18 December 2007

more feelings of life reflecting literature

FORD: You’re a load of useless, bloody loonies!!

CAPTAIN: Ah, yes, that was it, that was the reason it was. Ha. Pass me the loofah, will you?

This is the kind of clarity that feels like clarity now (when I've had a few), and tomorrow will read like nonsense.

Most people who live in the United States of America don't know how very hard it is to leave. And I think this is because they don't even consider the possibility of life beyond the ocean. The world is flat. It starts in Los Angeles and ends in New York (or what have you). You might go to Hawaii or [gasp] Europe for vacation, but the concept of moving there permanently is far beyond the realm of imagination for 99% of the people who "make it" here.

I think Douglas Adams was referring to the States when he writes of the spaceship heading for a new planet because the old one is "doomed." All the "important" people need to go ahead to set up life for the ones "left behind," but the reality of the matter is that the "important" people are the most useless and idiotic of the originals. They're not being sent to colonize the new planet for future travelers. They're shot there with no hope of return or rescue.

That's the United States. Your ancestors felt like bloody geniuses for "making it" here, so important and free, and so you might vicariously feel that pride because you don't know any better. But you're trapped in the most back-ass-ward nation in the "free" world (where we preach separation of church and state but politicians still feel the need to mention G-d every chance they get), and nobody wants you back either. So you're stuck here, and it's fine if you don't realise it. But it's really depressing for those of us who wish for nothing more for Christmas than to be welcomed into the European Union. To escape ...

Dear Santa, ...

Turn the page ...

would-be presents

I kind of wish that I'd thought of doing nuigurumi gifts for Christmas.

Before last night. Because that's when I finally thought of it. You know, eight days before Christmas.

I fail.

I should have thought of it when Andrea mentioned drawing pictures for people for Christmas. But I'm a feather-brain, apparently.

And then I was looking at chibi-Strife last night, and thought, Ooh, I could make ... But it's more than a little late for that idea.

So far, I fail in general at Christmas shopping this year. I keep hearing about money influencing shoppers this season; but, for me, it has more to do with being a fuss-pot and hating everything I see. Or loving something for myself, but not being able to imagine the same level of elation in my would-be recipients.

John and Rodney already received their Lush presents. I gave Michelle her Tealuxe set at the same time I gave the boys their bath stuff.

As for the parents, so far, Dad has a Red Sox ornament, and they're both getting a couple boxes of jewel-toned ornaments (not particularly for either of them, so I'll probably just label it, "Parents" or some more inventive title that strikes me later). I visited three department stores in search of decent pajamas for Mum, but no luck. Is there any wonder that people have forsaken foot-shopping for Amazon?

Oh, and on the subject of wrapping ... I'm not wrapping anything until I get to Durham, just on the off-chance that airport security decides to tear open my suitcase. Because the last thing I need is to have them freak out, rip open carefully-wrapped presents, and then discover that mess upon reaching Durham. Honestly, I'm already worried enough about transporting glass ornaments without the added stress of: "Will they or won't they feel the need to unwrap?"

Flying out of here in little more than two days, and I still haven't packed. Excellent.

Turn the page ...