Check it out – o great flying spaghetti monster!
We are crabby here. \malware
Check it out – o great flying spaghetti monster!
We are crabby here. \malware
As they say in Aberdeenshire. We got two inches (5cm) yesterday and then 5 lovely local lads banged on my door and offered to shovel, so right now I am EXCEEDINGLY WELL PLEASED with the youth of Burnaby. The fact that it was a black kid, a couple of Asian kids and a couple of white kids was the wonderment on top of the pleasedness.
Off to Gadget House tomorrow for a week of writing and making mOm alternately furrow her brow, laugh uproariously and say meep. What pOp will have to say is anyone’s guess but I’m sure he will enjoy me describing to him what prank Paul intends to play on him the next time he has an overnight in Victoria. (It is a wonderful prank, one of the best, actually, but some preparation is likely required). I may or may not post so worry not, I’ll be back.
Autumn is lovely, lively, noisy and her farts will bang your olfactory bulb like a big brass gong. Margot only hissed at her WHEN I WAS WATCHING, so I think she’s a little busted up still but will figure out she’s not the only cat anymore soon. We may have left it a little too long after Eddie died, but I can’t complain with the results. Autumn is everything we wanted in a cat and has already demonstrated that she is lap ready.
Totally loving the Danish Swedish coproduction The Bridge / Bron / Broen. The plotting is nutso but I love the characters.
Sue’s going to pick me up for church in about 20 minutes so I should fix ma hair and change into church duds. I am bringing biscotti to the church lunch and I plan to charge for them for the coffee fund.
It’s been a week since I saw Alex, sadface, but he’s apparently doing well.
I’m on the john talking to my mother on the phone and THAT’S when Autumn comes up and starts loving on me so hard that it’s embarrassing. Darn you critter! I was ALREADY multitasking and you just made my life harder. I almost wish somebody had been filming my attempt to manipulate toilet paper while fending off a most importunate feline. No I don’t but it would have been funny.
I then hucked Margot off her (Margot is spherical with fluffy rage and making strangling noises with occasional hisses for contrast and after my third attempt to make her back off took refuge in Jeff’s room) and played with her for about half an hour until I was exhausted (and I was pretty tired from standing and baking). There is biscotti.
I got pictures. She is SO PRETTY. And soft. Softer by far than any cat since Kira, and I think even softer than her.
THERE WERE SO MANY COOKIES. I only took a few; I left a tray of biscotti.
I was expecting to be asleep two hours ago and now I’m so tired I am glad i am in bed as I think I could just clunk.
Hi, friends, and some relatives. This is what I did today. (Thursday November 29th)
Up Burnaby Mountain to The Protest
Just go! I thought as I tried to find information about where to go, how much walking, what to expect. Just show support by arriving … somewhere. But Burnaby Mountain covers a large area, and if I went up it the way I knew, up to SFU, the only satisfaction I might have would be that I tried. Not much support for the protest against Kinder Morgan.
After much trial and error I found a map. Park near Curtis and Ayrshire, and just head UP, and UP, on a paved walkway, across Burnaby Mountain Parkway, and UP a little further to an information tent where you are told where the action is.
I saw Karl Perrin [of the Unitarian Church of Vancouver] at the tent. I had heard he was arrested the day before. Was he out already?
The drilling had moved, and the gathering was now down a very steep deeply muddy path, slippery, winding, intersected by thick roots and unexpected holes. People said it took 10 to 15 minutes to get to the gathering. It took me at least 30 minutes of hanging on to branches, tree trunks, people. The demographic was young. A guy tore a dead tree limb from the ground and handed it to me for a walking stick. Everyone wanted to help.
I could hear drumming: the First Nation presence. Speakers. Singing of an adaptation of We Shall Overcome.
Sliding, slipping, holding on, I reached a place where I could see the yellow ribbon. To go past that meant arrest. Gentle arrest it seemed. The police were friendly.
Someone was speaking. She was telling of her arrest the day before. The police carried her to a van. Solidarity Notes had been singing, and some of them were arrested at the same time. There was singing in the van. Singing again in the room they were taken to, and yet again in individual cells. Kraft dinner was provided. She signed a statement. I gather that at that point they were released, with trial was set for January 12th. That was it. I could have done that! But what would the arrest mean? Would one then be a “person of interest”? Well, if I could interpret it as interest in not having oil pipelines, in avoiding oil, that would be all right with me.
I headed back up the trail. Home to wash my mud soaked shoes and pants. Home to warm up.
PLEASE NOTE COPYRIGHT FOR THE ABOVE POST BELONGS TO MARILYN MEDEN
Sexism takedown. Funny military story.
Poop is Coming – to infinity and beyond. Ad astra per fecula!
Mindblowing investigation into how our nervous system could help with infectious disease diagnosis.
She has found two favourite hiding places and only comes out to eat and poop. She is NOT happy about being rehomed. Margot is actually starting to be concerned for her. Very odd.
Very much enjoying the Danish Swedish German coproduction The Bridge. The slobby but effective Dane and the ice cold and effective Swede make an interesting pair.
SUPER very much enjoyed an evening of frivolous drinking with SCARY CLOWN! Yes he has made a reappearance in my life and he gave me the most excellent compliment, “I had forgotten how much fun you are.” Happy sigh!
Posted by me on social media this morning, re getting rid of friends because of their reaction to Ferguson.
I have friends across the political and social spectrum. I try to love them for the life they are and not hate them for what they believe. I am not going to use political events to tell me when to cull my friendslist. I am not going to edit my reality tunnel to make it more comfortable. I am going to accept that people are irrational and irascible and afraid, and I’m going to work on my OWN racism and shine a light on where that work takes me. I can’t hate a racist into being more loving, or ignore her into being more rational. I recognize that my response is from a place of privilege because I’m white, but I believe that it’s a moral response that balances the sad truth that as a white person I know racists, and that as a white person I need to eradicate my racist thoughts, words, attitudes and beliefs. If Ferguson was your wakeup call, exactly how long have you been paying attention?
Once upon a time I had a chance to have a kid with nappy hair. It was a long time ago and beside, that ex-husband is dead. (RIP Phillip, you were one powerfully strange dude).
Styled, wild, fro’ed, dreaded, combed, razored. It is not a sexualized thing, and I don’t normally publicly comment, but I love it, and when I see a really awesome do, I don’t say a damn thing. I just feel happy.
The Good Little Dood lived up to his moniker, doing the two things he’s best at, being adorable and farting pretty much continuously.
I held him while the homilist sang Angels Among Us and he smiled at me. He thought very hard about what was appropriate before he unfurled his brow and gave me that “your mirror neurons will go nuts” look. I suspect he came into the world with a rather solemn but undemanding temperament. Time will tell.
Autumn Cat has landed! Poor Margot.
Alex will be at church with Katie, or so it was arranged and I piously hope will come to pass. I do coffee today so it’s even money whether or not I get to be upstairs for the homily portion. Sue is taking me in early and I’ll do an inventory and see if there’s enough of whatnot for coffee etc., then cross the street and pick it up. Happy daze. Should be a good homily though. Marilyn asked me to do another homily for January 4 – one of the worst attended days of the year – so I’m going to do what I can to boost the numbers. If you’re reading this, why not come to church that day!!??
THE GREAT YULETIDE COOKIEPALOOZA happens next Friday. It will turn into a filk. A messy messy housefilk, with crumbs and greasy thumbprints on the music. Yes, indeed. Thanks to Tom and Peggy for hosting. We will also have the AMERICAN CONTINGENT, being the uber crafty Jeri-Lynn and the suavely geeky Jeff. Who are just so awesome. Cindy and possibly others will attend also.
It’s raining. After yesterday’s glorious sun (which I got to walk around in, thanks to Paul not understanding that the Brighton Costco parking lot at 11 am is the worst fucking place in the known universe and how long precisely has he been living in Burnaby grumble grumble, but no harm done). I drove through the parking lot and then drove back to Planet Bachelor and walked home from there, accompanied by Keith who just felt like continuing the conversation, which was pleasant, and made the walk back go in an eyeblink. I needed the exercise. I really wanted to pick some stuff up at Costco because there’s some bread there I can’t find anywhere else plus cheap butter and you know, baking, but perhaps I can borrer the car. Apart from the walk and the abortive Costco trip I basically stayed in bed crying all day, but I’m feeling much better now. Tammy is coming in December! Conflikt 8 (I can scarcely credit it…) is coming! And I still haven’t registered or figured out how I am getting there. If I’m staying extra long I may need to like, bus it. Bleaaugh.
I love my mOm and pOp. mOm provided the correct stream of unfiltered bubbliness (occasionally going off mike to inform pOp of my responses) to assist with my bad case of the Marthambles – why, she’s better than a dose of Dr. Tufts finest elixir.
Still no cat. I suspect what has happened is that the daughter has flung herself on the ground and pleaded her mom not to let Autumn go and the mom has been too embarrassed to tell Jeff she’s changed her mind, but perhaps Jeff is right and it’s just taking longer than expected. Sometimes I think this culture is so indulgent to its children because these are the last good days and everybody’s trying to make them seem extra special.
I removed an incredible amount of hair surplus to requirements from Margot yesterday. She was not amused.
Day five of Vitamin D, Vitamin C, B6, probiotics and MSM. I am definitely feeling less achey, except for my hands, which is making me not want to play my Otto.
Jeff’s playing computer games on line with somebody, I assume Andrew – I can hear him talking to somebody on the headset. “I think we just combined to kill one of our own tanks!” is the latest.
With sadness, I have cancelled the piano lessons. He wasn’t listening to my course corrections and I’m not paying a man $35 bucks an hour to ignore me when I can have it for free any time I want on the internet.
My most recent painting is an unmitigated disaster. I am going to paint over it. I got the colours right but the design has much suckage – I think I’ll paint over it as a zombie heart.
Now to make a chocolate cake for church and figure out what I am going to wear. And I have to remember to take a tape measure, for I mean to measure some crania, I do, I do, for future hatmaking endeavours. Hats and spats. Cravats with cats. Fingerless gloves and pleather utility belts. I have to figure out how to make a living, and since there seems to be an inexhaustible interest in the steampunk aesthetic, I shall pursue that hobby for a while.
The job interview evaporated. The job is located at a place impossible to get to by transit even though it’s only a few blocks from a Skytrain station. Without a car, it’s not going to fly, and at 12 bucks an hour I can’t afford to run a car. Other jobs that appeared this week want me to have a vehicle, work for less than 14 dollars an hour and be ‘youthful’ (which is not in accordance with the labour laws, but fuck me, right?) and an assortment of other ghastly jobs.
I am going to go back to bed until my ride shows up for an extended shopping trip. Can’t talk about the rest of it. It’s not like any random stranger could do anything about it, and my friends know the drill.
The only thing I managed to accomplish this week was getting a couple of hundred hours’ worth of movies shipped off to Sandy – there will be some real treats in there for her, I believe.
I have a job interview next week – no time set yet so it’s still a possibility rather than a sure thing. If I recall correctly it doesn’t pay well but it isn’t a ghastly way to make a living and it’s got a half hour commute, ten minutes if I’m in a car.
I bought a sewing machine…. looking forward to unlimbering it on some steampunk costuming and, er, baby clothes. Possibly steampunk baby clothes. Gack.
My youngest child is 26 today. A good age to be having a first child, not too young and not too old.
I am a clueless white liberal, so I am about to rant on something, and it’s my blog, so I’m not polluting anybody else’s airspace if they don’t want to be looking this way.
Has it occurred to no-one else that Bill Cosby has arc’d out of the Republicanesque Favorable Narrative of Blackness, with his education and charm and commitment to excellence and family values, into the Vile Caricature of Hypersexualized Negritude, which scales fame to access young white women to drug and abuse? He’ll die broke. I cheerfully predict it. As soon as someone with a credible civil case and an appropriate legal venue appears – and the sharks, they circle even now – he’s going to go bankrupt defending himself, as he will be honor bound to do, since he is, of course, innocent. As far as the courts are concerned, which means nothing in these parlous times. In a way, it’s a shame for him that he didn’t go to court ten years ago. The culture wars looked a little different back then, and he might have walked free with his fortune intact.
TTTO The Jersey Bounce. Extra credits if you can imagine Ella Fitzgerald singing it.
They call it that Philae bounce
Miscalculate by an ounce
The ESA tension mounts
Wherever they aimed, they really should feel no shame
It started in Darmstadt town
Decided to put it down
On Comet 67P
That’s quite a feat you will agree
Somehow, screws didn’t grab
Somehow, not like the lab
No grip, makes it bounce, real high
So if you are feeling blue
Go out to some space venue
And whether you’re hep or not
The Philae bounce’ll make you swing
How I love that Philae bounce
Oh come on replay that Philae bounce
Ounce by ounce
The Philae Bounce
Puts you right in the swing
That Philae Bounce
It’ll make you swing
Give me that Philae Bounce.
I stayed in bed most of the day. I have no idea why I feel so etiolated.
I read this book – which turns out to have been almost entirely ghostwritten – dozens of times as a kid growing up. I can recite dozens of jokes from it.
I didn’t like the elder Hope, but the Bob Hope of the Road movies was a funny, funny guy. Here’s an article about that.
Yay! I got almost a decent night’s sleep.