On Saturday night my parents were asking me what I wanted to do, but I didn't know and instead of lounging around their hotel room, my dad suggested that we go to the movies.
OK. The closest cinema to their place was the Common, and we left at a time that could've seen us sitting in practically any movie showing there. There are a handful of features out right now that I wouldn't mind seeing. My parents both really enjoyed Horton Hears a Who, but I didn't want to make them see a repeat, so it came down to 21, Mrs. Pettigrew, In Bruges, and The Other Boleyn Girl.
We went to see In Bruges. It has some wickedly funny moments of caustic humour and some pretty grim moments of violence.
And then, three minutes from the end of the movie, a group of teenagers staggered in from the hallway, talking and laughing and standing in front of the screen. Colin Farrell was saying something, but it couldn't really be heard between the kids loudly looking for seats, people in the audience telling them to shut it, and the kids reacting in cackles of laughter and threats about punching or kicking people for telling them to shut it. Somebody in the back chimed out, "You're perpetuating a stereotype." Yes, they are; but they're not going to know what you're talking about; and you're only perpetuating a cycle. Yelling at them only makes them worse.
The movie ended, the police came in, and those who requested it received a ticket of re-admittance to any show they want. My parents and I took those, and then my mum and dad handed the tickets off to me and told me to go back and see some movies on my own time. Nice of them.
31 March 2008
of unchaperoned teenagers
30 March 2008
morning thought
The pianist at The Natick Collection is unexpectedly cool (or geeky, depending on your point of view). We were sitting and listening outside one of the department stores in the oddly comfortable sofas that they have peppered throughout the mall, and at one point he was definitely playing a somewhat embellished version of "There's a Fine, Fine Line" from the Avenue Q soundtrack. And if you had never heard the lyrics, it fit in with his repertoire just fine.
26 March 2008
24 March 2008
For Saturday, I had written an entry that was a rather cryptic return from my ten-day hiatus. My mind is in a [somewhat] better place now, so maybe I can get through a rational explanation of the weekend's events.
Easter. Yeah. Great.
... Or maybe not. I just explained the situation to Lindsay--or ranted about it--Michelle and Ian have also sort of heard about it.
My mother's family is certifiable, I'm convinced.
My grandmother had an aneurysm on Thursday.
My mother has six siblings, and none of them knows the value of leaving a message on an answering machine apparently. My parents said they had a dozen calls on Thursday night, all of them resulting in dead air on the answering machine--after which they unplugged the phone because they thought it was over-zealous marketers or kids pulling pranks--because, surely, if the matter were that important, the caller might leave even a sparse message. No.
Since the robbery, my parents have had one dinosaur of a computer in their home. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. And for this reason, it's not very useful for checking email. My father finally received his new desk-top in the mail on Thursday, but he hadn't set it up yet, because he gets home late most nights and is too tired to mess with it.
On Friday night, my mother had managed to make "the dinosaur" log on to the internet. In her inbox, there's an email from my uncle J asking her to get in touch with one of them. Uncle F is angry at my parents for not responding sooner--he doesn't quite believe they were robbed and have one old computer that doesn't quite work all the time. Aunt J is convinced that she could have done something to prevent Nana's aneurysm. Uncle C is now living by himself, but occasionally being looked in on by my uncle S. Aunt K is ... well, she's a bossy bitch.
The family is imploding, basically, and nobody is communicating very well; and my mother can't get a straight story about Nana's condition from any of them. So she messages me on AIM on Friday night (when I'm out at the Publick House with Lindsay, Ahmer, Bob, Kathy, and a silent young man whose name I couldn't catch in the din). When I get home at midnight, this is the message:
"Nana had an aneurysm. She's at Beth Israel, and maybe you can visit for us. Call me."
Midnight seemed an inappropriate time to respond to this message, so I went to bed.
I called in the morning, trying to find out where exactly Nana is at Beth Israel (it's a sprawling hospital), but Mum didn't know that. She knew when visiting hours began, but that was about it. It didn't help that my phone was uncharged, because she wanted me to go there, find out Nana's condition, and call them back immediately. So I let the phone charge for a while, got ready, and walked down to the D line.
My first guess at the buildings was wrong. I went into the East Campus building, because that's the official address for the whole hospital, and was informed that Nana was actually in the West Campus building. And when I got there, the front desk person told me that she was in room 675--but there really isn't a room 675, at least not labeled as such. I wouldn't have known where to go at all if aunt J hadn't spotted me first.
A (aunt J's husband) had taken C to get food, so we were the only ones there to begin with. We stood outside the ICU for a while, because they were in the process of doing something with Nana, and I tried to get J to say something of her condition so that I'd know what to expect. But J doesn't really know what's what.
J: "Well, an aneurysm is like a stroke that happens in the brain."
Me: "Really? I thought that strokes also happened in the brain."
J: "No, strokes happen in the heart... blahblahblah... "
Uhhhh ... I didn't have the patience to argue with her on that front. And I really wanted to hear something from an actual doctor.
Talking to J [inappropriately] reminds me of this commercial:
I really wasn't prepared to see Nana this way. There's a tube that goes through her groin, all the way up into her skull and out to drain the excess fluid from the aneurysm. An orderly--or maybe she was a nurse--came in and re-adjusted the oxygen tube to her nose. She was in an out of consciousness during the time that Jean and I were in the room. For thirty seconds at the most her eyes would be open, and then she'd go back into fitful rest. She talks, but sometimes there's no sound, and when there is sound, it's a gruff lower version of her voice.
She didn't know me at first. J said she recognises people, but she didn't seem to know me. I told her who I was. She smiled and asked me, "What do you have on the docket today?" I had to get her to repeat it before I understood what she'd asked. And then I felt guilty for making her repeat anything. And guilty for feeling and allowing myself to look upset, because I didn't want to upset her. She lapsed back into what J referred to as "her restful state," and I stood there for a while and watched her breathe. J told me to keep talking to her, but I had no idea what to say, and I was fully engrossed in trying to hear anything that she might say in her sleep. "I'm tired" and "it's not working." And I think hypoglycemia was kicking in, because my vision was getting spotty.
I heard a man's voice asking for room 675, and when I turned around uncle J and his girlfriend G were talking to one of the staff--a woman informing them that only two people could see Nana at one time. I vacated, and aunt J was close behind me. F was in the hallway outside the ICU doors, and he asked J if we'd been to see Nana and who was there now? The two of them made faces about uncle J's girlfriend being there, and then aunt J led the way back to the waiting room. F and N had brought their sons, though F didn't seem very happy about it. They asked me about the robbery, where I'm living, and then seemed to be done with me. So I plugged my cell phone into an outlet and called my mother.
I told her who was there, and what I knew, which wasn't--and still isn't--much. C and A came back into the room, but didn't notice me for a while. Then C did, and I motioned that I was still on the phone with my mother--and, regardless, I didn't want to talk to him anyway. And when I was done talking to her, I slipped away to the bathroom. From the bathroom, I made a beeline for the elevators, and out to the Longwood food-court to assuage my hunger and avoid my relatives.
Something completely different: some things that make me laugh ...
"The Return of Mr. Gosh" - I was inspired to look this up by an LJ friend's recent post.
"Magic Muffin" - whenever I see muffins, I think of the comic, and the following animated version ...
11 March 2008
in which I am become a human pin cushion
I've been mostly dead since yesterday. I woke up feeling awful all over--and I'm still not sure if it was food poisoning or something more serious. I still felt terrible this morning, but decided to shower before making any kind of call about it. Weighing it over in my mind, and the fact that I had a doctor's appointment this afternoon anyway, I was leaning toward staying home. When the water turned cold and I started getting the shakes, that pushed the lean to a full decision.
Back to bed.
My appointment was for 1600, but I decided to leave here at 1400, because I wasn't sure I'd find the office right away, as I'd never been there before. As a normal and reasonable person might've guessed, I arrived way too early.
And when I finally got in, the doctor pretty much signed me up for everything after I told her that it had been over three years since I'd had a physical. Read on for things that fall into the TMI category ...
Pap smear--UGH, and no more need be said; the first in three doses of the HPV vaccine in the right shoulder; the Diphtheria, Tetanus, and Pertussis vaccines in the left shoulder; and three vials of blood for lab work from the inside of my left elbow.
After it was all over, I walked home, because fresh air seemed to be the order of the day. The sun was out, the temperature was comfortable.
And now I'm watching General Hospital and will probably spend the evening watching Grey's Anatomy and No Country for Old Men.
29 February 2008
unstuck in time
Michelle drove me to St. E's last night, and now my stitches are out.
Between going there and coming back, the whole process took about an hour, and by the time we got home, Lost was halfway through. So, rather than starting in the middle and rewinding later, I took a shower and waited for the whole episode to finish recording.
I really enjoyed "The Constant"--yes, sappy tearful ending and all (in fact, I did cry when Desmond finally got Penny on the phone). I took the whole as tribute to Kurt Vonnegut--Slaughterhouse Five particularly--except that the result (at present, anyway) seems much happier for Desmond Hume than for Billy Pilgrim. And I want Desmond's part of the story to have a good ending, though it doesn't appear that he's one of "the Oceanic 6"; I'm so sick of losing the characters that I actually like.
And then my VCR clipped off the ending (because ABC's schedule always seems to run a little off whenever they run two episodes of Lost back-to-back). So today I went in search of the last sixty seconds of the episode to find out what Daniel was reading in his journal.
"If anything goes wrong, Desmond Hume will be my constant."
The character Daniel Faraday is sort of adorable in a grown-up-stoner kind of way. The episode trailers always make whatever he says seem mysterious and vaguely threatening; but when I hear the lines again in the episodes' contexts, he just sounds dazed and confused all the time.
Also watched Torchwood's "A Day in the Death" before going to the hospital. I want to care about Owen, but ... meh? Next week's episode looks exciting.
On another topic, a realty agent sent me an email last weekend (I think my parents have been submitting my name and email), to which I responded at my leisure--with the full story of "taking my time, seeing what's out there, p.s. have a snowboard injury and indisposed for a bit." She's now sent me a list of properties and wants to know when I'd be free to see some of them.
This all feels far too grown up for me.
But I wonder if my aunt still wants me to visit this weekend; because, if not ... a few open-houses could be fun.
28 February 2008
presents
Hayley sent me the second season of Lost on DVD, and it has, as she suggested, kept me out of trouble so far. I love the commentaries.
Caroline gifted me with a giant wrist brace. It's kind of perfect for my purposes. It immobilises my thumb, but the rest of my fingers are free and clear. Writing with a pen or pencil is still mostly impossible, but typing is significantly easier.
Page-turning is still a pain.
26 February 2008
this is how I convalesce
I probably should've stayed home again, but one never likes to use sick days when one is actually sick. Where's the fun in that?
Typing is still an issue, but at the moment I'm managing to stabilise my thumb while maintaining the use of most of my four fingers. And of course it's my right hand, because I have to inconvenience myself as much as possible.
How did I do this?
Snowboarding. Naturally.
I was doing so well for the first three hours that I was emboldened to press my luck on a green trail (which isn't a black diamond, but I still wasn't really ready for it--clearly). I had a few initial falls--and in one of them sprained my thumb, which I didn't notice until something worse happened.
Then, continuing down the hill, a woman and her son began to veer in front of me. I tried to avoid them, and I did it so well that I fucked myself up instead. The front edge caught on the snow and down I went, face-plant against the hill.
Immediate headache. I could taste blood before I saw it, and then I thought it was coming from my nose. But the woman had turned around and was saying, "No, no, it's your head!" Great. She handed me lots of tissues and asked me a few pointed questions to make sure that I still had all my wits, then flagged down one of the ski patrol--who asked me all the same questions all over again. The woman had me describe my friends, since Lindsay and her friend Matt weren't far off, and she went to find them while her large Irish friend and the ski patrol man stayed with me to wait for more ski patrol people to arrive.
Lindsay and Matt trudged back up the hill to find out what had happened, and more patrol people came around.
And then one of the patrol-- "Do you think you can go down on your own?" I don't think anyone thought that was a good idea except for him. (Lindsay, later: "Was he on crack?") Instead, they packed me into a sled, wrapped up in yellow canvas like a mummy and shuttled me down the hill to the infirmary.
Those things look fun until you actually need them, by the way. Then, they're deeply embarrassing.
The EMS workers re-bandaged me (they'd done a make-shift job of it on the hill), and advised that I go to the ER. So Lindsay and Matt went to get stuff from the lockers while I sat around with a plastic bag of snow pressed to my head. Then we walked to Lindsay's car, but somewhere between the EMT station and the parking space, Lindsay's car key went missing. Awesome, right?
Lindsay was carrying all my stuff and didn't look very keen to go back looking, so I volunteered and went off. I retraced our steps back to the infirmary, but didn't find them, so I walked into the Lost & Found. L&F woman: "What happened to you?!" Me: "I fell, and I'm supposed to go to the ER, but my friend can't find her keys." But no keys had been turned in yet for the day, so I wandered back outside ... with the L&F woman following me, though I didn't know it yet. And Lindsay had come back from the parking lot and was standing in the path between the EMT station building and the Lost & Found looking for me and the keys.
I was dazed and upset and embarrassed, so pulled down my sunglasses and dragged my hood over my head. And Lindsay was turning to go back into the infirmary when the L&F woman appeared behind us and was asking if she should take me to the ER instead. And we must have been making a scene, because one of the Cliff Bar employees (who were skiing all over the hill offering free samples to whoever would take one) came over and asked what we were looking for--if it was a black key on a short leather strap, because he had found one and only just turned it in at Lost & Found.
Awesome. Hysteria averted.
North Conway's Memorial Hospital is five minutes down the road from Cranmore, so it didn't take long to get there--good, considering how long the line in the waiting room was. We got there at 1300 and we wouldn't leave until around 1830.
The wait was long, but the staff was nice. A nurse gave me a fresh pack of ice for my head, and Lindsay and I sat in the waiting room playing the name game (pick a letter of the alphabet and either gender and recite as many names as you can think of that begin with that letter)--dull but distracting. And I needed distracting since the headache wouldn't let up for a minute.
When they finally let me through it was about 1645, and it was to a reclining chair next to the utility closet in a room already occupied by two other patients. We didn't know how long I'd be sitting there, so Lindsay went to Walmart to pick up Scategories, but not before I sent her to the car to retrieve Dragonfly In Amber for me.
I was reading and one of the nurses came to check on me. I told her about my headache and she asked if I would take anything for it. I was afraid of the blood-thinning aspect, but she assured me that what they had would be all right. Then, she went off.
My back was to the door, when, out of the corner of my left eye I saw crutches edge up beside me. This was my doctor. She introduced herself and had me peel back the edge of the bandage on my head to see what she was dealing with. Yes to stitches and yes to a CAT scan. She asked if anything else was bothering me, and I told her about my hand, which hadn't been bothering me until I attempted to sign my signature on the admittance papers in the waiting room. Another yes to an x-ray for my hand.
Then she hobbled off and the nurse returned--with a Vicodin and some water. Vicodin? Seriously? Who watches too much House? Oh, right, I do.
I picked up my book again, but I didn't get to read much before another woman came around to take me to do the x-ray and the head scan. The x-ray was honestly the most grueling part. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I was shivering, so it was hard to keep my hand perfectly still when it wasn't firmly braced against the table.
The head scan ... getting all the jewelry off and out of my head took a few minutes, a sprained hand not making it much easier. And when it was over, the woman escorted me back to my room--where one of the beds had been vacated, and Lindsay had returned--as promised, with Scategories. The timer didn't come with batteries, so we played on the room clock and waited for the scans to come back from Radiology.
And on that note, can anyone think of an article of clothing that begins with the letter I? All I could come up with is "instep"--the inner part of a shoe, but I don't even think it counts.
After twenty or thirty minutes the doctor came hobbling back into the room with a clean bill of health. Stitches time. A male orderly wheeled in the cart with all the stitching supplies, and Lindsay and I were still musing over an article of clothing that might begin with an I. Neither the doctor nor the orderly could think of anything either.
It was about this time when I started feeling particularly embarrassed about the whole situation all over again--and said as much to the doctor. She told me her story was more idiotic than mine. So I finally asked her about her crutches as she was prepping me for stitches. She had been trying to reach something on a high shelf while standing on a swivel stool. The stool went one way and she the other, and her ankle folded under her.
The doctor was rubbing a local anesthetic in the laceration when Lindsay asked if she could call Nancy on my phone. I couldn't remember where I'd put the phone, only that it was on the bed somewhere and waved in that vague direction. Lindsay found it and began to mess with it as the doctor began to stitch me. Except that Lindsay couldn't find Nancy's number, nor the call history. She has the same phone I do, only hers is a first generation, and mine is relatively new.
So I took the phone back and, in the glare of the surgical lights, and with the doctor stitching my forehead, I looked through the old incoming calls, found, and dialed Nancy's number and handed the phone back off... I'm a good multi-tasker.
There were only five stitches, so it didn't take too long, and the local anesthetic was quite effective. By the time Lindsay was through talking to Nancy, the doctor had finished and was putting a bandage over the stitches. After a while the male orderly came back in and wrapped up my hand in gauze and an ace bandage. He also came with my release papers and a prescription for pain-killers--more Vicodin, yay! And then I was good to go.
15 February 2008
12 February 2008
V for ...
Stephen is my hero.
Now I just want a .gif Stephen icon that says, "I teach Sunday School, motherfucker."
Lem leads me to the fun news.
Anonymous vs. Scientology
07 February 2008
"We can't stop here--"
I was considering the tagline for the 1971 version of Willard, and I'm thinking it's good that Romney goes by Mitt instead.
"Where your nightmares end... WILLARD begins. [P.S. Vote Romney 2008!]"
Yeah.
...
No.
Does Mitt have a crazy friend named Ben, because that would also be awesome. Ooh! Wait! What was the name of his campaign helper who posed as a policeman?
Darn. His name is Jay.
Oh, well. We'll work with it.
11 January 2008
books and movies -- lists
Begun: 11. January 2008
Last update: 30. May 2008
Listing new books read:
Books
01. Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
02. Fables: Wolves by Bill Willingham
03. The Magic Toyshop by Angela Carter
04. The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters
05. Lady of the Forest by Jennifer Roberson
06. Watership Down by Richard Adams
07. The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle
08. Morality Play by Barry Unsworth
09. Finder by Emma Bull
10. Long Hot Summoning by Tanya Huff
11. Dragonfly In Amber by Diana Gabaldon
12. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett
13. The Light Fantastic by Terry Pratchett
14. Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett
15. Mort by Terry Pratchett
16. Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
17. Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
18. Dead Sexy (Garnet Lacey, Book 2) by Tate Hallaway
19. From Dead to Worse by Charlaine Harris
20. Twilight (The Twilight Saga, Book 1) by Stephenie Meyer
21. The Good Fairies of New York by Martin Millar
currently reading: Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
09 January 2008
cold pool
Of intimacy ...
Intimacy is a cold swimming pool. I dread it, and there's no comfortable way to ease into it. Either you dive in and get it over with, or you stand there and dread the cold. And getting out of it is just as bad. And sometimes you get swimmer's ear.
Intimacy and swimming pools.
I am more me
Type summary here.
Everyone's doing this: Belief-o-Matic
1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Neo-Paganism (99%)
3. Secular Humanism (80%)
4. New Age-ism (79%)
5. Liberal Quakerism (75%)
6. Mahayana Buddhism (74%)
7. Theravada Buddhism (70%)
8. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestantism (62%)
9. Reform Judaism (60%)
10. New Thought (55%)
11. Scientology (53%)
12. Hinduism (52%)
13. Nontheism (49%)
14. Taoism (46%)
15. Sikhism (45%)
16. Jainism (44%)
17. Orthodox Quakerism (41%)
18. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (40%)
19. Bahá'à Faith (38%)
20. Orthodox Judaism (23%)
21. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormonism) (21%)
22. Islam (20%)
23. Mainline to Conservative Christianity/Protestantism (14%)
24. Seventh Day Adventism (14%)
25. Jehovah's Witness (12%)
26. Eastern Orthodox (11%)
27. Roman Catholicism (11%)
I thought Secular Humanism would be at the top of the list, but my ambivalence involving the notion of deity is probably revealed by my answers to a lot of the multi-check questions.
Unitarian Universalism -- The United Church of *Shrug*
As for the Quakers bit ... Yeah, I'm not sure. It was probably the fact that on the "good deeds and compassion" question, I rated my answer as "high." But, on a second round there are other answers I would've listed as "high" that I didn't. Oh, well. I can always re-take the silly thing.
[edit: Re-taken, with no great changes, really. Secular Humanism, New Age, and Liberal Quakers have played musical chairs a bit. Roman Catholicism is still last, in spite of--or maybe because of--its being my introduction to world religion. I also altered the titles, because they were bothering me; some of them are still bothering me. Faiths deserve nouns--not adjectives being treated as nouns.]
02 January 2008
right of way?
30. December 2007
Dead of night, empty road, Raleigh, NC. Company: Me, H, B, and J. I start crossing the street.
J: "Push the button, Ri!"
No, I'm pretty sick of you already, and I'm not going to listen to you now.
Me: "Why should I? No one is coming."
J: "Because you're jay-walking..."
Hi, I'm from a real city. We jay-walk all the time. It's not a felony. It's not even a misdemeanor. It might the most minor traffic violation anyone can commit. And it's a moot point when there's no on-coming traffic.
Me: "No one is coming, and I do this all the time."
J: "You can get a ticket for that here."
H: "She's from Boston."
J: "Well, here you wait for traffic."
Of which there is none. There aren't any cops either to hand out this hypothetical ticket. Where are they? Oh, right. Looking for drunk drivers.
Me: "You do know that pedestrians have the right of way, right?"
J: "No they don't. Not here."
Me: "Umm, I'm pretty sure they do..."
In point of fact, the NC Driver's Handbook is a piece of shit when it comes to discussing what pedestrians can or can't do. It's a 150-word section in a book that spends 50% of its pages discussing the point system for revoking one's license. There's nothing about jay-walking or anything else. Basically the message one gets as a pedestrian is: Good luck! Don't get hit!
People in NC aren't encouraged to walk, apparently (as well as obviously, judging the obesity level within the state).
To read this woefully vague scrap of tripe: Driver's Handbook.
Enjoy!
22 December 2007
if at first you don't succeed
I'll be trying again tomorrow morning.
My flight's scheduled take-off is for 1130 or 1145 with an ETA of 1330 or 1400. Hopefully, it actually happens this time.
I went to see Sweeney Todd yesterday at around mid-day.
I had my doubts about the singing, but I was most pleasantly surprised. The acting talent involved were more than equal to their singing parts. Also, as
The colour scheme is typical Burton--varying gray tones with brilliant splashes of colour where they will make the most impact. What sticks out in my mind most is Sacha Baron Cohen's jewel-tone blue ensemble. As per the usual, Cohen makes a hilarious spectacle of himself.
I do have a complaint or two with where they left certain of the story arcs. Benjamin Barker and his wife Lucy have a daughter, and a ship boy falls in love with her, but we don't really see how that turns out. Without giving away more than necessary, Sweeney mistakes her for a boy and nearly kills her, and that's the last we see of her before the credits roll. I just would have been happier to see some kind of resolution there. Granted, I didn't expect any kind of happy Father-Daughter reunion between Sweeney and Johanna--Sweeney is way too far gone for him to resume any normal sort of lifestyle--but I would have like to see how the young romance between the girl and the ship boy turned out.
It's one of Tim Burton's gorier achievements, I must say. To give you an idea, it's rated R, but there's no excessive cursing or sexuality. The rating is specifically due to the violence.
After the movie, I walked down to my office to pick up my pay checks, and talked with the skeleton crew. I had to clear up my time-sheet with Zina, and we got to talking about movies. I told her that I intended to go see The Golden Compass ... Zina's response: "Oh, you don't want to see that! It's all about atheism!"
Yeah, I don't care. That really doesn't bother me.
I went to see it today. And, apart from the mouth-breathing cud-chewers sitting behind me, it was a fun time.
Also, I wouldn't really classify the movie as being "all about atheism." It really isn't. It's more anti-establishment--of all kinds, which I suppose could include religion, government, and society--than atheistic. The movie is really about the individual's capacity for free choice versus outside control over the individual's thoughts and actions; and the message of Christianity places a decent emphasis on making choices, choosing right from wrong, etc. So, I don't know, maybe I'm being naive, but I don't know what the fuss is all about.
It's an exciting, fun movie--and it uses CGI in a way that actually doesn't make me want to kill the producers (please see Zemeckis).
21 December 2007
no luck
At the suggestion of the woman who re-ticketed me yesterday evening, I called Delta this morning to see if anything sooner than Sunday had opened up.
No.
Well, they thought there was something for tomorrow at 0700, but then they realised that it was already overbooked.
So still no.
I really won't be getting out of here until Sunday. ... OK, time to go shower, dress, and T myself to the movies for the day.
Johnny Depp, Alan Rickman, and Daniel Craig will make life less crappy.
20 December 2007
angry, stuck, alone
Maybe I'll feel more like talking about it tomorrow, but I doubt it.
Suffice to say, my flight was cancelled. So I'm in Boston until Sunday at least. Frankly, I'm debating cancelling the ticket entirely and staying here for the holidays. I'm really angry right now, and I doubt I'd make good company.
So I'm not going to work tomorrow.
I'm going to the movies.
And I'm going to see The Golden Compass and Sweeney Todd, and that's how it's going to be.
a Christmas meme
Everyone else is doing it.
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? I will say wrapping paper, though I've been known to use gift bags in a pinch. Really, if I have the time and opportunity, I will wrap every present. College and life in an apartment turned me lazy for several reasons--one, "I can't find the paper;" two, "I'm all out of scotch tape;" three, "hey, look, here's this bag I've been keeping around for no particular reason." And so it goes.
2. Real tree or artificial? Real. I understand the aggravation of prickly trees, having had a few in the past, but that's why you don't choose the prickly kind and go for a Blue Douglas or something with the short and blunt needles.
3. When do you put up the tree? It was very touch and go with my parents. Sometimes it's right after Thanksgiving. Sometimes it's the weekend before Christmas.
4. When do you take the tree down? Whenever it starts to look peaky. Mid- to late-January?
5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, and all the available flavours, too.
6. Favourite gift received as a child? My parents like to tell me that I was most excited about the 3-foot high Big Bird when I was three years old. In recent years, my Mac and my first iPod.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? My parents have a wee one that my father picked up in Germany during Weihnachten. It was made by wood craftsmen there, features dowel-people and trees with leaves made from wood shavings. It's actually very interesting. Maybe I'll take a picture when I visit.
8. Hardest person to buy for? My mom. Because the things she wants are very general, but she's very fussy about the specifics of these general items.
9. Easiest person to buy for? My friends, generally. They appreciate the notion of "wish lists."
10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I don't know. There have been things I wasn't wild about, but nothing noteworthy. It's corny, but it's the thought that counts.
11. Mail or email Christmas cards? I'm not one to judge. I'm HORRIBLE about casual correspondence, period.
12. Favourite Christmas Movie? Like my friend Nicole, I love Home Alone. I also love the second Home Alone, Lost in New York (mostly due to Tim Curry -- "We love you!"). Lately, I've had the urge to watch The Santa Clause, and today we were talking about it at our staff meeting (because I work with a bunch of parents, holy crap). OOH! Other favourite Christmas movie? The Ref:Mary Chasseur: Maybe they'll catch him, and then let him go in the spirit of Christmas ...
Connie Chasseur: That is not the spirit of Christmas --The spirit of Christmas is either you're good -- or you're punished and you burn in hell.
Who would catch a criminal, and then let him go free?
Mary Chasseur: Republicans?
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? December, usually. This year, I will be shopping this weekend.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I don't think so, and that sounds pretty gauche to me.
15. Favourite thing to eat at Christmas? Of the non-baked-good variety? Lasagna. And clam dip. Mmmmmm. Clam dip. And mashed 'taters, if they're around. I heart mashed 'taters (as the inches on my waist can attest).
16. Clear lights or coloured on the tree? Coloured. Blinking or not, it's all good. If they're blinking, though, I might stare at the tree for a long long time. Because I am easily-distracted by shinies.
17. Favourite Christmas song? "Greensleeves," which, honestly, if you read the lyrics, hasn't got much to do with Christmas. I also have a slew of records that I like to keep in rotation at my parents' house. Elvis, The Nutcracker, Rainbow Brite Christmas, Cabbage Patch Christmas, Sinatra, and the list goes on. Mostly, I become addicted to The Nutcracker, though. ... And not just any rendition of The Nutcracker, either. It has to be this version:
18. Stay home or travel for Christmas? Traveling to my parents' home.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen; Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen, but do you recall the most famous reindeer of all? Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer ... etc. So, yes.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? We have both. It looks dumb.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? One the night before. The rest in the morning.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? People. Everywhere.
Yay for wasting time.
19 December 2007
saved by the UK
I love Hot Chip. Or maybe I just love Hot Chip's "Over & Over" ... YES.
I've loved this song since, oh, last Fall. And I still love it. I can hear it every day and it makes me happy. Kind of like The Automatic's "Monster."
Both songs make me think of Torchwood, which is maybe a good portion of the happiness--and, right now especially, the antici- ... -pation (who loves Rocky Horror? oh, right--I do). The new Torchwood season begins next month, and the Doctor Who Christmas special is right around the corner.
Hey, we all need things to look forward to. Me, I look forward to new David Tennant and John Barrowman fixes from the BBC during Hollywood's woeful dry spell. (PAY THE WRITERS NOW, PLEASE. KTHXBYE.)
What else is on my mind this morning? Politics.
Television and politics--well, it works for Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.
Mostly, I'm just a little irritated by a web site that I was invited to look at. They're polling the public for the 2008 Presidential race, but they've excluded Ron Paul from the polls, and make a big [highly animated] point of letting everyone know this up front. It's not that I even like Ron Paul. I'm not going to be voting for him, because I think he's an idiot. At this point, I'm so disgusted with all of them, I might do a write-in (that won't be counted, because individual votes don't really count for beans in the US Presidential race, if we're really being honest about it).
But I think the owner of the site is a bigger idiot for excluding Paul. If you're really interested in clean poll results, you won't exclude any candidate, no matter how much you dislike him or his followers. If you're not interested in clean poll results, why take the time to create a web site devoted just to the poll? Isn't it a waste of time and energy for something that doesn't really matter to you?
OK. End irritable ramble.
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, ...
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.
17 December 2007
in response to: another American psycho
Names changed to protect the innocent decent (because nobody's really innocent, if we're being honest, but I consider my readership to be a decent sort).
The last entry was cross-posted to Book of the Black Rabbit.
This comment from a reader followed:
If done at all it should be done well.
Get in; save lots; get out.
Write the book afterwards (unless you get published first).
To which I replied:
Which makes me think of a few choice lines of Metric's "Handshakes":
Buy this car to drive to work,
Drive to work to pay for this car ...
Say you wanna get in,
And you're gonna get out;
But you won't,
'Cause it's a trap.
I think I might fear all manner of [traditionally reasonable] commitment.
another American psycho
There are certain aspects of job hunting that make me [better] appreciate Bret Easton Ellis's vision of the American business world.
Let's take business cards for example, because I've been receiving a lot of them lately (and [VERY] briefly have considered investing in my own). If people allow themselves, they will go insane over the layout and presentation of business cards; but, when it comes down to it, most business cards are basically the same.
I think the best representation of this was seen the film version of American Psycho. You can't truly appreciate the insanity of the description of business cards in the novel (well, you can, if you're thinking the way Ellis is thinking), but when you hear the painstaking detail in the film, and then see the after-product--two or three business cards that basically look the same--and the overwhelming surge of furious envy that Bateman exudes upon being [somehow, and frankly, invisibly] outdone by one of his "friends," you begin to understand the unspoken and absurd competition.
Yes, nihilism is gripping me. And I begin to ask myself, Should I really be trying to enter this world, when I clearly hold it in so much disdain? Granted, I'm not trying to find work in Manhattan--but it's all so much the same, isn't it?
14 December 2007
end of a line
For early clarification, Whitey is a cat, not a derogatory reference to anyone or anything.
My father writes:
Whitey’s been awfully sick. He can hardly stand, and his head is wobbling rhythmically back and forth like he has lost his equilibrium. It may be a cold or flu, or it may worse. All I know is, Wednesday night he didn’t struggle when I picked him up to bring him into the garage. Last night and this morning, he is still a little wobbly, but he is back to being touchy. That might be a good sign.
It worries me, though, because this description reminds me of what happened to Rocky right before she died. And that, too, was around the yuletide. I don't know how well I can deal with going home to that situation again.
And Whitey is the end of a line of cats that began with the initial adoption of a calico kitten in 1987 or 1988. Puff had Moppet (f), Rascal (m), Rocky (f), and Yellow Stone (f). And, much to our surprise, after being fixed, Moppet had Smoky (m) and Whitey (m).
Puff died and Moppet and Rascal vanished in Pennsylvania. When we moved to NC, Yellow Stone and Smoky vanished (maybe lost, maybe taken). They were all outdoor cats, so it wasn't impossible that they'd decided to move on, or that somebody else had decided they wanted to keep them.
That left Rocky and Whitey.
Rocky died while I was visiting my folks, on winter break from BU. And now Whitey is our little old man.
I don't know. I always thought of Whitey and Smoky as the young ones, but ... he's pretty old now. Sixteen or seventeen, I think. I feel bad for my parents though. I only hear or read about his condition; they have to watch him slowly fall apart.
It's a day for spiked hot chocolate.
12 December 2007
sequel
I didn't think much of the casting decision before, but I'm starting to get the choice of Heath Ledger in the role of the Joker for the next Batman.
Mostly due to this picture:
Yeah, I'll give it to him. He's scary just sitting there.
My only current dissatisfaction comes from the fact that the so-called trailer for The Dark Knight is nothing more than special-effects tearing up the CGI logo with a voice-over of Christian Bale, Michael Caine, and--very briefly--Heath Ledger.
I guess I was really hoping for something beyond a teaser trailer. Oh, well. Soon enough, right?
I still haven't seen The Golden Compass, but I was calculating what I want to spend on remaining Christmas presents (and postage), and decided to hold off on going to the cinema until I go home. And then I have a list ... which is another good reason to not tell my parents what I want; because, then, they can just take me to see movies, and that can be my Christmas present.
Actually, even my movie list isn't much of a list. The Golden Compass, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, and maybe I Am Legend (but maybe not on that one ... we'll see).
11 December 2007
die in a fire
This morning's--because it's early, and you never know, the day is long--"Die In A Fire" recipient is ... [drum beat here]
Ugly-Kid-On-T!
We'll call him Ukot.
Ukot can ...
What's the story?
I board the train this morning, pay my fare, and sit down. And, as the T starts moving, I start getting bumped in the back of the head. OK, whatever, somebody needs to catch their balance and this will be over soon.
No. The bumping continues past Chestnut Hill Avenue.
Finally, I turn around to find a bag propped against my seat-back, attached to the back of a college kid who is talking to a friend. And, as though sensing the on-coming confrontation, ugly poorly-bearded kid turns his head and looks at me.
Me: Do you mind?
Ukot: Huh?
Me: You're hitting me with your bag, [asshat.]
Ukot: Well, you sat there.
Me: Yeah. It's a seat, [shithead.]
Ukot: There's a million other seats--
And then I turned around and ignored him; because, really, if he wasn't polite enough to move his bag after the initial complaint, arguing isn't likely to convince him. ... Notably, however, these kids did go away after I turned around. So maybe one of them has sense enough not to argue with me this time of the morning, this time of the month.
[Also, "a million other seats"? ... OK, you must be from BC, with math like that... and maybe you should go sit in one of these million seats, since you obviously can't support the weight of your own bag this morning, fuckwit.]
(WARNING: This entry contains expletives and ill-wishing.)
10 December 2007
unknown territory
Of suiting, hair, and the job search.
JCrew.com ... I really like their suiting. It's hard trying to dress the part for interviews. I felt very odd in the H&M dressing room, kind of like a kid playing dress up. The fact that the trousers I was trying on were two inches too long did not help. I could hem them, I know, but I'd rather spend the money on clothing that fits me to begin with.
More on the Dellaria hair-cuts: ... I like when they blow-dry my hair straight, but I never have the patience to do that for myself. Result being that today I feel far more raggedy than I felt on Saturday and Sunday when the 'do was still fresh and un-messed-with.
I'm also feeling that I'm being pulled in many different directions. I know that there's nothing that says I have to accept any job that I don't want. What I want is to leave, but I feel like politics are thwarting me at every turn. It's nothing less than the United States deserves, I know. We make it a living hell for outsiders to legally enter our country; so why should anyone else make it easy for us?
I just don't know ... In spite of the spike of happiness about the agency interviews, I still feel very frustrated about all of it.
09 December 2007
life at random
I had visitors this weekend. Several of them, over the course of the weekend, actually.
John and Rodney arrived late on Friday (or early on Saturday, depending on your point of view).
Saturday was mostly a day of crazy Newbury Street yuletide shopping.
Presents from Lush for the boys, a tea kit from Tealuxe for Michelle, address books from Trident for my grandmothers. I also bought a blazer and a blouse at H&M (I didn't even know there was an H&M on Newbury Street until yesterday).
We also had lunch with Karen at the Boston Beer Works and went for haircuts at Dellaria--amazingly well-priced haircuts, too. It's made my head feel strangely light, but it's a good sensation.
And Saturday never really ended. We didn't come home until 4 o'clock on Sunday morning ... a morning that ended in a session of strip-Mario Kart in which several boys were undressed down to their tighty-whities (none of which were actually white, as fate would have it).
I know. Wish you were here, right?
07 December 2007
ch-ch-changes
"The more things change, the more they remain... insane."
Over the Hedge
I began thinking about the prompt from a personal standpoint (a now-and-then, this December versus last December), but then I quickly moved beyond to the world at large.
I'm far more discontent with my life this December than I felt last December, or at least it seems that way to me now. Last December, I was happy just to have a full-time job with benefits and health insurance. Now, I'm bored with the job, and cannot see it going anywhere.
Last December, I would've said that I didn't feel experienced enough in the workforce to attempt anything better than what I do. This December, I've posted my resume on Monster.co.uk, and I'm feeling confident that my experience, education, and skills can attract something more suitable than my current position. Within the span of a few days, I've already been called by two local recruiters and emailed by two more. I'm hoping to set up meetings for next week and get the ball rolling on my career change.
And on one hand, I feel that this is a healthy development, and that things need to change in order for me to grow as a person, personally and professionally; on the other hand, I feel as though I have been ignoring other activities and other people because I've been consumed with finding new work.
But the world ... how has the state of the world changed since last December? Well, here in the States, we're twelve months closer to a new president; that's something to be [cautiously] grateful for ("the devil you know," etc.).
Last year, there was Iraq (and the year before that, and the year before that, ...); this year, there's still Iraq, but now Iran might also soon be on the menu. YAY.
It's a very bleak world outlook, I know, but--believe it or not--I always hope for the best. I just expect the worst. Call it Weltschmerz.
05 December 2007
synchronized blinking
Okay, so last year (or a few years back, I don't know), there was the "Wizards In Winter" light display being broadcast forever and ever on YouTube.
Well, there's another show that I hadn't seen before.
I love how the cars stop and sit in front of the house for a few seconds. I can just imagine when the drivers must be thinking--
I used to love the rainbow lights on houses when I was younger, but as I've gotten older, I've grown boring ... [ahem] I mean, classy ... and now I prefer the white lights -- especially when it comes to my own family's house.
However, I still love having the rainbow lights on the tree (and lots of them, blinking forever and ever). So I'm not that stodgy, I swear.
... Also, I love icicles.
And that sounds like a completely separate topic, but I don't mean the frozen kind (though they're pretty enough to look at, albeit eye-pokingly dangerous). I'm talking about the tinsel kind of icicles; for those not familiar with it, it's basically free-floating, stringy tinsel that you can hang all over the tree. It makes a big mess, and a lot of it usually ends up on the floor around the tree, but it looks amazing when night has fallen and the Christmas lights are on. It just makes the whole tree sparkle.
really???
I just noticed that I got a "Best of..." from Holidailies for my 3. December entry. Thanks, guys!
Another [real] entry later ...
holding on
Yesterday's [thus far, by me] unanswered Holidaily prompt was: What childhood activity do you miss? and What childhood activities have you refused to give up?
In reference to the holiday season, I think I miss seeing the Christmas tree every day. When I was living with my parents, of course, we would generally pick up a tree at some point at the beginning of December, decorate it, and then leave it up until well after New Year.
Smelling the pine throughout the house, turning on the blinking lights when the sun went down (and it was always down between 1600 and 1700 by the beginning of December), staring at ornaments forever and ever, and having the time to do just that. I miss those things this time of year.
The one thing that I haven't given up is watching all the television specials. Rankin & Bass, as much as I make fun of their productions, is a staple of the holiday season. I can't go through Christmas without watching Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town, Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, 'Twas The Night Before Christmas, and my favourite, the black-sheep stepchild of Rankin & Bass, The Life and Adventures Of Santa Claus (still unavailable on DVD--you bastards).
I found a dissected clip of it on YouTube, so I will share it the edification of the readership:
... But let's not forget A Charlie Brown Christmas, the A Garfield Christmas Special, or How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It's a lot of television to go through, so we should not be surprised that the Family Channel makes a month out of airing these classics.
03 December 2007
snow, for what ails you
If you don't know about my location history, here's a short rundown. From birth until the summer of 2000, I lived in Pennsylvania. From my Senior year of high school through graduation from Boston University, North Carolina was my official state of residence (though I wouldn't call it home). Now, in my mid-twenties, Boston is home.
It's snowing here today, so maybe it's fitting that today's Holidaily prompt is asking for a snow story. But my snow story is set in my first home, my home of the first seventeen years of my life ...
Back in the 90's, I was a kid; and, during one particularly nasty snow storm, I had a fever.
I was maybe twelve or thirteen at the time and school was canceled for inclement weather. My parents did their usual thing--they knocked on my door when they heard the announcement on the radio, told me to go back to sleep, left for work, and I woke up again a few hours later.
On this day, however, I was sweating bullets. My bed was too warm, my room was too warm, the house was too warm, and every freaking thing I put on was sweaty and gross within ten or fifteen minutes.
And, as I stood in the living room, sweating with fever in a pair of summer shorts and a tank top, I looked out the picture-window at the front lawn. The snow was coming down in giant fat flakes, there were already several inches of the stuff on the ground, and I had a brilliant plan: I would go outside, just as I was, and be comfortable.
And so I did. I put on a pair of my father's sneakers to act as snow-shoes (more weight distributed over a wider surface--I could be a clever kid), a T-shirt for better coverage (because I didn't want my neighbors freaking out too much), and a pair of gloves. And I went out into the snow to make a snow man.
Weirder still, my plan worked (and no sarcasm here at all). Even with the temperature where it was (below freezing), I was perfectly comfortable in shorts and T-shirt for about half an hour. After that point, I started to feel the chill and went back indoors.
And voila! No more fever. I felt better, I wasn't sweating anymore, and my temperature was back to normal.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the magic of snow.
02 December 2007
refugee-wannabe
Ha, I think my parents have just been won over to the idea of my going abroad ... again.
In my Junior year at Boston University, I spent the Spring semester in Auckland, New Zealand. Getting my parents to the point where they were relatively okay with my being half-way around the world was a battle of tooth-and-nail.
Fast forward from 2004 and my return to the States. Ever since graduating from University in 2005, I have had a longing to go out of the country again. And, on a briefly political aside, I kind of feel deeply uncomfortable with the direction the United States is going, and honestly believe that I would better off in Europe or Australasia.
One of my best friends, Rodney was recently accepted into Rutgers' study-abroad programme, and he is going to be in France in the new year. His boyfriend John (also one of my best friends) and I want to expatriate to Germany so that we can practise and better our German language skills, live a European lifestyle, and be close enough to France to visit with Rodney.
My parents have been opposed to this idea since I told them of it. They don't believe in my ability to find work, to be able to afford life in Europe, or to succeed professionally outside of the United States (not that I'm succeeding professionally here; but, conveniently for them, they've been blocking out that little fact). In reality, I think they're still experiencing empty-nest syndrome, and miss being able to see me regularly.
However, I think I may have changed their minds with the use of VOIP.
Yesterday, I talked to them on Skype for about half an hour in the morning and another half-hour in the evening. They were both very excited by being able to see and hear me from hundreds of miles away (you know, without paying anything for the service). And I've begun to believe that what actually bothers them about the idea of my going abroad is that they wouldn't see me (again, it isn't like they see me very often now, but there you go).
What is Skype? Well, if you happen to be out of the VOIP-loop, rather than attempting my own scrambled definition, I will direct you to their official site: Skype.com. It's fun. Go there.
(And, more on that subject, the headset and web camera are off my Yuletide wish-list. A few friends had made various suggestions recently, and I decided to follow through on my own. I went with the over-the-ear, behind-the-head Logitech headset. I also picked up the only web camera that was specified for Mac [on its packaging]. There are others that might work with Mac, but they don't say so, so they're not going to get my business.)
And then my parents were talking about getting me luggage for Christmas, winter clothes for Deutschland, and helping me pay for storage and shipping on possessions that I want to send to them. My mother also said that when John and I decided when we're leaving, we should tell her, and she'll look for cheap air-fare on Interval International (the time-share company that she and my father use). So that's exciting.
They're supposedly picking up a Christmas tree today, which also makes me happy.
They still won't tell me what they want for Christmas, but that's always been their way.
On another Skype-note, I love that the thought-bubble lists what I'm listening to on iTunes. Craziness.
Happy December! (And, again, though it's nothing for which anyone can do anything, I'm also wishing for snow this month.)
01 December 2007
l'heure verte
So after disembarking from the New Jersey Transit at Long Branch last Wednesday, my friends were waiting for me on the ramp to the parking lot. As we piled into John's car, Rodney announced that they had a present for me--and handed me a box of sugar cubes.
And because they had been talking about seeing it at a restaurant a few days earlier, I knew what was coming.
Absinthe.
Well ... sort of. The brand name is Absente, Absinthe Refined.
The difference between this and brands that come from, for example, Alandia, is that it contains no Grand Wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) and little to no Thujone. They've replaced the Grand Wormwood with Southern Wormwood (Artemisia abrotanum), an innocuous cousin. Also, it's not distilled; it's the "macerate & mix" kind. In short, it isn't really absinthe, which is not surprising because absinthe is still mostly illegal in the United States.
The result is that Absente is mostly harmless--or as harmless as any other 110 proof liqueur (our personal result was that we stayed up and laughed until 4:30 on Thursday morning).
There were no "Green Fairies," but the ritual is still fun--even though, as it turns out, we didn't do it quite right.
If you look around on many absinthe sites (and there are a lot), there are several recommendations for the absinthe ritual. The claim is that purists will only accept absinthe straight or in the "traditional French ritual"--slowly dripping ice-cold water on a sugar cube that has been placed on a special slotted absinthe spoon over 1-3 ounces of absinthe. The desired visual effect is a "louche," when the absinthe turns from emerald green to a light milky jade opacity. This will apparently only happen when there is anise present, so if you don't like anise (it's the flavour of black licorice), then you might want to avoid absinthe altogether.
I actually haven't had absinthe in this way since the Czech Stromu brand that I bought while I was living in Auckland, and there was absolutely no "louche," no matter what I did (low, very low anise content). It took me right until the end of my time in New Zealand to finish off that bottle. It's not that it was bad, but it isn't something I would drink all the time.
The ritual that we performed on this Thanksgiving Eve was somewhat different. We poured about two ounces into a glass, set the absinthe itself on fire, and then put it out by pouring the cold water over the sugar cube on the absinthe spoon.
This was not, strictly speaking, the traditional "Bohemian ritual." Actually, before I go on, it should be noted that the "Bohemian ritual" is more of a modern contrivance than it is "tradition." Actual French Bohemians at the turn of the last century were more likely to drink it in the aforementioned "traditional French" way. But I digress. On to the "Bohemian ritual" ...
I quote Absinth24.Net (and correct their spelling where that needed to happen) in their instructions regarding the absinthe fire ritual:
As absinthe usually contains more than 60% alcohol, you should be careful with the Bohemian ritual, as the absinthe in the glass shouldn't begin to burn. [oops.]
a) Pour absinthe over the sugar cube or dip the sugar cube in the absinthe.
b) Light the sugar up and wait until it's fully caramelized.
c) Mix the sugar with the absinthe.
d) Add ice cold water, and you are ready to enjoy the absinthe!
We have a plan to break this out next weekend after more sugar cubes have been acquired, as I opted to leave them behind at Casa Manna.
Actually, I also have a plan to make an order from Alandia at some point, but shhhh, we're not suppose to import the stuff to this country. And, yes, I recognize the idiocy of announcing illicit dealings in a public forum, but I'm telling myself that nobody [official] is reading this ... I'm not sure how Alandia gets around the absinthe ban; but according to their FAQ, if your absinthe gets seized by U.S. customs en route to your address, they'll refund your money.
13 November 2007
panic attack, right now
I kind of feel overwhelmed and that life is running away without me.
I'm going to NC for Christmas and New Year. Apparently.
I'm supposed to be going to NJ for Thanksgiving, but I still haven't bought train tickets (because I've been waiting for there to be enough money in my checking account, but there never is).
I don't know how I'm going to afford to pay the oil bill and December rent, much less Christmas presents. And now I begin to doubt my financial ability to go to Europe with John and Rodney in the coming year.
And I can't talk to my parents, because they're not going to be supportive. They're just going to tell me to stay here, and "I told you so." And then they'll try to talk me into putting money down on a flat I can't afford.
I feel quite absolutely sick. Money is only half the issue.
I'm going to stop editing this entry now.
09 November 2007
thoughts?
On the subject of autism ...
One user wrote in response to today's WonderMark comic: The 'cure autism' movement really strikes a raw nerve with me. It's as offensive as someone trying to 'cure' skin color or homosexuality. I'm sure Eric's heart is in the wrong place, but I'm really afraid of the damage he might be doing by spreading the message that being autistic is wrong and it needs to be cured.
I'm wondering about people's thoughts on this subject--particularly a close friend, if she reads this, because she works with autistic youngsters.
In my reading, there's a growing Autistic Culture, similar to Deaf Culture, that believes autism is not a disorder but a condition and a way of being.
Discuss.
NaNoWriMo means:
Alcohol and caffeine.
The afternoon before yesterday I went to TJ's as promised. Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Muscat, and Mead ... bitter chocolate ... and chocolate-covered espresso beans.
Had an amusing conversation with the guy at the check-out about the joys of warmed alcohol after I had "informed" him about the fact that they stock mead (and by "informed," his word and not mine, bought a bottle of the stuff, so clearly it must exist somewhere--next to the muscat, port, and sake, specifically). He was quite amazed with the sachets of mulling spice that come conveniently attached the bottle.
I had some of the Cab last night, but noticed that I hadn't finished the glass when I woke up this morning; and, against my experience and better judgment, I swigged what was left (not a lot, thankfully, ugh--wine, it doth a body good, when it's not been sitting around all night).
I wrote a couple decent paragraph prompts on the T this morning, so I'm cutting it short here to go do that instead.
Lay back. Think of Torchwood.
06 November 2007
mmm, lecher
[edit: 7. November, 1233 ... Due to what I have inferred as a request, now with a craptastic attempt at translation! Yay! ... Some artistic license taken where words weren't making a whole lot of sense.]
Le pauvre honteux
[The Poor Ashamed One]
Il l'a tirée
De sa poche percée,
L'a mise sous ses yeux ;
Et l'a bien regardée
En disant : " Malheureux ! "
[He drew it
From his open pocket,
Placed it before his eyes;
And regarded it well
While saying: "Unhappy!"]
Il l'a soufflée
De sa bouche humectée ;
Il avait presque peur
D'une horrible pensée
Qui vint le prendre au coeur.
[He puffed into it
With his moistened mouth;
He was almost terrified
At a horrible thought
That stole into his heart.]
Il l'a mouillée
D'une larme gelée
Qui fondit par hasard ;
Sa chambre était trouée
Encor plus qu'un bazar.
[He wet it
With a cold tear
Which melted by chance;
The room was pierced
Again by more than one bazaar.]
Il l'a frottée
Ne l'a pas réchauffée
A peine il la sentait ;
Car, par le froid pincée,
Elle se retirait.
[He rubbed it
Could not warm it
Hardly felt it;
Because, by the cold pinch
It was withdrawn.]
Il l'a pesée
Comme on pèse une idée,
En l'appuyant sur l'air.
Puis il l'a mesurée
Avec du fil de fer.
[He weighed it
As an idea is weighed,
Pressing it on the air.
Then measured it
With a wire of iron.]
Il l'a touchée
De sa lèvre ridée. -
D'un frénétique effroi
Elle s'est écriée :
Adieu, embrasse-moi !
[He touched it
To his wrinkled lips. --
In a frenzy of fear
He exclaimed:
Goodbye, kiss me!]
Il l'a baisée,
Et après l'a croisée
Sur l'horloge du corps,
Qui rendait, mal montée,
De mats et lourds accords.
[He kissed it,
And after crossed it
On the internal clock,
Which returned, badly resurrected,
In checkmates and heavy bargains.]
Il l'a palpée
D'une main décidée
A la faire mourir. -
- Oui, c'est une bouchée
Dont on peut se nourrir.
[He touched it
With a hand determined
To bring it death.--
--Yes, it is a mouthful
With which one can nourish oneself.]
Il l'a pliée,
Il l'a cassée,
Il l'a placée,
Il l'a coupée ;
Il l'a lavée,
Il l'a portée,
Il l'a grillée,
Il l'a mangée.
[He folded it,
Broke it,
Placed it,
And cut it;
He washed it,
Carried it,
Roasted it,
And ate it.]
- Quand il n'était pas grand, on lui avait dit :
- Si tu as faim, mange une de tes mains.
[--When he was not yet grown, one had said to him:
--When you are starving, eat one of your hands.]
Xavier Forneret
(1809-1884)
01 November 2007
welcome to November
There's a particular part of Beacon St. that inspires me to do bad things to people.
Kid carrying shoulder pads and a football helmet? Little voice says: Run and tackle!!
Three construction workers doubled over and smoothing cement on the sidewalk? Little voice says: *SLAP-SLAP-SLAP!* and RUN AWAY! (to the sound of people squishing head-first into cement).
Car pulls in front of me to go into the video store's parking lot. Little voice says: Slam fistful of keys onto boot and RUN!
And these kinds of thoughts tend to occur between The Fireplace and Vinny T's, level of meanness involved depending upon my mood at the time, of course. And, to be clear, I don't actually do any of these things. But I think about it. And smirk.
moon at dawn
a festive Beacon St. residence
you know, my love of Minis aside--that's still fantastic
And today begins NaNoWriMo ... Good luck to everyone participating this year! I will be struggling along with you.
I think I'm adapting the rules to suit my purpose this year, however. Last year, I aimed, as I did the year before, to make it to 50,000; and I succeeded, in a way. I was working on "Part II" of the novel I began in 2005, and I did write 50,000 words. But I also avoided my main character up until the last 5,000 or so ... that's nearly 100 pages without Mauro in attendance. I'm not sure that swings with most ideas about what a plot should be.
This year, my goal is just to FINISH the novel, regardless of word count. I know it's not the given point of NaNoWriMo, but it's what I want to do with my thirty days. So there. "Part III" and the conclusion of this novel by 30. November.
And, if you're curious: My profile--though there's not much of anything there yet.
11 October 2007
maybe it was just me
Ready to rip Shaw's a new one.
Didn't Midol used to sit with the other pain-killers? You know, Tylenol, Advil, Excedrin, etc.
Is it just too "icky" to put there anymore?
Were men buying the stuff by accident?
When I'm cranky and in pain, I don't want to go on a scavenger hunt. You'd best stock my pain-killers with the other pills. Because I'm thinking, Pain. Pills for pain. Maybe not sitting right next to Tylenol, but certainly in the Tylenol vicinity. Yes?
Hell, keep it in both places, if you must, but don't get clever and move my pain-killers to the "girl" aisle. I'm not looking for Tampax. I'm looking for PILLS.
Am I completely wrong to expect to find Midol with other pain medication?
... On a non-cranky note, I'm really enjoying the Penderecki I purchased from iTunes. His religious intent doesn't interest me much, but he's created some truly beautiful haunting music. Harmony and cacophony all at once. Penderecki is what I imagine when reading the music descriptions in Rice's Memnoch.
27 March 2007
terrible sinking feeling
In which I am too much affected by fan fiction.
My parents, like any two people in a long-term relationship, have had some terrible fights. The ones that I have been present for were some of the most agonising experiences of my life. Seeing two people fight--two people who love one another deeply--makes me feel sick inside. It's that sensation that says something terrible could happen at any moment, but you just don't know what.
My tendency to become immersed in what I'm reading or watching can even make fictional accounts of such things affect me in the same way.
Arkaidy updated her "Across Time" (actually, she's updated it a couple times since my last decent rundown--but I've been sorely neglecting this blog, though I write often enough [about not much of anything sometimes] in my primary LJ).
The beginning of this new chapter sees Ares freed (in, roughly, the present--1999) from the caves where he was imprisoned during the archaeological episode of Xena (set in the 1920s, I think), courtesy Vega's new goddess powers. I think this is my favourite part of the chapter, mainly because of Ares and Strife's reunion.
Ares' reaction (or Kevin Smith's portrayal of that reaction) to Strife's murder always touches me whenever I watch it; because it exhibits the fact that, even though Ares is always giving Strife a hard time, he really does love his nephew. He does value him. And I think that this chapter, following that line of their relationship, illustrates that fact with decent poignancy (but not too much, because this is the GoW, after all).
Another clever tie-in, and still without changing anything canon: "Yes, Virginia, There Is a Hercules." Though, this brings me to my initial feelings of distress.
In that particular episode Hercules, we find the setting in present day (at that time--again, 1999) California and many bad things are happening--and Kevin Sorbo is missing. We don't find out until the end of the episode, but Ares and Strife are the ones wreaking havoc on the world; oh yeah, and Kevin Sorbo really is Hercules.
It's one of my favourite episodes in the series because it blurs the lines of reality and the show that way, and the actors are clearly having a blast lamb-basting the crew and production team with their characterizations (Bruce Campbell as Rob Tapert is just perfect). It is, however, worth mentioning that it's also one of the more infuriating episodes of the season, because it's mainly built on flashbacks to previous episodes.
Anyway, Vega witnesses the terrible things that Strife is doing with Ares and--rightly--gives it to him. So why the dread? Because of the obvious feelings of betrayal about Strife's siding with Ares, and because of Strife's initial callous reaction to those feelings: "That was two thousand years ago! Get over it!"
That got me to wondering about Strife's death experience; obviously, he would know that two thousand years have passed, but has he really felt that passage of time? Through Vega, he's been pulled out of Asphodel--because Callisto killed him in mumblemumble B.C.E.--but would he have sensed all the time he spent there? Was he aware?
For Vega, the two thousand years have passed in relative heart-beat, so the argument doesn't especially apply to her. So then, if Strife didn't feel his death-time and Vega obviously wouldn't have felt it either, the only person for whom this argument works is Ares.
That's not to say that the line is out of place really. It's certainly fitting with Strife's character and past. He clearly loves Vega, but he's been fiercely loyal to Ares--forever, quite literally. Ideally, he would be able to have both of them without one relationship getting in the way of the other. It's just that maybe he's trying to get to that point too quickly.
But the strain passes when Strife realises what he's been doing with Ares, and he and Vega sort of resolve the argument. I still had to sigh some mixture of distress and tentative relief when the chapter ended on that precarious note.
On a less distressed, more delighted note, the scene following "Yes, Virginia" where Vega "wakes up" in the lecture hall, curses, sets the prof straight, and stalks out in a huff--I wish I'd had such a good excuse for the few times I'd actually fallen asleep in lecture. Alas, I think I can only chalk it up to bad sleeping habits. All the same, it was a great moment in the chapter.
munchings and crunchings
There's something nostalgic for me about eating snap-peas.
I haven't had them raw in a long time (though I've had them in Chinese food dishes plenty), but I bought some that came in little snack-packs at Shaws. Baby carrots and snap peas, nothing special. But it's reminding me of eating them fresh from the garden when my family lived in Pennsylvania.
I would "help" my parents collect the vegetables--whatever was ripe at the time. And, with snap-peas in particular, it was very easy to just graze. Grab a handful; sit on one of the box-walls; munch; stare back at Rocko, or Muppet, or Stony, or Smoky, or whichever of the cats would come to see what on earth I was doing; attempt to feed snap-pea to cat; fail; eat it myself. And when the handful was gone, I'd go back for more and start the process over again.
What can I say? Bunny.
Too bad I don't like carrots as much as I like snap-peas. They're all right, but snap-peas ... mmm.
26 March 2007
foiled again
In regards to my intentions to post a decent entry, but also this:
As Manuela was assuring me a moment ago, if something can go wrong, it probably will.
I went down to the school's Human Resources last Friday after work to try to get my employee ID, but once I got there at around quarter after three, I was told that the only possible person who could administer my ID was in a meeting. This meeting would be running for an indefinite amount of time, so I should just go and call on Monday (today) before dropping in.
All of this, of course, was preceded by a myriad of questions about why I didn't already have an employee ID, and why wasn't I given one at orientation? Why do I need one now? Etc. Not that it was really anyone's business but my own, but I answered all of these questions with frank honesty. I don't have an ID, because I haven't needed one until now; and they didn't give me one at orientation, because they weren't sure of my ID number (which is the exact same number as my student number--a fact that I was well aware of ahead of time, but that they doubted at this orientation); I want one now, because I'd like to join the University's gym, and you need a valid University ID in order to swipe through.
So I called this morning, and--after being put on hold, and then having to leave a call-back, and then being called ten minutes later--was told that any time between nine and four would be convenient. I left my office almost immediately, because I wanted to get this over with, once and for all!
Between 11:45 and 12:00, I was sitting and waiting in the HR waiting area--and then I actually made it into the picture-taking room! But then I was left to sit there alone for another fifteen minutes or so ... and when the woman, all too willing to give me an ID came back, the camera was upside down. Why they can't rotate the image in the application they have, I don't know--but they can't.
And they couldn't fix it either. All they could do was giggle about my upside-down state, and assure me that it's never done that before. After fiddling with the programme and poking the camera a few times, they asked me to call them again at three and see if the problem was fixed. So I'm going to call them after work, and maybe--just maybe--go get my ID.
However, after all this nonsense, I'm nearly convinced that the universe is conspiring against my efforts to get an employee ID. Or maybe it's just a case of its being Monday. Whatever the case, I'm hoping for the best, while having the good (and, yes, pessimistic) sense to expect the worst.
What's been entertaining me lately? Netflix is doing a good job, and fan fiction too. Arkaidy updated a 19th chapter some time last night, and I started reading it this morning, but then I had to go to work--and this ID madness has kept me from taking full advantage of the internet today (and so what am I doing right now, then? oh, yes--public venting, that's right). I'm interested to see how the gods-battery is going to work out. I'll probably just re-read the beginning and then the whole chapter whenever I get home tonight.
Lately with Netflix I've been watching Beauty and the Beast (a show that first aired in 1987, staring Ron Pearlman and Linda Hamilton [Nemesis, nya-ha-ha--no, really]). I only vaguely remembered watching it with my mom when I was younger, but I did recall that we both enjoyed it, so I decided to rent it.
It's a little saccharine, and more than a little melodramatic--leading me to the conclusion that it was best taken in small, hour-long, weekly doses. You know, rather than three hours in one shot. Watching four episodes, one after the other, the dialog becomes repetitive; and Linda Hamilton's behaviour is noticeably wishy-washy. I keep expecting her to do something bad-ass and Terminator-ish, so the softer-side-of-Sears attitude of Catherine just seems fake and annoying.
Even after all of these criticisms, I still enjoy the show. There's something distinctly nostalgic that I get from watching it. I remember sitting on the foot-end of the bed in my parents' bedroom, eating popcorn, and being allowed to stay up late and watch this show. I always thought that Vincent and Catherine should get together--in spite of his being a mutant cat-faced man.
And I still think that 'Vincent' is better looking than Ron Pearlman. ****
I feel like I should say something about The River King as well, since that was the last actual movie that I received from Netflix. I can't think of anything clever at the moment, though; only that it's weird to hear 'Elizabeth Bennet' (Jennifer Ehle) with an American (or maybe it was supposed to be Canadian?--I know that she is actually from one of the Carolinas) accent and to see her with straight blond hair (though, for all I know, that may be her real colour).
It's a hazy, gray film, and the surprises are more like depressing disappointments; but its brooding quality is also what makes it a beautiful piece. ***1/2
20 March 2007
come as you are
It's been nearly a month since I've posted in this blog, and I'd like to make a longer entry than this (because I do have plenty to write about). But I'm about to go home (in, oh, ten minutes), so anything of real substance may be put off until this evening. Or perhaps tomorrow morning.
Suffice to say, St. Patrick's Day weekend was good fun (in Boston, how could it not be?).
I have a wretched habit of dropping obsessions and taking up new (or old) ones. I think it has something to do with compulsive tendencies and seasons and weather.
For example: the weather is cold and I'm stuck inside, so my inner home-maker decides to do stereotypical hausfrau things like cooking, cleaning, sewing, etc.
Now the weather is slowly becoming pleasant again, and clothing is changing to suit that, so my ego comes home and says, "Get out and do something! Do some crunches! Summer is going to be here, and you don't want to look the way you do when that happens!"
So my arts and crafts have been ousted from their mental slot by thoughts of exercise and diet. It's rather unfortunate, since I think I enjoy the arts and crafts more than the latter two.
It's also unfortunate that I suffer this mental tunnel-vision that blocks out the other things I enjoy while I'm concentrating too much on things that don't give me much pleasure. That's not to say that I don't find things about exercising and cuisine to enjoy. Certainly I do--I think I'm going to enjoy my new bento box whenever it arrives.
But I miss writing. And sewing. Maybe once I get into a particular habit, I'll be able to do all of these things without getting migraines or being extra-exhausted by the end of the day just from thinking about them.
On that note, I'm going home.
But later: the fanfic reading update! And some thoughts on that and other entertaining things I've seen lately.
P.S. Arkaidy, you are one of the cool kids.
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