Phoning in the blog posts

Late Night TV Political Humor

e-mailed to me by my elder sister

"Finally, a candidate who can explain the Bush administration's positions on civil liberties in the original German."
- Bill Maher, on Schwarzenegger running for Governor.

"President Bush is supporting Arnold. But a lot of Republicans are not, because he is actually quite liberal. Karl Rove said if his father hadn't been a Nazi, he wouldn't have any credibility with conservatives at all."
- Bill Maher

"President Bush is on a 35-day vacation, and before he left he had his annual physical, and it turns out his cholesterol now is lower than his approval rating."
- David Letterman

"Yesterday, Arnold Schwarzenegger announced he would run for governor of California. The announcement was good news for Florida residents who now live in the second flakiest state in the country."
- Conan O'Brien

"Apparently Arnold was inspired by President Bush, who proved you can be a successful politician in this country even if English is your second language."
- Conan O'Brien

"They're saying Arnold will get 95% of the vote. At least according to his brother, Jeb Schwarzenegger."
- Craig Kilborn

"President Bush has been silent on Schwarzenegger. Of course -- he can't pronounce 'Schwarzenegger'."
- David Letterman

"Here's how bad California looks to the rest of the country. People in Florida are laughing at us."
- Jay Leno

"Well, we're all excited because President Bush has started his 35-day vacation. He's down there in Crawford, Texas, and on the first day of his vacation he went fishing. He didn't find any fish, but he believes they're there and that his intelligence is accurate."
- David Letterman

"The White House released a videotape of President Bush meeting with his cabinet, and today Iraqi officials say they believe the tape is authentic."
- Jay Leno

"The United States is putting together a Constitution now for Iraq. Why don't we just give them ours? It's served us well for 200> years, and we don't appear to be using it anymore. So what the hell?"
- Jay Leno

"President Bush held his first full press conference in over five months this week. He announced that the war on terrorism is continuing, much, much more work needs to be done on the economy, and Saddam Hussein has not yet been captured. Then he said, 'I'm going on vacation for a month.' "
- Jay Leno

"The White House says that the vacation in Texas will give President Bush the chance to unwind. My question is, when does the guy wind?"
- David Letterman

"If you add up all the time he's spent on the ranch, he's spent more time in hiding than bin Laden and Hussein put together."
- Bill Maher

"[President Bush] used his press conference to come out very strongly against gay marriage. And then he said, on a personal note, that he apologized if he had done anything to lead Tony Blair on."
- Bill Maher

"President Bush's economic team is now on their Jobs and Growth bus tour all across America. I think the only job they created so far is for the guy driving the bus."
- Jay Leno

"President Bush has refused to declassify portions of the congressional 9/11 reports about the Saudis, because he says it will help the enemy. Not Al Qaeda, the Democrats."
- Jay Leno

Bumpersticker Ideas For The Republicans For 2004

also e-mailed to me by my sister

• Bush/Cheney '04: Leave no billionaire behind
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Less CIA -- More CYA
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Lies and videotapes, but no sex!
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Making the world a better place, one country at a time.
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Putting the "con" in conservatism
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Thanks for not paying attention.
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Four More Wars!
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Don't Change Whores in the middle of a screw.
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Assimilate. Resistance is Futile.
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Apocalypse Now!
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Compassionate Colonialism
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: The economy's stupid!
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: This time, elect us!
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: We're Gooder!
  
• Bush/Cheney '04: Asses of Evil
  
  
• George W. Bush: A brainwave away from the presidency
  
• George W. Bush: It takes a village idiot
  
• George W. Bush: He's Not as Dumb as Arnold.
  
  
• Vote Bush in '04: "I Has Incumbentory Advantitude"
  
• Vote Bush in '04: Because dictatorship is easier
  
• Vote Bush in '04: It's a no-brainer!
  
  
• Vote for Bush & You Get Dick!
  
• Who would Jesus Bomb?
  
• With a Bush and a Dick, everyone gets screwed
  
• One Small Vote for Bush. One Big Vote for Halliburton.

Okay, so I'll blog about this

The photos on Eric Conveys an Emotion range from make-me-smirk to crack-me-the-hell-up. Eric's latest Adventure, The New Pad, made me laugh very, very hard. Go see! (And check out the tee-shirt.)

On Being and Nothingness

I will probably not be posting much else to my blog for a while.

I'm not dating anyone. I'm not wishing I were dating anyone. I'm not being stalked. I'm not getting eyes from anyone.

I'm busy with much reading and much writing. I'm behind in reading and writing. I've research to do. I've hiragana to memorize. I've vocabulary to memorize. I've "action verbs" to memorize. I've index cards to write up to aid in memorization.

I'm not reading anything outside of class (except for Alan Moore's From Hell, which I got on sale from Powell's along with my Japanese-English dictionary, but I'm only reading it before bed and thereby guaranteeing eventual scary-gross-bloody-freaky nightmares). I'm not going to movies. You can see what I'm watching on T.V. from the list, and nothing I have to say about any of the shows would add to what has been posted on friends' blogs or printed up in newspapers or magazines.

I'm not travelling. I won't be going travelling any time soon. (Except for maybe to a Yankees game this weekend, but that's to use up rain cancellation tickets from my birthday.)

I do not have a job. I have no anecdotes about coworkers because I don't have a job. I have no anecdotes about classmates as they are a good portion drunken frat boys and sorostitutes, and drunken frat boys and sorostitutes are boring in their annoying habits of stupidity. (I do have one super-annoying Chinese girl in my Japanese class who has the worst fucking penmanship in the world and won't take correction because she is always, always right, even though she is usually wrong--and usually late to class. My only comfort in dealing with her is thinking how much ET would hate her fat ugly ass if she ever met her. She won't, though. ET should be very, very happy indeed in knowing she will, in all likelihood, never, ever, ever have to deal with this stupid, stupid bitch. The majority of the female non-round-eyes in that class are really pretty and smart and at least quadlingual.

I'm sure every white boy reading this is now drooling and trying to figure out a way to sneak into my class, mostly because I ended the description with a word that had "lingual" in it. You are gross. These girls--they're super-young in my eyes, so "girls"--are smart, have beautiful penmanship and make me feel old, slow, and super-stupid. But you're still gross, you pervy, pervy gaijin.) The rest of my classmates are mild and leave no mental aftertaste. They are all still about twelve years younger than I am, except on the occasion when they are twenty years older than I am. The ones who are older than I am are, without exception, deeply troubled people, as is shown by their distorted fashion sense (oh gawd the hair!) and their dumb commentary in class. They are not as dumb as the sorostitutes or the annoying ugly chick in my Japanese class, but they are dumb and it must be stated somewhere that they are so and that their stupidity reflects badly upon me, 'cause, for pete's sake, I am categorized as an "Adult Learner" too, so they are my equals in the eyes of UoA Admissions. Oh, lord, this means I am like them: I am an old, ugly, fashion-challenged, mentally-disturbed 'tard. I weep bitter tears at this revelation.

So, that's it. Nothing's doing.

Except I have a cell phone with a lot of unused minutes on it but have no one to call.

And I should have spent the time I just wasted on typing up this post on catching up on my reading for Medieval Lit. so I can get the journal up-to-date so I and turn it in tomorrow morning and not get a lousy grade.

I'm pathetic.

New song, true

This is probably the most honest I responded to the quiz, so this is me as a Cowboy Bebop theme song, most of the time. I might be the other two sometimes, though. People are complicated that way. Or I'm crazy, one or the other.

Not that this all means a damned thing. Still, better playing with this than reading more modern poetry, neh?

No, not really.

Today's song

Bear in mind, Cats On Mars was my theme song last time.

So what's your Cowboy Bebop theme song?

Measuring importance

Mom installed the Google toolbar to our Internet Explorer, mainly to block pop-ups, which it does quite handily. There are little handy items in the bar, like a space where we can type in what we might want to search on Google, an item to let us select where we want to seach in specific, an icon which let's me enter in a blog entry quickly, an icon which tells us how many pop-ups have been blocked so far (118), etc.

One interesting item is the PageRank bar. "PageRank is Google's measure of the importance of this page." This particular page, where I can edit my blog, is ranked 0/10, as I'm the only one who accesses it, I suppose. More interesting is the ranks given to blogs and sites I visit:

• Sam's blog: 5/10.
  
• ET's blog: 4/10.
  
• Maggie's blog: 3/10.
  
• JerkSquad!!: 4/10.
  
• Octopus Army: 3/10.
  ...and my blog?
  
• tmoltsk: 2/10.

Conclusion? No one likes me. I write a boring blog and nobody likes me and I have no friends.

Bwwaaaaa! sniffle

'Course, I could be wrong about that. I've been wrong before.

Whooosh!

The most we got of the rain today was a few hours of downpour in the morning. But since then, the wind has been strange. Strong, humid, swaying back and forth through the trees. It's driving the cats mad; they're running about the house, willy-nilly, meowing for nothing and everything, content to sit for only moments at a time, then leaping up and skt-skt-skt their back claws tap against the floor as they start the whole routine again, speeding into the next room and the next. Are they following the wind? Why do they respond so strongly to something outside the house which they can't even feel? I didn't feel like running until I stood out there early this afternoon, wondering why Mom would want to read the paper and do the puzzle in such strange, sticky wind, and then it was only to get indoors.

oh my fucking gawd

Follow the link and you shall see the one, the only, the dickhead.

A ribbon-like strip running around the back of the head bears an inscription, written in reverse, which translates as "every man looks at me as if I were a head of dicks".

Oh, lord, how full of wonder is the world.

Change in medication

Finally got to talk to my doctor today (well, yesterday evening at this point), after nearly two weeks of phone tag. While I didn't get to tell him about everything that's gone wrong since the weird bump in my taking my meds this past spring, he said, "Ah, yes," about halfway through the list of problems and quickly thought up a replacement pill for the one I'm taking and wrote up the 'script' to mail my way.

I'm so durned happy about this; I've been feeling gawdawful for months now. Here's hoping the switch in a couple of weeks will make for a big, happy, non-new-ailment-inducing change. Yay.

If not, well, he says I'll have to go in for a sonogram or MRI or something like that, which will be FUN! and expensive, and I'm without medical insurance right now, so it'll be even more FUN! trying to figure out how to pay for all of it. Yay.

Or, as Joelly-bear might put it, Ooh, ecstasy joy.

I just wish there was a pill I could take just once which would take care of this weird-arse condition once and for all. I'm sick of having to remember to take this stuff. And my freak-girl reactions. Bleh.

Frustrated Yankees fan rant

First there's Boomer and Moose getting screwed out of winning their 200th career games. They would have been #99 and #100 on the all-time 200-game winners. Or 100th and 101st, depending on whose records you believe. That's another story, though. Pre-1900 baseball history is a tad fuzzy. Anyway, so Boomer gets screwed out of his 200th by the Yankees not being able to get a frickin' hit with a man on base even though the pitcher they were facing has lost more games than he's won this year. They're the Orioles, for pete's sake. They've been out of the pennant race for ages. They should be able to hit the crap out of their pitching staff, but they can't buy a frickin' hit. Then there's poor, brilliant Moose, who was made to pitch on the day the hurricane hit Maryland. The game was a 1-1 tie when they had to cancel due to inclement weather. No shit, inclement weather. They'd closed the schools, the federal government, the trains, but they just had to make these guys play a ball game? Plus, why, why can't the current Yankees hit these lousy pitchers? What the heck is going on?

Even worse is the rumor that Joe Torre, my dad's hero, possibly my favorite man in the Yankees uniform, will walk come the off-season. If he isn't fired first. Steinbrenner has not hit one good note with his bitching, whining and complaining this season. Giambi's not been half the player we'd been sold when he bought him off of the A's. Weaver was a horrible trade acqusition from the beginning. The bullpen has been dead all season long. Aaron Boone, while a good player, hasn't hit a lick; I really can't see how his being on the team is an improvement, especially when he's barely hitting over 220.

Steinbrenner has been a whiny, interfering bitch since before the season started, blaming people who've done their best to help the team. I can't blame Torre for wanting to leave. It's amazing he's withstood that mock-turtleneck bastard as long as he has. But at least Steinbrenner had the decency to keep his fat mouth shut the previous years (for the most part). He just couldn't shut up this season. And it's most definitely not having the effect he wanted. Yeah, that's right, Steinbrenner, demoralize your team and coaching staff. That'll definitely lead to the World Series.

I understand the impetus behind the complaints. The team has not been what it was in the past. But that's because the team is not composed of the players it had in the past. Sure, you have Posada, Jeter and Williams up the middle, and Matsui has been one hell of a player, but the rest of the field has been more miss than hit. Except for Nick Johnson, who might have had a year to blow baseball away if it hadn't been for that broken hand. Giambi has sucked more often than not. Same to for that platoon in right, where we'd once had the rock-solid O'Neill. Third has been a question mark, though Robin Ventura obviously did a lot for the clubhouse attitude. And Soriano. Oh, lord, Soriano. Apparently he has swallowed every bit of hype printed about him in the past couple of years. Yeah, sure, he's 30-30, but his fielding is piss-poor and his bat is dead more often than not. He is the Yankee in best need of a bitch-slap. Or an entire bitch-slap therapy session.

There seems to be an element missing, the fire in thebelly, the need to win. While there is a core of hard-working players, the rest seem to be lost on the field, dozing, content simply to wear the pinstripes instead of earning them. It's beyond infuriating. I hate them for what they're doing to the team on the whole, the lackidasical players. They could do with another angry O'Neill, someone to smash the water cooler after every strikeout, someone with a visible passion for the game, someone with a temper aimed only at himself because he expects perfection every time out there. For a moment, when Boone nearly blew his top at a botched call a few weeks back, I thought he might be O'Neill's heir, the fire in the Yankee belly, the burning heart of the team. But he isn't. Close, but no O'Neill, just like Giambi doesn't have half the presence of a Tino, even though he has the better bat. There's no real team, though the core pitching, Boomer, Rocket, Pettitte and Moose, appear to have bonded through this rough season of spotty swinging and erruptions from the bullpen and their own inexplicable occasionally faltering arms. There are cliques instead of the well-oiled team of the late 90's. Few of the players then had banner years, but they played so well together as a team that it didn't matter. Their whole was greater than the sum of its parts, even with the future-hall-of-fame Jeters.

The fact that Torre has been able to get this mismatched collection to hold onto the top of the AL East is a tribute to his managing skills. The fact that Torre has not quit already in spite of Steinbrenner's behavior is another tribute to his managing skills. The man has had to manage management, team and coaches. It blows my mind what he must go through. I'd definitely say he's been worth every penny of that $5 mil. And I'm sure I won't be alone in missing him greatly if the rumors are true and Torre isn't sitting next to Zim on the bench in Tampa next year.

Update on the unnamed cat

We have the best vet. Shaker Veterinary Hospital. They're great with animals, they run an animal placement service, finding homes for strays and animals whose owners can't keep anymore, and they were quick to help us when we brought in the dead cat we found last night. They took the cat, box and all (what, I want to keep a box which had had a dead animal in it?), and told us they were going to put an ad in the paper about the cat. The head vet said he and his staff would also try to ID the cat. So they might be able to find the owner. They probably will.

So that's a big relief.

Only problem is, there's this cat, Dresselmeyer

who has been in the little animal placement service cages (they call the placement service Save-a-Pet) for a couple of weeks now. When I first saw him, I thought maybe my sister, E--, whose family had just lost their cat Mitzi (hit by a car), might like to take him. I got my heart set on finding a home for him. He was sweet natured for such a large cat stuck in such a small space (not fat, but tall--he could most definitely take on a lapdog and win, if he were so inclined). He was also good looking; with his sleek black coat and small white bib he looked like he was about to go to the opera. But my sister told me they were looking for a kitten, that my nephew J-- insisted on a kitten.

I was unreasonaly angered by her capitulating to J--'s request for a kitten. There are so many good cats who need homes, I thought. Why can't she at least give Dresselmeyer a chance? I'd even taken pictures of him hoping a peek at the cat would persuade her, but I never got the chance to e-mail it to her. Still, it's up to them to take on an animal. Why should they bow to my choice?

So, he's still there, a couple weeks later, waiting in that cage for someone to notice how good a cat he is and take him home. I don't know what to do, as there's no way I could persuade Mom to take on another, a third cat, especially now that Oscar is starting to cost a lot more with his blood tests and all. But I want to know Dresselmeyer's in a good home. So I'm posting a couple of pictures of him, not the best pictures but better than nothing, on my Fotolog and hoping for the best.

It looks like it's sleepingor, why you should always make sure your cat has an ID tag

Mom and I left the house at around 10:30 this morning. (Juu-ji han. ...I have to keep practicing.) It was a beautiful, sunny, totally-no-sign-of-rain day, with the requisite super-blue sky and puffy/wispy white clouds. I was in class or studying until 8:00, when Mom picked me up after a day spent at the doctor's in Connecticut checking out her foot (she won't need physical therapy anymore and she got drugs, which are always useful). We were joking around, talking about our day, admiring how beautiful the evening was. Traffic was a horror as they're busy putting in sidewalks. When we got to the house, Mom saw something fluffy by the side of the road in front of our driveway.

"Oh, my god, it's Floof."

"No!" Mostly 'cause it makes no sense that our indoor-only cat got out and got herself run over. Also 'cause I didn't want her dead. I figure she's healthy and should have some years left in her (she and Oscar turned fifteen this past May).

Mom made wide berth around the cat and stopped the car saying, "How did she get out? How did she get out?" while I kept saying "No! No!" Mom opened her door and peered at the cat in the orange-tinted road light as I leapt out of the car and ran around to see the cat.

It was dark and had a longer snout than a himalayan (our Floof is a blue-point himalayan). "It's not Floof," I said, only partially relieved.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's too dark. See?" It had the markings of a seal-point himalayan or siamese, the super-dark brown points (face, ears, legs, tail) with dark brown to light brown body. It looked like maybe a himalayan mix, as it had the coloration and the long fur, but not the super-long, super-fine fur Floof has nor the himalayan squat snout, inherited from the cross-breeding of persians with the siamese. It even seemed to have blue eyes, though I didn't look too closely. It was a beautiful cat.

It looked like it was just lying there sleeping. The only blood had come from the ear on the roadside and we didn't see that until Mom moved the cat onto the top of a carboard box which I'd brought from the garage. I couldn't bring myself to touch or move the cat, as I didn't want to feel the cat's body without any life in it.

Mom and I have no idea what to do with the cat. We've put it in a largish and solid file box with a removeable lid and put the box in the garage near the doors so it can stay a bit cooler. We don't have a freezer to put it into. We don't want to have this anonymous cat burned by the ASPCA/pound without the owner ever knowing what happened. But there's no tag on the collar. How can an owner put a collar on a cat they allow outdoors but not put a tag on it? We have no way of finding out who owns the cat to let them know where their cat is and that their cat is dead. We're hoping that the local vet's office will recognize it when we bring it in, which we can't do until they open tomorrow morning. But I can't help but feel for these people who used to have this cat sit on their laps and purr while they pet its soft, dark head and stroked its long fur. If the vet can't ID it, we'll have to bury it without the owners ever knowing what happened. They'll think it ran away.

Poor cat. Poor, stupid owners. Mostly, though, poor cat.

It was really lovely. It was still warm when Mom moved it to the box lid. It felt like it was simply very relaxed, maybe deep in sleep, when I moved it to the box. You couldn't tell what was wrong until you saw the eyes, which were starting to film over. I tried to put the cat in a position in the box like it was just sleeping, but it didn't quite work. The head hung funny. I tried to close the eyes, but I just mussed up the fur on the head. I hope it didn't suffer, but it's hard to tell. The bladder was still emptying when I put it in the box. What can we do? Whom do we tell? Someone's lost their lovely pet cat. I suppose, if we can't find the owner, we'll bury it tomorrow. I'll have to think of a name for the cat. I don't think I could bury it without a name.

When I finally got inside, the cats greeted me, wondering where we had been for so long and if they could please have some dinner, which was two hours late. I fed them and gave Oscar his medication and pet them and pet them and pet them. I just wanted to get the feeling of dead cat off of my hands, to have my hands remember what my warm, living, responsive, purring cats feel like when I pet them.

When I was petting Oscar, I thought, "I feel like I'm touching him with hands of death." Like somehow I'm spreading what happened to that anonymous cat to Oscar, who's been sick lately and making me nervous. I've death on my hands that needs a name. I wish that cat hadn't died, and I wish I could give it a more dignified end. I don't want my cats to somehow catch death from the death on my hands and the death in the box in the garage.

I just don't know what to do.

Unsmart, as in lacking in smartness or "smarts"

So, I got up early-early this morning to work on the interview questions and response paper for these two short story collections for my Writers at Work course. What do I do as soon as I sit at the computer? Mess around with my new blog template. For what? Is it that much improved from last night? Not really. (Well, some of my links are there.) Oy. This is beyond procrastination. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Auuuuugh! Where the hell is my e-mail?!

AOL sucks ass.

But then, you knew that already.

Still, the latest version sucks more ass than usual. It is a vast vortex of ass-sucking. Can you hear it? That horrid, slurping, phhhhhoit-phhhhhoit sound? That's AOL v.9.0. Suck, suck, suck, suck. Massive suckage.

AOL: now even suckier than before.

I Miss My Friends

I am sick and tired of being hundreds of miles from my friends. I want to go see movies and eat at restaurants and have strange and winding conversations about everything and nothing. Perhaps my memories are shinier and happier than the reality of what was and what would be if I were there now, but I don't care. (To be honest, considering the inconvenience of my living in CT the whole time back then, is this that much different?)

And if I'm this bad just being in Albany, a mere three-hour drive from friends in two cities (from NYC or Boston), I can just imagine how whiny I'd be if I were in Japan teaching English like I'm hoping to be in a couple years' time.

Under Construction

I got bored with my old template, which was a nice, pretty blue, but boring, boring boring and lacking in design, so I've loaded one of the standard templates now available from Blogger and am currently fixing it to my liking. Lord only knows how long that will take as I have to get used to how this person writes in html (not being literate in html, it's a constant adjustment for me to figure out what's going on in various templates). Things should be up and running by next Monday. I guess.

I mean, I've a lot of reading to do and a lot of memorization. You know, Japanese. Five is go. That sort of thing. I'm learning the alphabet (hiragana) and how to count (ichi, ni, san, yon, go...). I'm like a frickin' preschooler. A preschooler with boobies.

"For One 9/11 Family, Five Waves of Grief"

from today's New York Times
full article here. written by Dan Barry of the Times for the "About New York" column.

Professor Gurland of NYU's philosophy department once told my class that the true evil of the Holocaust or the Turkish genocide of the Armenians or any such act can only be measured if you consider what it would be like, how long it would take, to meet and shake the hand of every victim, to consider each individual affected, to turn the numbing numbers into individual people.

. . . . .

The other day Al and Ginger Petrocelli learned that some remains of their son, Mark, had been identified. Again. Which meant that it was time to visit the funeral home. Again. Time to cremate. Again.

This was the fifth time in the last two years that parts of Mark Petrocelli had been identified. Mark Petrocelli, 28: husband of Nicole, son of Al and Ginger, younger brother of Al Jr., uncle of Emily, friend of many. The fifth time.

[...]

"This time," the father said, "from his left knee down to the top of his foot. Right femur with right lower leg and kneecap. Some skin. A piece of skull bone. Soft tissue. Muscle."

[...]

The phrases we rely on to make sense of grief have always failed to convey the ache of the irreplaceable. But even with the grace of two years, the World Trade Center collapse continues to render meaningless such terms as "closure" and "moving on."

Acceptance may be a better word, acceptance of how the event has become incorporated in our everyday lives — in who we are. At least that is how your neighbors the Petrocellis see it. The Petrocellis, one wounded family among thousands.

[...]

Mark Petrocelli, a commodities trader for Carr Futures, was attending a meeting on the 92nd floor of the north tower, which says it all in the parlance of post-9/11.But the Petrocellis did not know this on that day. Al Petrocelli, a retired battalion chief with the Fire Department, and Al Jr., also a firefighter, raced to Lower Manhattan after the attack.

The father remembered feeling a can-do sense of mission, an echo from his days as a firefighter and as a soldier in Vietnam. "I thought that `I could go down there and I'll find Mark,' " he said. But reality set in with the rain that fell two days later, he said. "I came home and said, `No way.' "

[...]

On Sept. 25, 2001, the Petrocellis learned that Mark's death had been confirmed through dental records. On Oct. 26, they were told that his upper torso had been identified. On Nov. 11, some soft tissue and muscle. On March 21, 2002, four parts, including his heart.

"They found his heart," Mrs. Petrocelli said. "What do you say?"

. . . . .
for more on the two-year anniversary, visit "September 11, 2003" at The New York Times website.

Writer's Almanac

The Writer's Almanac is one of my favorite things on the radio. It never takes very long, maybe about ten minutes, but in that time, the quiet, calm, comforting voice of Garrison Keillor tells of a few writers, poets, publishers born on that particular day, with a short biography for each, as well as any literary events of historical import which may have happened way back when, then recites a poem or two, different each day. It's folksy, highly literate and educational in the best sense of all three. I'm always happy when I manage to catch it on NPR in the morning (or evening, depending upon the local station's programming schedule).

Battle Instructions

I am taking a tiny break from studying Japanese. I have most of the conversations from the section memorized (Hajimemashite. Mochizuki desu. Doozo yoroshiku. etc.), but the hiragami introduced on Thursday is escaping me. I keep mixing up shi and su, which is stupid, and I'm forgetting the stuff I'd already memorized, like ke and e and u, which is even stupider.

Anyway, to entertain myself, I decided to open up the Helm's Deep Battle Figures box I got on sale from Toys'R'Us when I was with my sister. (It was on sale! It had Legolas! I had to!) As I was removing the figures from an entanglement of plastic-coated security wires, I discovered a sheet in the box entitled "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Helm's Deep Battle Set Instruction Sheet." Turns out these action figures have their own Middle-Earth-type kung-fu action, as follows:

• Haldir (a.k.a., The Ugly Elf Who Was Sent To Die)
  ... "Bow Attack Action" : he shoots arrows!
  
• Legolas (a.k.a., The Pretty Elf With Mad Skillz Who Will Never, Ever Die)
  ... "Weapon Wielding Action" : uh, he holds his sword, bow, or daggers (like unto kung-fu action grip, only with weapons).
  ... "Weapon Storage" : well, you can store lots of weapons, like arrows and the two nifty, long daggers. not really action, is it, unless you're into sheathing swords, which has connotations of its own.
  (I suspect Gimli enjoys this particular "battle action.")
  (the excess of weaponry may explain why the Pretty Elf outlives the Ugly Elf, other than Legolas is Too Pretty To Die.)
  ... "Arrow-Launcing Action" : you can shoot arrows from Pretty Elf's bow while he holds the bow, permitting reenactments of the Helm's Deep Orc-killing Competition between Legolas and his life partner, Gimli.
  
• Gimli (a.k.a., The Pretty Elf's Life Partner)
  ... "Axe-Throwing Action" : entails "Axe-Loading," which is not unlike Legolas's Weapon Wielding Action, except Gimli then throws to axe when you squeeze his legs together. neat!
  (except for maybe the leg-squeezing, which is, ah, kinda, um, gay.)
  ... he also has a removeable helmet and lots of axes which he can toss like dw-, uh, mad. like mad.
  
• King Theoden (a.k.a., The King)
  ... "Sword-Slashing Action" : you stick the sword in his hand, press a button, and swoosh! a killer sword-swooshing move!
  ... he, too, has a removeable helmet, protecting that royal head until, um, later, and, like the others, has a nice sheath to hold his manly-type sword.
  
• Aragorn (a.k.a., Still Not King)
  ... "Sword-Slashing Action" : same as King Theoden's.
  ... he has the sheath for protection of man-sword, but no helmet. I guess 'cause he's not king yet.
  ... he does have a dagger hidden behind his left arm, so you know he's going to make it through all three films: the more weaponry, the more likely the character represented by the action figure is going to survive.

I shall now have the five of them introduce themselves to each other in Japanese.

Sumimasen. Legolas-san desu ka?
Hai, soo desu.
Gimli desu. Hajimemashite. Doozo yoroshiku.
Legolas desu. Hajimemashite. Doozo yoroshiku.

Ah, the beginning of a beautiful friendship. sniff

addendum
Please note Haldir also has a removeable helmet, but seeing as the orc got him in the back (bad form!), the helmet didn't do Ugly Elf much good. Maybe he should give it to Aragorn? Or maybe Aragorn took it after cradling Dead Haldir, knowing Ugly Elf wouldn't need it to protect his unattractive head anymore.

addendum-addendum
Also, I am fully aware it was mostly, if not all, uruk-hai attacking Helm's Deep. I'm just too lazy to type out "uruk-hai" when necessary.

Also, I forgot.

Maggie and the Cats

While waiting for the 61-page excerpt from Boethius's The Consolation of Philosophy my professor wants us to read for Monday to print from its webpage, I poked through The Village Voice Best of New York 2002 Procurables section, when I found this:

Best Place To Buy a Kitty- KITTYKIND ADOPTION
Kittens are just so CUTE, aren't they? The way they crawl onto your lap, nose into grocery bags, and—oh!—join you in your soft, warm, comfortable . . . sleepy . . . bed . . . zzzzz. Wake up! It's morning, the sun is streaming through the window, and kitty wants to cuddle. Kitty, who wouldn't instantly fall in love with you? A meanie, that's who. Aren't kittens so snuggly and wonderful? Get one! Get a whole furry, writhing basketful! At KITTYKIND ADOPTION, inside of Petco. -Nick Catucci

Please note the person who wrote this ode to tiny felines is named Catucci.

This passage, naturally, made me think of Maggie. Well, it made me think of me, then Maggie, Queen of the Kittens, General of the Kitten Army. Mew!

(This made me think of Hal:

Best Place To Buy a Sloth- OBSCURA ANTIQUES & ODDITIES

. "An animal lover can take home her very own sloth, stuffed for posterity and posing on a tree segment, for $750. Conversely, a germophobe can confront his fears with a wax anatomical model of a face infected with lupus, rabies, or other diseases (prices vary). They also carry [...] decorative items made of human hair.")

Bookstore!! Bookstore!! Boooooooks!!!!

I have a weakness for books. I have slowly developed a resistance to the siren call of web-shopping, keeping my purchases on Amazon.com low-ish and infrequent-ish. However, when I get into a bookstore, an honest-to-goodness, in the flesh bookstore, my spine shatteres to bits and pieces. It wasn't so bad at first. First trip to shop for books this semester was at the campus bookstore, which is badly run and ill-stocked and over-priced. Resistance was easy. Next stop, however, my spine splintered within five minutes. I went to a local independent bookstore called Book House. It's a nifty store, the kind I like to wander in just to see what-all's on the shelves.

Lots was on the shelves. There's a little hallway between the grown-up bookstore and the kids bookstore (called The Little Book House) with really great cards for new babies and birthdays and random mailing. And there were displays. I broke first at the display for Neil Gaiman. I already had Coraline, which is super-good, yet I felt compelled to pick up a copy of Wolves in the Walls.

It's just one book, I told myself. One extra book won't kill me.

Thing is, this is like a disease. Like an addiciton. It starts with one book, yes, but quickly becomes seven more. This is me being restrained, though, as it could easily have been seventeen more, including the Pengiun edition of Alexander Dumas's The Black Tulip, which I even picked up, looked at, then placed back on the shelf. No, Sugar Kat. Baaad Sugar Kat, I told myself. (This was before the breakdown at the Gaiman display.)

Here is what I bought.

• Wolves in the Walls, Neil Gaiman
  illustrated by Dave McKean, natch
  
• Lullaby, Chuch Palahniuk
  
• Civil War Stories, Ambrose Bierce
  one of the books for another class which was just lying there in the campus bookstore this afternoon, costing only $1.50 and softly calling my name
  
• How To Be Good, Nick Hornby
  
• Notes From Underground, Fyodor Dostoevsky
  (translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky)
  
• The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Vol. 1), Alan Moore, et al
  
• The Night in Question, Tobias Wolff
  one of the authors we're reading then meeting this semester in my Contemporary Writers at Work class; I bought this because we read one of his short stories from this collection in the first class and I really, really liked it
  
• Why We Can't Wait, Martin Luther King, Jr.
  this was one of the "recommended" books listed in my History of the Civil Rights Movement course syllabus

Not as bad as it could have been, but a heck a lot of money added to a couple of long book lists required by my professors.

I Got To Say sensei

I have a long break between classes on Tuesdays, so I thought I'd hang out at the computer lab until my next class. The writing professor I need to give me an SKN so I can get into my fourth class still hasn't returned any of my messages and he hasn't been in his office. Granted, his class doesn't start until, like, four, but I was hoping he'd be in so I could beg him (politely) to let me into this required course. I'm trying not to panic, as there's little I can do at this point. Focus on the positive, right?

Had my first Japanese class today. I was pursuaded to take Japanese instead of Chinese (Mandarin) by my friend, C--, who is from Taiwan and is a native speaker and essay and caligraphy contest winner back in Taiwan (Mandarin). He said I'd learn to read faster in Japanese. "You'll get frustrated," he said. "It would take you too long to learn to read Mandarin." Except that there's still memorization, right? I have to memorize the hiragama and kanji (the Chinese characters). Twenty-four this semester. That's all. Just twenty-four. Still, I'm hoping I'll learn to read Japanese and not have to rely on translators for my novels. I still want to learn Mandarin, as the translations appear to be even worse (very stilted, make the most exciting stories boring with crappy English), but I got scared. I'm not a spring chicken. Still, Japanese is going to be one hell of a challenge for a rapidly aging round-eye like myself. We shall see.

It was fun to sit in class. Most of the students appear to be Chinese, with a couple Korean and then the typical white suburban-with-urban-pretentions geeks. They have the uniform. The hair, the trenchcoat, the bags, the shoes/boots. They're kind of cute, these young 'uns. Kawaii-cute, not drool!-cute. Definitely not drool!-cute.

Today was mostly warning us how hard it will be to learn Japanese if you have a European background. We learned, in romanji, Nihongo ("Japanese language"), and she taught us to call her Kaya-sensei (though she wrote it "sensee" on the board, which would be pronounced very differently) and called us [family name]-san, and told us to respond "hai!" when called on during rollcall, the latter three of which I naturally knew already being the anime geek that I am. We were assigned Japanese family names which she'll use all semester. Little cards with the kanji in thick black marker, the romaji above in ballpoint and the hiragama (pronounciation guide) below the kanji in blue ballpoint, with translation into English in same. My new Japanese name is Mochizuki, which translates as hope moon (mochi being "hope" and zuki being "moon," apparently).

You can call me Mochizuki-san from now on.

She told us we could trade for another name if we didn't like ours. I was tempted to ask for a simpler name, but then I thought, "Hope is a good thing with which to start a new language and moon is the planet for Cancer, which is my sign. It should be okay."

I just hope my handwriting improves soon when writing the kanji and hiragama. Ugggggly. Seriously ugly. I'm so ashamed!

Anyway, when class was over and we were packing up our things, it took me a while to get my stuff together as I wanted to take a picture of the giant sliding ruler above the chalkboard, which was just too cool to ignore, and rearrange my backpack. I realized I wanted to ask the professor if she had ordered the textbook from the cheaper retailer downtown and actually called her Kaya-sensei to get her attention, which made her smile at me. I was so happy!

I love learning a new language. It's so cool. When I was a kid, one of my life goals was to learn as many languages as humanly possible. My goals have lessened a great deal since then, but I'd still like to learn a lot of languages, in spite of the difficulties. I'm lucky that my brother-in-law is French and my newphew is learning French so I can pick it up again from them, and I want to return to German eventually. It so comparatively easy to learn European languages, I'm ashamed I don't know the ones I learned better and haven't learned more. I'd like to get at least one Middle Eastern language under my belt and at least two Far Eastern, and all of the Celtic languages, dead and living, and Ancient Greek (I still don't like Latin, but I think I'll have to return to it to consider myself literate). We'll see. That's a lot of money and time, and I'm neither wealthy nor very young. At least I'm getting started on Japanese, though. It's taken me long enough to get up the gumption. We'll see how I do at the advanced age of thirty. (Old fart.)

HAPPY LABOR DAY

I hope all of my readers are enjoying this holiday weekend in fine style. I hope few to none of you are suffering from the gray, rainy, crappy day my mom and I are. I hope you get to use the barbeque and swim and play music loudly and run around and see movies and read books and sleep in late and play video games and not do a single stitch of work you don't want to do.

Let us now bow our heads for the poor, unlucky bastards who actually have to work on Labor Day.












Sucks to be them.

Hope work tomorrow doesn't suck at all for you all. For those of you who may be starting classes soon (like I'm starting tomorrow), I hope you got into all the classes you wanted/needed and have a great semester.

Wish me luck dealing with the morons from English Advisement who 1) didn't give me the code numbers to get into the major-specific courses, 2) have messed up the allocation of classes from my transcript AGAIN, 3) refuse to return my many messages.

I wish nasty diseases upon them. Nasty, flesh-eating diseases which cannot be transmitted to the poor English majors who have to deal with them, too. Please join me in thinking bad thoughts in the general direction of Those Who Claim They Are English Advisement But Are Actually Just There To Make English Majors' Lives Hell.












Thank you. Bless you.

(I really do dislike them. Especially the professor in charge. She's...evil. And she lies. She's an evil lying liar who makes all of our lives hell. In the English Department, that is.)

Now, go have fun, kiddies! And, remember! No wearing white shoes after Labor Day. It may have been deemed acceptable by those sad, drug-addled freaks who run the fashion shows, but it's still tacky, darling.

Unless they're sneakers. Then you're being sporty and that's just fine. You'll be the Ugly Spice Girl, but you'll be rich, so who cares?

Geek

My hands hurt and my breathing's funny from inhaling tiny bits of the lawn and I'm kinda sweaty (ick!) after mowing the lawn, but I thought I'd check my e-mail before I hopped into the shower. Surprise, surprise, my brother sent me an e-mail. What did my dear, darling younger brother send me? A note telling me how his life is going? A good luck note on starting the new semester? Encouragement in my quest to obtain a driver's license? No, of course not. He sent me a link to The Geek Test. I scored 37.47535%, or "Major Geek," which is middling on the list of results, which ranges from "Geekish Tendencies" to "Dysfunctional Geek." I've a feeling my friends would score better than I. I am somewhat ashamed of this. Still, I wonder if my brother's surprised I didn't score higher. My dear, darling brother.

grr! arg!

arg! grr!

There Should Be A Parent's Exam, Like A Driver's Test, Before You Are Allowed To Breed And Raise Your Own Young

Couple Accused of Keeping Twins, 5, Caged

... When police arrived at the home they found the children inside two cribs that had been wired together and sealed by plastic crates. Roaches filled the cages, which contained a blanket and small mattress stained with feces and urine. ... Investigators believe the boys were released from the cages for a few hours a day when their mother returned from work.

I Don't Listen To Radio

I used to know the call letters of almost every station I could receive from my home in Fairfield County, Connecticut. I knew when my favorite shows were on, which D.J.s played the music I wanted to hear generally when I wanted to hear it. I was nearly as knowledgeable about local radio when I lived in the suburbs of Washington during the Regan years. Now, however, I know nothing of local (Albany) stations. I know which station plays Yankees games and where the NPR station is, generally, but nothing else. I haven't listened to the radio a quarter as much as I used to. Instead, I'll listen to the AOL "Radio", where I can choose the genre, or mess around on radio station sites, like the BBC, which lets me listen to specific movements of pieces by Musorgsky if I want to. Jazz, pop, classical, celtic, j-pop, canto-pop, you name it, you can find a place on the internet where you can listen to it for free, no commercials, most of the time without even the annoyingly chatty D.J.. It's a wonderful, wonderful thing. However, I still wish I had some use for my radio other than listening to Sterling and Steiner wax pontifical on the Yankees.

"In Courtroom, Laughter at Fox and a Victory for Al Franken"

August 23, 2003

By SUSAN SAULNYA federal judge in Manhattan told Fox News yesterday that it had to learn how to take a joke. Then he rejected the network's request for an injunction to block the satirist Al Franken from using the words "fair and balanced" on the cover of his book, "Lies, and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right."

Calling the motion "wholly without merit, both factually and legally," the judge, Denny Chin of United States District Court, said that a person would have to be "completely dense" not to realize the cover was a joke, and that trademark protection for the phrase "Fair and Balanced" was unrealistic because the words are so commonly used.

Lawyers for Mr. Franken and his publisher, Penguin Group (USA), called the ruling a victory for the First Amendment. Mr. Franken was not in court.

"I never really had any doubt," he said in a telephone interview, calling the ruling "a victory for satirists everywhere, even the bad ones. In addition to thanking my own lawyers, I'd like to thank Fox's lawyers for filing one of the stupidest briefs I've ever seen in my life."

The Fox court papers had referred to Mr. Franken, a former "Saturday Night Live" writer and performer and an unabashed liberal, as a "parasite" who appeared shrill, unstable and "increasingly unfunny."

The network could appeal the decision. "We are considering our options," said Paul Schur, a Fox spokesman. "We don't care if it's Al Franken, Al Lewis or Weird Al Yankovic. We're here to protect our trademark and our talent."

If anything, the lawsuit only benefited Mr. Franken. His book had been scheduled for release in September, but the publicity caused the publisher to print an extra 50,000 copies, for a total of 435,000, and to roll the book out on Thursday.

After the ruling yesterday, it moved to the No. 1 spot on the best-seller list at amazon. com.

The network filed for the injunction on Aug. 11. Fox News Network trademarked the phrase "Fair and Balanced" in 1998 to describe its news coverage, and network lawyers claimed that Mr. Franken's use of the phrase in his book would "blur and tarnish" it.

Fox also objected to the use of a picture of Bill O'Reilly, one of its prominent news personalities, on the cover, claiming that it could be mistaken as an endorsement of the book.

But these arguments were met by laughter in the crowded courtroom, as Fox tried to defend its signature slogan. Part of the network's burden was to prove that Mr. Franken's use of the phrase "fair and balanced" would lead to consumer confusion.

One round of laughter was prompted when Judge Chin asked, "Do you think that the reasonable consumer, seeing the word `lies' over Mr. O'Reilly's face would believe Mr. O'Reilly is endorsing this book?"

The giggling continued as Dori Ann Hanswirth, a lawyer for Fox, replied, "To me, it's quite ambiguous as to what the message is here."

She continued, "It does not say `parody' or `satire.' "

Ms. Hanswirth said Fox's "signature slogan" was also blurred, because people who were not associated with the network, which owns the Fox News Channel, also appear on the cover with Mr. O'Reilly.

Judge Chin said, "The president and the vice president are also on the cover. Is someone going to consider that they are affiliated with Fox?"

The courtroom broke into laughter again.

Ms. Hanswirth replied, "It's more blurring, your honor."

After more discussion about what was and what was not satire, and about the definition of "parody," Judge Chin decided that Mr. Franken's work was of "artistic value."

"Parody is a form of artistic expression protected by the First Amendment," he said. "The keystone to parody is imitation. In using the mark, Mr. Franken is clearly mocking Fox."

He said Mr. Franken's work was "fair criticism."

Judge Chin said the case was an easy one, and chided Fox for bringing its complaint to court. The judge said, "Of course, it is ironic that a media company that should be fighting for the First Amendment is trying to undermine it."

Copyright 2003 The New York Times Company

My Very Own Legolas

I have Legolas. Life-size, in all his prince-of-the-wood-elves glory. My sister gave him to me as a late birthday present. He is mine, eyes staring soulfully at me whilst I sleep. He is, unfortunately, two-dimensional, but he is still very pretty and he is very much mine. Mine, mine, mine.

Please note: My sister got me my very own Legolas by preordering the widescreen DVD of the theatrical release version of The Two Towers at FYE. 2-D Legolas was "free with purchase," but only at the actual meat-person store. If you go to FYE and make such preorder, you, too, Dear Reader, can have your very own Legolas, pretty and standing tall, but I doubt yours will stare as soulfully at you while you sleep as mine does.

Legolas! O my Legolas!

I now open up the comments section to poetry entries regarding my life-sized, soulful-eyed and super-pretty two-dimensional Legolas.

I Made My Nephew Cry

It was very easy. I told the both of them that if they got up from the table with food in their hands, meaning wandering around and eating, they would have an extra ten minutes of practice on their respective instruments (J-- viola, P-- piano). This was a rule I set up while watching over them yesterday morning/afternoon while my sister was at work trying to get the school's computer system up and running before the semester starts and the teachers freak. (My poor sister.) They spent their lunch popping up from the table and running about the house, dropping bits of food all over the place. I'm not that patient with that sort of behavior. (S-- doesn't act that way and never has.) So I reminded the both of them of the rule as they sat down to eat their lunch today. Of course, being who they are (meaning, not half as well-behaved as S--), they broke the rule. When I told them they both had an extra ten minutes of practice for breaking the rule, the elder (J--) nodded his head in almost a "It's a fair cop" kind of way, but the younger (P--) went back to the table and cried. Please note that while J-- generally has fifteen minutes of practice (now twenty-five), P-- has thirty minutes, which has now been pumped up to forty. Forty minutes of playing the piano. I suppose I can see why he sat and wept while he ate the rest of his soup, but, still, a rule's a rule, I warned them not ten minutes before, and he knew what he was doing. Maybe I'm evil, but I'm fair and balanced in my dispensation of punishment. They are punished the same amount of time for the same action. Not my fault P-- already had fifteen more minutes of practice than his brother.

Vote For My Dad

I just found my dad's birthday present, which I shall ship to him as soon as I get his new address in San Jose.

Birthday

What does Halifax want for his birthday? Does SheepBoy have a DVD player? What the heck should I get my dad for his birthday now that he'll be living in California and I have to ship whatever I give him? While I've planned what I'll get my two younger nephews for Christmas (as many Susan Cooper hardcovers as possible, including the newly reprinted The Dark Is Rising sequence), what should I get J-- for his birthday in December? What should I get my bestest buddy C-- for his birthday in November? Will I be able to find the rest of the Muppets finger puppets from Starbucks for my brother and fellow Muppet fan, D--? It's still August, but these fall birthdays are weighing upon my mind. Come October I shall be fussing over Christmas and winter birthdays. With what money will I make these purchases? It does not matter. I must get these presents. Why? Because. Because they are friends and family. That's just the way I work. I will be very bothered if I cannot find anything, especially since I missed a couple of these birthdays last year. (Bad Kitty! Bad! guilt guilt guilt) I wish everyone had Amazon.com wishlists. Or just created wishlists on some other easily-accessible website. Thank goodness I already took care of S--'s birthday present. Oh, wait! my sister J--'s birthday! Augh! What the heck should I send her? I have to send her something. She got me that lovely teapot with the Japanese cat design for my birthday.

I wonder if Pirates of the Caribbean will be availble on DVD by November. That would take care of some of this. Hm. I can get Winged Migration for a couple of people for Christmas. Maybe.

Ugh. Present-buying is such a pain when you're unemployed.

Lil' Trooper Went Marching

Won't be posting much this week, as I'm in a suburb of Philadelphia and far too busy hanging with my nephews. (Any of you heard of Crazy Bones? I guess they're better than Yu-Gi-Oh cards, but they're still weird.) Anyway, I will be here until at least next Sunday. This means little to nothing to most of you, Dear Readers, but it does help ET avoid spending money at Flights Of Fantasy this Saturday. If she doesn't have to swing by my neighborhood, she won't be tempted to go to the nearby SF/F bookstore and spend money she already spent at IKEA. I'm such a good friend!

side note
I really wish I'd brought my The Vision of Escaflowne box set with me, as I'm going through minor anime withdrawl symptoms. I'd forgotten how much I liked this series. So glad I bought it with my nonexistant funds!

Strange Place

(Please note that since certain complaints were made about my not posting enough, I've posted a buttload (and most of the posts are sh!t). If I happen to take a break after this, well, darn it, I think that's fine.)

That is where my head is and has been since late last night/early this morning. While doing "emergency" laundry in the wee hours, I decided to keep myself up by first watching a few episodes of The Vision of Escaflowne (I'd forgotten how much I love the opening credits song--must! have! soundtrack!), then by reading several chapters of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson, which I'd found in one of the many boxes my sister left in my parents' basement when she moved to France.

Allen is still gorgeous anime guy (and liking Van is still nigh unto pedophilia, friend). The music is still great, the animation pretty, the mecha with cloaks and big swords nifty as hell. And I desperately need to see the film version of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas as Johnny Depp must be perfectly cast and the wasted and tripping Hunter S. Thompson. I am very much enjoying the book in spite of the heavy drug use, as the two main characters' response heavy drug use is highly entertaining.

Bloody sponge floors. The smell of ether. Land dragons hobbling rapidly on large forelegs, dragging tiny, useless hind legs. Paranoia. Bats! Fanalia burning. People with guns. Allen's silly "knight" outfit. Debbie Reynolds in a silver Afro. The opening song to Escaflowne. A race hidden in the desert dust. Head spins. Reality grows distant. Whoops.

A Post For August 14, 2003

Found this love letter to Ann Coulter and thought you might like to read it, Dear Reader. I trust you are well aware of the leggy, blonde, and highly vocal neocon so I need not describe her any further.

The French Knights Wave Their Privates Parts At Your Aunties

California is a fucking joke. This whole "recall" of a legitimate election is ridiculous and undemocratic. However, they are Californians, and Californians are a fucking joke, with the exception of Joss Whedon (super genius!!!), Agnieszka (who is way, way smarter than I am), my brother's best friend from high school, D-- (one of the nicest people I know and practically a little sister to me), and maybe, like, ten others.

Mock. Mock, mock, mock. The rest of the nation mocks you with our monkey pants, California, especially after seeing this list of candidates for governor of California. You are a joke. Give it up. Surrender your government to a more sensible state, like Oregon. Seriously. I mean it. You're pathetic. You're obviously incapable of taking care of yourselves, so turn it in to your more reasonable neighbors further up the Pacific Coast until you prove to the rest of us that you've matured and are capable of self-governance.

The fiftieth star can be Washington, D.C. Those poor bastards actually have "Taxation Without Representation" on their license plates. They need statehood more than you do, even with their crack-smokin', whorin' mayors.

Learning Things About Myself I'd Rather Not Know

I was a little buzzed from watching good, feisty political humor on television and decided to read some blogs before I went to sleep. Actually, before I took Halberstam's The Children to my room and sat up for another hour, reading until I decided it's completely unnatural for me to be up at that hour and I really should get to bed so I can get up before one in the afternoon for once (I won't; I hardly ever do). There are a few blogs I read of people I know but who probably don't remember me as I had difficulty getting down to the Club on Thursdays back when I was working. These people write well and I wonder how their days are going and worry about them and hope they are doing well. It still feels vaguely stalkery, as I really don't know if they know who I am, but I'm hoping the roachbird reminds them. Which she may. Who knows with the roachbird.

Where was I? Ah, yes. So, I went to Sam's blog, as she is a good writer and someone who I think remembers my real name at least, though she may still have trouble with my family name (which is why my name was never on the damned SF&F Club list so's I always had to show I.D. to the guard, which was embarrassing; but then, I'm easily embarrassed). I read about Sam's long work day and ensuing fuzzy-headed morning routing, feeling very sympathetic, until I got to the ninth paragraph of the entry after which, first taking probably less than a third of a second to flash oh my god!, I laughed out loud, loud enough that my mother said, "What? What is it? There are people sleeping! Stop laughing!" I am a big meanie, aren't I. A big, mean, unsympathetic bitch-type person.

Mean, Terrible, Horrible, No-good Sugar Kat, the Incomplete Loser and Rapidly Aging Fart. Oh, and stalker. Or at least creepy. Yeah: Mean, Terrible, Horrible, No-good, Creepy Sugar Kat, the Incomplete Loser and Rapidly Aging Fart.

sigh Still. Poor Sam. This tcm kid sure as hell cracks me up, tho'.

I Have To Start Reading The Onion On A Regular Basis Again

Republicans Introduce Economic Equality Bill For Fun Of Shooting It Down
WASHINGTON, DC—Republicans in the House of Representatives proposed H.R. 2093: the Economic Equality Initiative, with the express purpose of shooting it down "just for kicks" Tuesday. "H.R. 2093 will level the economic playing field, spreading the wealth among the rich and poor," said Majority Whip Tom DeLay (R-TX), visibly fighting back snickers. "We must pass this bill to stop the fat cats from getting fatter while the average Joe struggles to make ends meet. Also, I'm the Queen of Bavaria." Following 10 minutes of uproarious laughter, the congressmen stepped out of the chamber to smoke cigars lit with a bill that would allocate $115 million to clean up hazardous waste sites.

She Went To Quizilla Again, Bob

This will probably be the Day Of Quizzes, as I wish to escape my pathetic life and Quizilla quizzes are escapism which require little thought and have no commercial interruptions, unlike AMC's showing of The Usual Suspects, a film of which I am very fond but which does not stand up to interruptions about the latest form of dust mop.

Quiz 1: What Hindu God or Goddess are you like?



Mother Sarawati is one goddess that you're like.
Saraswati means "The essence of the self."
This Goddess gives knowledge and
the wisom and strengh to become what you want
to reach. Many students or teachers may worship
this goddess in belief to gain the power of
reaching their goal. You want to reach your
goal in life and you want the strengh to
accomplish a high level of standards to be
successful. So much like Saraswati, you may be
deeply into music or art and that means you are
most like her than the rest of the Goddesses.

Quiz 2: What movie Do you Belong in?


Say Anything...

The most inaccurate quiz I took today:

Quiz 3: Which of the X-men do you resemble most?


You are Storm of the X-men!

You are strong and sweet at the same time you have
self control and have a very nurturing nature
about you. You make friends easily but keep
your enemies even closer.

The most adorable and (intentionally) funniest quiz I took today:

Quiz 4: Could you piss off Pippin?

No, and that's good. :) It's so mean to make poor Pippin upset

No, I take that back. This was the (intentionally) funniest quiz I took today, or at least the most fun:

Quiz 5: Could you piss Lord Elrond (From Lord of the Rings) off?

Congrats! You really know how to piss people off!
Tee-hee, waiting to try some of this on
unsuspecting relatives? I know I am.

You don't want to piss off Elrond, though, 'cause:

Quiz 5a: How would Lord Elrond kill you?

He's gonna smother you with your pillow while you're asleep.
Simple way of avoiding this: Don't go to sleep.

The strangest and (unintentionally) funniest quiz I took today:

Quiz 6: {For Women} Are we compatible? [Version 4.5]

Yes, we seem to very compatible. We probably have
quite a bit in common. Feel free to send me an
email at harpiesbrother@fastermail.com, even if
you aren't interested I always like to know
what results people are getting.

And the most disturbing quiz I took today, and not only because it was written by some mentally-challenged teen who only can write in "IM English":

Quiz 7: which harry potter guy would u be perfect for?

you're with harry!! he's brave and usually makes
the right choices. he'll make you feel extra
special, and he'll do anything for you. a true
leader to. but he can be a bit shy, and a bit
sensitive, but he'll give you the time of your life!

Ew! Pedophilia!

I wonder if "harpiesbrother" and Harry Potter are one and the same?

Yay! Now I Can Play Enduro!

This past Christmas, I bought my brother a Garbage Pail Kids keychain, Electric Bill, which was one of the Kids on an electric chair which lights up and buzzes when you press a certain button. Appropriate for someone working for the Texas state attorney general's office. Of late, my parents and I have been talking a great deal about the Atari game, Enduro, which was a racing game which had a very appropriate fog section which made me crash a lot. Q-Bert. Frogger. Miss Pac-Man. These were games I could hope to play well. Yeah, sure they've come out with copies of these to play on a computer, but I missed the unfortunately-named joystick which I became quite adept at handling when I was eleven years old. (There're a lot of very tasteless jokes which could be made about that. Don't.) Now, apparently, the Garbage Pail Kids and Atari are coming back to boost the sagging sales of the toy industry. Yes, I will be buying Garbage Pail Kids stickers for my nephews. I hope that they at least included Pitfall in the games package for the Atari.

How I'd Like To Waste My Time

Okay, so you all have heard about this already and have probably even participated in one, but this article is the first I'd heard of "flash mobs." I'm so unhip. I'm ossifying. I'm ancient. But, still, I want to play, too. sigh My knowing about it probably means it's now made it to the "'burbs" and is therefore "uncool" and will no longer be "done." Man, it sucks to turn thirty.

So...Tired...

I am staying up so I can get all of my nephew S--'s clothes clean so he can pack them in the morning so he's ready to fly away tomorrow afternoon. This is taking much longer than it should because S-- was at soccer camp all this past week, playing soccer in the rain, tossing his dirty soccer stuff into a plastic bag, being a twelve year old boy. His clothes had a rank funk I've never come across before in my life; a mix of pre-teen sweat and muck from muddy soccer fields and mildew from being stored, wet, in a plastic bag. A sincere and nasty funk which requires a couple of severe washings before the smell goes away. So, I am up late, Cinderelli, Cinderelli.

I was keeping myself up by reading Ha Jin's Waiting, but I got to the rape scene and the post-rape social nastiness and I found I was far too upset for this hour and could not continue to read the very good but currently disturbing book right now. How to alieviate this problem? Check out websites, naturally.

Stupidly enough, I went to RightStuf to see how many DVDs have been released of FLCL, which has won my heart--pitty-pat!--through showings on Adult Swim this past week.

There are three DVDs out, in case you were wondering, but different retailers tell me different things about boxes and which DVD the box comes with, if there's a box, that is, and if it's available, which it might not be, you know, as it might be a collector's edition, or they might not have the DVD, anyway. I even checked out DeepDiscountDVD, which, apparently, never has anything in stock, which is why their prices are so cheap. (I prefer to have retailers tell me outright if they have something before I click the "buy" button. Just seems more polite that way.) Anyway, I was stupid enough to order the somewhat more reliably guaranteed "special collector's box!" edition of the third DVD from Amazon. I refrained from buying the first and second DVDs as I was hoping DeepDiscountDVD would have them, but they didn't, so I'm at a loss, which is good, as I can't really afford to buy them, anyway.

That's not all, though, for as I was looking through RightStuf's catalogue "to see what's up," I discovered I could get Escaflowne box set for over $100 cheaper than usual through the RightStuf weekly sale. So, I bought it. With what money, you ask? Um, with the money I shall put together through the refund checks I've received over the months and SheepBoy's kind repayment of a hotel loan-thing, all of which I've yet to deposit.

I've no idea how I'll pay for the FLCL DVD.

I'm so crack-addled.

No! It's sleep deprivation! I'm tired! Soooo tiiiiirrrrrred... and my brain's been addled by the funk of my nephew's dirty soccer camp laundry. I can't help it! Mind-alterning pong and laaaate night. Yes.

Somehow I doubt this defense would work in a court of law.

Owchies!

My ears hurt! Owwwww! Swimmer's ear. Or something. Paaaaiiiiiin! Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow!

On Why I'm A Spoiled Brat

When we went to Northampton this Sunday to meet my sister J-- for lunch/dinner, my parents allowed me to get as much unagi as I wanted, in spite of everyone at the table going, "Eeew! Eel!" (Bunch of ignorant round-eyes, the lot of 'em.) Yum! So tasty! With a name like Teapot, uh, Something-or-other, the restaurant had to be good.

Then, when we stopped at Starbucks before leaving Northampton to let Mom use the facilities, I saw that Starbucks is now selling Muppets finger puppets stuck on top of candy sticks. Screw the candy sticks, I wanted the Muppets finger puppets. They even had the Swedish Chef! As I waited for Mom to finish, I collected every single character they had (Miss Piggy, Rolf the Dog, Kermit the Frog, Swedish Chef, Gonzo, Animal) and held them in my hand like a bouquet.

When she came out I said, "Mom! Mom! Look! Muppets! Muppets!" waving my finger-puppet-with-candy-in-an-uncomfortable-place bouquet before her with more enthusiasm than most folks in Northampton have seen in a long, long time.

"God, all of those?" she said.

"Pleeeeeeeeease?" bounce bounce bounce wave wave wave

"sigh All right. All right."

The guy behind the register gave us a strange look. "All of these?" he said, poking through the pile of Muppets.

"Ooh, but we have to get one for D-- [my brother and fellow Muppet Show fan; he got me one of the Muppet Show DVDs for my birthday]. We should get him Rolf. He loved Rolf." I dashed off to get him the best looking of the Rolfs on a candy stick and plopped it on the counter.

That was me being generous: allowing Mom to buy my own brother one frickin' finger puppet while I get the full half-dozen.

The whole lot cost over twenty dollars and embarrassed the hell out of my sister, which she displayed by rolling her eyes, sighing heavily and mumbling, "Oh, gawd." Mom felt the need to explain to everyone in the store that "people of my age" (she actually told them I was thirty, dammit) are huge Muppet fans.

Well, considering what Lucas did to the Star Wars franchise, the Muppets are the only thing left from my youth which has not been tainted. (I don't think I've seen the more recent films made since Jim Henson's death.) Of course I'm enthusiastically nostalgic.

Today (Monday) a package came in the mail for me. Mom had bought me the new, illustrated edition of Seabiscuit: An American Legend, which has loads of wonderful photos and makes me very happy, as I loved the book.

Tomorrow (Tuesday) we're heading into the City so's I can get me an expensive haircut. We're also going to try and trade in our rained-out tickets from the 22nd for tickets to tomorrow (Tuesday) night's Yankees-Ranger game. Hee! Happy!

Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.

On Why I Have Not Posted This Summer

Well, I have, but I’ve been told it wasn't frequent enough. To be honest, not much is happening this summer. I never did manage to get a job, so there are no amusing (to the Reader, if annoying or frustrating to me) anecdotes regarding coworkers or customers. I haven’t gone anywhere, so there can be no travelogue. Nothing of interest.

Most of my time has been taken up by being my mother’s household slave. She had surgery on her foot at the end of May. It was supposed to be healed up by mid-July, but she still hobbles and the foot is still swollen, purple, and frightening to look upon. This means she can’t drive or do much of anything around the house or yard. I am the de facto maid, cleaning house and dishes and clothes. There are some possibly interesting (to the Reader) details about the clothes being washed, but it grosses me out thoroughly to think about it so I’m not going to write about it. I am the gardener, though I have an unreasonable fear of the lawn mower which probably stems from watching too many bad horror flicks as a youth, so that is left to the other ambulatory housemember, my dad. I am also completely at a loss as to what to do when gardening, so the roses aren't doing half as well as they were under my mother's care, which she tells me on frequent occasion. I am the cook, organizing the kitchen, trying to keep the shelves and fridge stocked appropriately, fighting with my father over every single purchase not specifically meant to spoil my two nephews who visited during the course of the summer (P-- for a week and S-- for three). My father would be very happy if my mother and I sustained ourselves on grass and tap water, especially since that would mean he wouldn’t have to mow the lawn, the only job he has in the house since Mom’s become an invalid, and one he does poorly and reluctantly at best.

My father is not a very nice guy, sometimes, nor does he like any sort of responsibility not associated with a regular paycheck. He’s moving to California some time this month (like he’d ever tell us when, or even how, he’s going). There is a certain relief associated with his departure, as he has become the greater of the two housemate evils, impossibly making my short-fused mother the lesser. I am considering, if I ever go on a date, fall in love, get married and have children, getting some sort of legal stop to keep my dad from having much contact with my kids. He has issues.

So does Mom, who has enjoyed very much commanding my days. I vacuum every other day. This is not enough for my mother, who demands I vacuum the entire house, including the sofas and chairs, every day. My mother, when she vacuumed, did so, at best, twice a week. The seating saw the vacuum cleaner once every couple of months, unless I took charge, which I was unlikely to do when submerged beneath the panic, self-doubt and homework of the semester. Piles of newspapers and magazines and catalogues and opened mail were scattered about the house, left there by my mother. She yells at me about the few piles left, even though I am not the one who left them there. I cannot recycle anything until given the okay by my mother, who can't be bothered to do so when asked, which means I have to fill unused corners creatively, stacking papers into aesthetically pleasing piles which are less likely to catch the eye of the visitors which never come. No one comes to the house except my sisters, and they, rarely. Dear lord, who would?

I’ve had three driving lessons which were paid for. I learned the basics of the road, generally. I still haven’t gone on a highway, and I wouldn’t trust me to, yet. Still, those three lessons are, apparently, the last of the lessons I will receive, unless my elder sister, E--, decides for another weekend spent training me to use the clutch. I suspect I will not be driving by the close of the summer, which is a problem, as Mom probably won't.

I am not a very happy person, but things could be far worse. My parents could demand I pay rent, as they did when I last resided in their house. They could demand I pay my share of the utilities, buy my groceries. I can’t, I can’t even find a job, and they’ve been relatively cool about that. I've had plenty of good books to read this summer, and Mom somewhat surprisingly hasn't begrudged me the time to sit and read them.

Mom and Dad took me to see two Yankees home game for my birthday, one on the 18th, which the Yankees won after a rain delay, and another on my birthday, the 22nd, which was cancelled due to rain. Considering they bought Tier seats for themselves, me, and my eldest sister, J--, and her son, S--, that’s a hefty investment. They took me to the Chinese place I liked so very much near where I used to live and got us all a yumdelicious dinner, almost rescuing my 30th from the nasty swamp of suckness in which it was mired from the get-go. The next day Dad made me one of my favorite meals which he used to make when I was a kid. I’d describe it, but most people think it sounds really gross and tell me so and never believe me when I tell them that, no, actually, it’s really good, and I don’t feel like going through that again. Still, most of my friends forgot it was my birthday, let alone my thirtieth, and I feel like a complete loser, living at home with my parents at this age, going to college with kids twelve years my junior, unemployed. Turns out thirty is no big thing to anyone except for the person turning thirty, which is why I didn't put up a post about it: who the hell cares?

I suppose I am a loser, but I doubt I’m a complete loser, as I never finish anything properly. Offshoot of my ingrained tendencies towards procrastination. So, this is the blog of Little Trooper Sugar Kat, Incomplete Loser and Rapidly Aging Fart.

Anyway, this is a very long, very whiny entry about pretty much nothing. If it was at all amusing, well, pretend you just read about the worst Seinfeld episode ever.

Movies What I've Seen

This list may not be complete. My memory has been severely muddled by chemicals my doctor's been giving me. Stoopid doctor. Anyway, here are the movies what I've seen this summer.

• X2: X-Men United
  Fun! Nightcrawler! Kitty! Colossus! Phoenix! Whee!
  
• The Matrix Reloaded
  Not half as fun as the original. I'm rooting for the machines to wipe out stoopid ravers of Zion in the next film. Just like Star Wars, will still go see third installment in spite of moderately high suck factor of second, though I must admit SWII reached levels of suckness Matrix II could not hope to achieve.
  
• Bend It Like Beckham
  Fun! Makes soccer interesting, which I'd previously thought impossible. Likeable characters, good performances, good script. Infinitely better than My Big Fat Whiny Greek Wedding to which, for no discernable reason, this film in compared. Also, must! Have! Soundtrack!
  
• Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl
  Go see this movie! Go! Now! Get off the computer and get your butt to a movie theater! Most fun movie I've seen all summer. Huzzah for Captain Jack Sparrow, best pirate I've ever seen! (I'm actually hoping for a sequel.)
  
• Finding Nemo
  Gorgeous, hilarious. Ellen Degeneres and Pixar created bestest character in forgetful Dory. Deservedly a shoo-in for Best Animated Feature.
  
• Johnny English
  Oh, the things I'll do for my nephew. The pain! Make it stop! Make it stop!
  
• The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
  I absolutely refuse to call it LXG.
  Did not suck even half as much as I expected it to. Actually had a great deal of fun after purposely shutting off upper-level brain functions as per Summer Movie Viewing Agreement signed with motion picture studios as child. Would recommend you read the comic instead, as my nephew now desires.
  little trooper sugar kat trivia!: second movie I've seen this summer which had a character named Nemo in it.
  
• Seabiscuit
  Very sincere film, a la Ken Burns, but fictionalizing a lot of history instead of being as accurate as humanly possible. They try very hard, but miss out on serveral opportunities to make a much more enjoyable film in ignoring the extreme lengths to which Smith goes to be taciturn, the foul-mouthed humor of Pollard, and in failing to give Seabiscuit any personality, of which he had loads in the book (Go 'Biscuit!). Tobey Maguire does fine job as Pollard, in spite of looking nothing like him and not getting much help from the script. Chris Cooper again loses himself in a role, this time in trainer Tom Smith who has far too many lines, except when he should but inexplicably disappears from the story. Beautifully filmed, merely adequately scripted (shame, since there were many ready-made lines in the book). I would recommend you read the book instead, especially since they did not put in 1) the Tijuana prostitute who can smoke cigarattes with her cunt, 2) the "mighty shit Godzilla," and 3) the scripted radio interview which Pollard fouled up. At the very least, read the book before you see the movie so you have a better idea of what's going on.

Movies I Still Have Yet To See include Spellbound (2002), Capturing The Friedmans, Whale Rider (another movie out of New Zealand!), and Winged Migration. I think that's pretty much it. Please bear in mind I live in the middle of nowhere, so the nifty foreign and independent films you guys get in the Big City, like, never get up here. sigh

Movies I'll Probably See On Cable include Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life (the first sucked and this probably sucks too, but, hey, I said cable, not rental), Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle (the first one was silly fun, and I kind of wanted to see this one, but not enough to pay for it myself), and 28 Days Later, which looked really good. May have to rent the latter two as only have HBO and Showtime out of the many pay channels.

Movies I Think I'll Rent will be The Eye, which looked (ack! pun!) creepy and fun, A Mighty Wind, which I never got to see in the theater, darn it, and Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over, but only after seeing Spy Kids 2 (I liked the first one) and only if I get to watch it with 3-D glasses. 3-D glasses! Cheesy fun! Whee!

Booooooomeeeeer!

This story is true, and I know it's true because it was e-mailed to me by MLB.com:

Why Doesn't David Wells Own A Dog?

During a recent visit to a chic Manhattan restaurant, David Wells ordered a dessert which came in an oversized fortune cookie. When he opened it up and found his fortune, Wells discovered a special message delivered by a friend of his -- the head chef.

"The only reason David Wells does not have a dog is because he won't walk him."

Wells got quite a chuckle out of his friend's joke, though opposing teams aren't finding Wells' remarkable control so funny. At 12-3, the 40-year-old Wells is leading the Yankees' pitching staff in victories, having one of the finest seasons in his 17-year career.

The article goes on to say how "Wells has walked just six batters in 134 innings this season, an eye-popping ratio of .4 per nine innings." As my nephew S-- would say, Damn, man!

Why We Read Savage Love

Every once in a while, I click over to the a.v. club section of The Onion. First pieces read, natch, are the comics, because comics are fun!. Next, though, is always Dan Savage's love/sex advice column, "Savage Love." This week he's featuring DTMFA Q&As like this one:

For the last three and a half years, I have been in a semi-relationship with someone I met when he just got out of rehab. I stayed while he relapsed, went to prison, and went back through rehab. He's relapsed again. When I try to leave, he tells me he needs me for stability, or else he'll end up dead. I am emotionally and financially drained. Am I addicted to him, or am I just completely stupid?
Addicted To Love

You're not completely stupid, ATL, because you had the sense to ask someone to tell you to DUMP THE MOTHERFUCKER ALREADY! (DTMFA!) Trust me, the asshole won't end up dead. Like all user addict asshole bastards, your dumped motherfucker will quickly find some other fool to use and abuse. DTMFA!

Go read!

Why You Should Read Seabiscuit

It is very well written and the characters, I mean, people involved are fascinating, but mostly, you should read it because there is "a mighty shit Godzilla" in Chapter 6 and it is both marvelously destructive and horribly funny.

Stoopid Blogger

They've lost posts of mine. A whole bunch from December through, I dunno, May. Stoopid Blogger. And there are all sorts of bugs in the new version of the software which they won't permit me to complain about because I'm unemployed and cannot afford to pay them for the fancy version of Blogger and therefore do not matter. Poo-heads.

Me In A Bathing Suit

Granted, it was a one-piece, but I was wearing it, even though I refuse to wear shorts in public. Why? Because today was a perfect, perfect day and the pool water was clear and splashy. I had to. I was compelled. My nephew was splashing me, so I was going to get soaked, anyway. Splish, splash. We played basketball and frisbee and dove for targets and had splash matches. Pools rock. Except for the chlorine. Bleh. My eyes are ouchie. Burns! It burns! Auuuuugh! But it is loads of fun to play in a pool on a perfect July day. For once I don't mind not having a job this summer.

Withdrawal Pangs

Okay, so I'm sure most of my readers are sick and tired of the fuss and holler about the latest Harry Potter book. Well, phooey on the naysayers and warttongues and pooheads who stomp upon the fun that is J.K. Rowling's wizardly world. I've never looked forward to a book (or film) release like I looked forward to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. No, it's not the greatest work of fiction ever, but it is highly enjoyable and occasionally very well done indeed. While there was much that could have been edited out in HP4, I felt this book was exactly as long as it should be. There was a reason for everything in there. Okay, no details. Maybe those who haven't read it will some day, and I don't want to spoil a thing. But I'm now suffering from severe Harry Potter withdrawal. I want more to read! I want Harry Potter 6 now. Just another hundred pages. Just a little something to tide me over until it's released. Something. Just a little fix. Just a little more Weasley twins and Tonks. Something. Please?

I can't read any other fiction right now. I keep looking at the pages hoping something about wands or owls will pop up. So, I'm reading histories, like The Teammates, about four friends from the '40's-'50's Red Sox, and The Children, about the Civil Rights movement of the late fifties and sixties, and a certain book about a horse which looked like hell but could run like a demon. You see, there's no such thing as magic in the real world, so the complete lack of thestrals doesn't bother me. Too much. Still, I want to read Harry Potter 6 now. Soon. Please?

Screw The Critics

Go see Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. It's frickin' hilarious, totally worth the money. Johnny Depp is in top form as the twisted, clever, slightly bent Captain Sparrow and Orlando Bloom proves he can be considered sexy when he's not playing an elf. The chick holds her own, showing spitfire without being a completely sexless tomboy, the evil pirates are fun and creepy, and the sailing, shooting, swordplay and silly hats are exceedingly well done. I love the running joke on the male fixation upon fanciful headgear. Huzzah to Gore Verbinsky for pulling off the impossible: a good, fun pirate movie. I'm actually hoping for a sequel, lord help us. Yes, I will be getting this one on DVD. If I ever get a job.

The F@&*?!

They traded away Jason Anderson, who just had his number retired by the Staten Island Yankees (he was the first fella from the SI Yanks to make it to the big league team), to the Mets for Benitez? Okay, yeah, he's muy talented, but he blows every big save handed to him. He can't handle pressure spots, and you can't tell me the pennant race this year won't put him in pressure spots on a frequent basis. Cashman couldn't do any better than this? Seriously? Benitez? The hell?!

Driving Update

I've had two lessons so far, driving through traffic and doing turns and such. Today, my parents tried to get me to drive in traffic (to Vermont) with a clutch (my dad's car). It was all bad. All bad. Bad badness abounded. And I don't mean that Michael Jackson slang "bad," but the honest-to-goodness "bad" of "not good in even the slightest." I got out of the car and walked home. That bad.