A Note On Commenting

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

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

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

brushes invisible specks of dust off sleeve then smiles stiffly

Strawberry Jell-o, anyone?

Yeah, That's About Right

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

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

Applesauce?

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

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

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

Albany Weather Update

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

Invisible!

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

Smilies Reference Post

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

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

On Today's Word

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

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

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

Look at me, being all pontificky. How unpleasant.

When Is Sleeping Not Sleeping?

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

Scary Thoughts for Family and Friends of Gay Men

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

"We Hate Everyone": the blog

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

Sass Back

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again with The Onion

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

Bird of Spring

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

Cat On Desk = BAD! THING!

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

Buffy

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

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

Spike. The yumdilicious Spike.

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

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

And then I agreed.

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

And I saw him first, dammit. Dibs.

Possum!

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

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

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

Harry Potter

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

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

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

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

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

On Today's Word

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

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

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

Typing Lesson

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Poetry Form Am I?

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

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

Which Adolescence of Utena Character Am I?

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


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


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

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

BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

or, Stupid Fucking CSFB

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

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

The Onion, Again

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

We Are Pepys' Grandchildren

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

Keep Them Flying

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

Shuttle Future?
Should the space shuttle program continue?

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

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

Why Do I Do This To Myself?

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

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

STS-107 Crew

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

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

The Space Shuttle Columbia

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

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

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

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

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

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