock-mock-mock-mock! Ah, that feels good.

On Earth

In case you're bored by things interstellar, here's a bunny with a pancake on its head.

Colder Than Albany

Another nifty picture taken by Hubble. It's a rapidly expanding (or something) nebula, one degree warmer than absolute zero. Named Boomerang, 'cause those fellows at NASA get as bored with numbers and letters as we do after a while. Full story here at BBC.

(Homer Simpson would be disappointed with the space burger of last August, I should think, though I think it's pretty.)

Comments

Haven't exactly been getting a flood of them, but then, there's probably not been a lot to say in response to what I've written other than nasty things which will get you deleted. ;-p However, I've been poking about Will Shetterly's blog ("No. Really?") and discovered another commenting service which is still open to new users. I am considering switching over since the commenter interface allows for limited HTML (or, at least allows you to enter links, bold, italics, and smilies). However, I'm somewhat indecided. Which means indecided. Right. So, if you guys could go to Shetterly's blog, check out the commenting software, and let me know what you think, possibly after you've checked out the BlogOut (oy, what a name) website, that would probably help me get my lazy e-butt in gear.

Right On, Mr. Shetterly

"People like Mr. Rogers should never die."
-Will Shetterly, February 28, 2003

Spring Break

I had a tentative plan for spring break this week. I can't afford to take myself to NYC to see my friends there or Boston to see my friends there, so I was going to mooch off of my sister to see my sister, her husband, and their two boys. Aunt Sugar Kat time. Except Thursday I caught my dad's cold, and I'm now suffering from the Cold From Virus Hell. I've spent the past four days sleeping. I get up for a while with good intentions, then pass out. It has now reached the coughing stage, so I feel truly wonderful. La la la. It's my freakin' spring break, dammit! I don't want to be sick during my freakin' spring break! But, at least it's not during classes. That would suck. (Except I'd planned to do a bunch of catch-up reading and writing and stuff, but I haven't. waaaah!) Hope everyone else is enjoying themselves. Can't wait for my writing professors to ask me, And what did you do for break? Ugh.

Black Sheep

(Ha. I wrote that and instantly thought of SheepBoy. There's this image in the second volume of the Kare Kano manga books which I need to copy and make into a tee-shirt for SB.)

My mom has not gotten along with her family since the year her father died of cancer and her brother was hit by a drunk driver.

(Two lessons to be learned from that year: 1) Always go to your regularly-scheduled physical, be it every three years, every two, or annually. After all, if you let yourself sit around sick for years, you might discover the cancer too late to do anything about it except die a horrible, painful, humiliating death. 2) Don't drink and drive, 'cause not only will you probably kill yourself, and kill someone else, but severely injure someone else so that they're under state care for the rest of their life. This will fuck up an entire family, so not only are you destroying your life and the life of your victim, but the lives of that man's children, his wife, his siblings, his parents, etc. So, don't be a complete and total evil asshole: don't drink and drive. Here endeth the lesson.)

My mom is distant from her mother and sister, the sister who decided to take my grandmother out of her own home, in spite of fully being able to take care of herself, and forcing her to become her live-in housekeeper/babysitter. For free. Oh, except my aunt takes my grandmother's money. Anyway, of late, Mom has been taking Grandma for weeks at a time as she takes Grandma in to see specialists about this, that, or the other illness or concern. It was really Mom who pushed to get Grandma diagnosed for Alzheimers. Mom loves her mother. It's a fucked-up relationship, but she loves her. She paid out of her nose for various medications, tests, and visits. My aunt, on the other hand, has refused to refill prescriptions required, including prescriptions to help Grandma with the Alzheimers. There are all sorts of meds, but my aunt has been haphazard at best in making sure Grandma takes her pills. For instance, when Grandma was supposed to start a new medication last June, my aunt didn't start her on it until August. And even then, Grandma is, at best, taking it three-four times a week, when she's supposed to be taking it daily.

My aunt is also refusing to put my increasingly ill grandmother in a home where she can be taken care of full-time. Instead, she leaves my Alzheimers-ridden grandmother alone in her giant house in the middle of the country for hours at a time. The people who usually take care of her are my teenaged cousins, who can barely take care of themselves (one of them was abusing all sorts of drugs for ages—I wouldn't be surprised to hear he started using Grandma's meds). My aunt leaves the country for weeks at a time, leaving my grandmother solely in the care of my cousins.

Of late my aunt has decided that her children, who were basically raised by Grandma, should not have to take care of Grandma while she's out, so she's been dumping Grandma on my mother's lap for a week, then asking at the last moment for two more. Then a call while Grandma's with Mom: my aunt will be away for another week. So on. So forth.

I've been witness to this behavior since September. It's completely unthinking of my aunt to act in this manner, especially considering the state of my grandmother's illness. There is no way my mother and I can take care of her. Grandma is further and further from our reality each visit. She requires more and more care. She needs someone to give her a bath, to tell her to eat, to tell her to take her medicine, to keep track how long she's in the bathroom, to tell her to brush her teeth (and how), to tell her to brush her hair, to tell her to wear clean clothes, to wear clean underwear, sometimes to dress her. She needs a nurse. We can't do it. And I will not go into the stories we've heard during my aunt's calls to my mother. They start with my aunt telling of the latest thing Grandma's said or done, then a request that Mom take Grandma on for a week.

Mom has suggested that Grandma would get the best care if my aunt would supply an in-home nurse. But my aunt says there is no such service in her area (very likely; they live in the frozen wastes of No-fuck, New York, which is practically Canada, on the St. Lawrence, and miles and miles from anywhere in particular). My mother then rationally suggested that perhaps, especially considering the latest behavior, it might be time to look at homes. My aunt refuses. No reason. Just refuses. Why? Well, my grandmother is a very good source of income. How? Well, Grandma actually has quite a bit aside from Grandpa's work and pension and other sources. My aunt has the power to sign Grandma's checks. A nice fund to pay for, say, my cousin's college education, even though he drops out, too drugged-out to study. A nice fund to pay for trips her job won't, like ski trips with her two girls. And while she's on this ski trip, my mother's the one to care for Grandma.

My aunt has not been taking care of my grandmother while my grandmother has been in her care. She can't even be bothered to make sure Grandma takes her meds. Even I can do that, as intimidated as I have always been by my mean grandmother (she's always disliked me; just because she doesn't remember who the hell I am now doesn't mean the weird, anxious vibe I get goes away). So, Mom decided, after much soul-searching and worrying, to tell my aunt No More Free Mom-sitting Services. You took Grandma and locked her away in your house as a servant for decades, you take care of her now. No more help. No more abusing my mother's generosity. That's it.

It's kind of awful, 'cause this means Mom's basically abandoning Grandma to my aunt's care, which is shoddy at best. But, I believe it's the right thing to do. Grandma needs real help. Maybe two years ago the kids could still work it out, but she needs professional care. Her disease is advanced. She doesn't recognize her own grandchildren. She doesn't know where she is. She—the anal-retentive neatnik who tortured my mother every rare visit during my childhood—doesn't even know to put on a clean pair of underwear. For chrissake, she sleeps in her slacks and sweater unless you demand she take them off and put on her pajamas. I can't even imagine what state she's left to live in at my aunt's house. But my aunt won't listen, and my mother can't help. So, that's it. For now, at least. I'm not sure how long my mom can let my grandmother live like that.

But Mom said, "I've just disowned myself from my family." And I have a feeling she might be right. 'Cause my aunt's up there, with their ears close to bending range, and my mother's here, the black sheep of my grandmother's offspring, wishing her little brother were still alive to help.

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.