Category: Fiction

The Giant Squid has Not

Cake, Pudding and Cheese are the three alien babies who named themselves after food because food is always popular among humans.  Apex predators aren’t supposed to name themselves after food, that is just wrong, but some of the babies have names like Doofus (“Nobody will be afraid of an alien named Doofus” and Etazonia (which is a variant of États-Uni, so one of the kids named herself after the United States, which is also pretty bizarre.)  They have briefly shown up at a family reunion – just long enough to mention that they’ve been rehearsing, and to sing a three part version of “The Giant Squid has Not” – with animations, sound effects, and stage business – on their way to a gig on the Island.  So I didn’t really write 500 words yesterday, it was 500 less the words I quoted from Brooke’s song, which was just the first verse. Hey, their dad’s a filk fan, and why the hell not.  I’m going to write about what I know, right? bwa ha, ha ha.

Some of the babies were named by their mother and their mother’s current squeeze (Kima and Michel are a very cute couple.)  But when you’re having 175 babies at once some of them get away on you before you can name them.  Hey, it was an accident.  It’s hard to do something right when you’ve never done it before and there’s no precedent.

Jeff, who is a life-saver, got treats yesterday AND got malware off my Mac, which is very very happy making.

Margot jumped up onto the sofa to say hi yesterday and accept skritches when we were watching some tv… She rarely does this when both of us are there.  Buster is usually sitting on my side of the sofa and I must threaten him with the Giant Setting Bum of Allegra which usually means that Jeff rescues him from being crushed milliseconds before he gets mashed into the cushion because he is unconcerned by impending doom.  He is the least ready-to-take-offense-or-be-frightened cat I’ve ever met.

Hell on Wheels continues to entertain, the new Patrick Stewart sitcom (Blunt Talk) is uneven but when funny EXCRUCIATINGLY so, Brent Spiner shows up in a guest slot that will make all the fans go squee, and if you don’t want to watch Walter Blunt /Patrick Stewart down three Ambien when he was expecting three Provigil while sucking back marijuana edibles like an East Burnaby ‘hood rat and washing them down with scotch, you shouldn’t watch it. Jeff and I were both very entertained by the opening shot.  Patrick Stewart doesn’t just have a bald head, he has an ICONIC bald head.

It seems clear that a new generation of comedy writers is taking on the half hour sitcom format and making it new.  Grace and Frankie, the Brink and Blunt Talk (and bunches of others we haven’t seen because we’re not fans of the writers or stars) are sophisticated, funny, humane, well-acted, written and directed and they move like screwball comedies on rails.

Did you know that JFK was accidentally shot by his own security detail?  Many things about the shooting now make much more sense in the light of this new theory.

The Mr. Robot season finale didn’t air because some content was too similar to a shooting in the US which happened during the same news cycle, so they had to can it — we’ll see it later.  And props to the show runners and network for giving it a rest.  The fans will wait.  The Rick and Morty was okay, there were some good laughs and Keith David as a voice actor is always worth the listen.

also.

Almost every single episode of West Wing that we’re watching is pulling its news from CURRENT headlines – and the show’s been off the air almost a decade.  Sometimes the overlaps are so freaky that Jeff just look at each other all o,O like what the HELL man.  Last night it was ‘we’re really close to curing cancer’ and it was so similar to the recent news it was surreal. And people torching AME churches and school shootings, it’s all…. yeah.

Everybody drive safe this weekend.  There may be flash floods and overwhelmed streams and sewers may make for trouble in low lying areas. We’re still going to be on water restrictions.

Mike has returned from South Africa, the single most brutal business trip he’s ever been on, and Jarmo had his last day yesterday at Evilcorp.  Mike took me to supper last night.  Just for future reference, the steak sandwich special for 10 bucks on Thursday night is totally worth it; best beef for the price I’ve had in ages.

 

Went for a walk

Paul called very late in the day, probably around 8, and we went for a walk down at the Quay and saw adult and juvenile bald eagles and harbour seals waiting for a salmon snack because they are having a tiny little run in the mighty Fraser.

Then I picked up some Blue Buck and we consumed a beer apiece on the back deck – it was deliciously cool after a stinking hot day – and while we were sitting there (Paul was planning his next trip to ON which we hope will include Chipper’s campground) a greater brown bat flew over our heads but under the clothesline.  I actually heard the whoosh of its wings as it flew by.  A great end to the day.

I wrote 697 words yesterday, they’ve all gone off to mOm.

Catching up

It’s been a lively couple of days.  I’ve been writing hard, practiced almost enough, played at church to sincere and life affirming compliments, showed the shop, made the decision to hand the keys over to the landlord, got into last minute negotiations with guys that came in at Christmas, had a spider drop onto my keyboard and scare the shit out of me, I’ve stopped having nightmares but the insomnia has fired up again, we finished watching Jazz, which made me unhappy because it was SO wonderful, and I received some Buddhist wisdom which allowed me to release a lot of stored animus toward my life and situation.  I learned that my travel plans into the US are probably going to be completely fucked up by the INSANE weather ongoing in most of the US – shit, it’s warmer in Alaska – which reminds me of the time that I wanted to get to a con which would have been crucial to my development as an SF writer and 9/11 intervened, except this time it’s all expenses paid and guess what, they’ll WAIT for me, as I don’t imagine I’d be stranded more than two days so I’ll still get to do it.  I learned that Pearl, Cat Faber’s octave mandolin (ALSO by Peter Cox) experienced technical difficulties and is now in the shop, meaning I do not have an octave mandolin as a back up if United destroys or loses Otto. (And I know that as sad as that might be, I would just ask for the bits back or get Peter to make me another one, him being obliging that way, if remunerated.  Who’s to say the replacement wouldn’t be even more amazing?)  This means I would have to do the entire concert on a regular sized mando – which I DO NOT WANT – or transpose EVERYTHING to a guitar, which for a couple of songs would be fine and for everything else would probably cause my nervous system to implode – or sing the entire concert a capella, which would be extremely wearing for my audience.  I will be taking Lemming’s advice about packageration seriously.  I reproduce it below.  Jeff invented the word garbarcage to describe when tv shows are shitty because they have too much arc and too little of what we watch the shows for.  Eddie is needing fluids at least every other day, he has started to refuse his meds and he’s gone off his food, although he’s still making the trek to the litter tray.  Margot has gotten very sucky, which is unusual.  I’m making plans to travel after the shop is gone.  I found out that the Squamish name for Thomas Mulcair is “Angry Beard” (okay it’s just one Squamish dude who is calling him that, but DID I LAUGH when I read that) and that it’s too cold outside right now for the Lincoln Park Zoo Polar Bear. I’ve been applying for jobs every day, no response. However, I am relaxed about it.  What will be, will be.  No use flinching or being rebellious.  The leathern thong descends whether I’ve been a good girl or not.

 

Tip #1: Depending on size of body, sometimes banjo cases work for octave mandolin type instruments. Tip #2: A way to save money on a case AND protect the instrument: Call guitar stores in area and see if one will give you an instrument-size box. A banjo box would probably work. Check airline regs for box measurements before proceeding. They’re supposed to allow some leeway for musical instruments. Invest in some bubble wrap. Loosen strings. Wrap instrument in bubble wrap, inside soft case. Wrap case in bubble wrap. Stuff bubble wrap in bottom of box, put in instrument, put bubble wrap on all sides and top filling box, seal box with heavy 2″ wide packing tape, about twice as much as you need. Pack one roll of packing tape so you can re-pack before you leave to go home. Add handle (easy to make one with tape, or tape on a handle, or tie on some rope. Mark stuff on package with large black magic marker “THIS SIDE UP! FRAGILE: DO NOT BEND. CONTAINS ANGRY ELVES WHO WILL HURT YOU IF YOU WAKE THEM UP” or some such thing. Tip #3: First, find out if the planes you’re flying on all have closets. Second, carry the thing with you, in the soft case, but do wrap it in bubble wrap inside the case. Make sure it’s small enough to fit in the overhead. Go up to the counter and ask if they’ll find space in the closet for your instrument. If they’re crazy enough to want to gate-check it, well, that’s what the bubble wrap inside the case is for, but if they do that, ask them if they’ve seen the “United Breaks Guitars” video, nicely. If you have to put it in the overhead, stuff a large coat or something all around it so no one tries to smash it with their luggage. Again, bubble wrap. Bubble wrap is your friend

Oh, and don’t forget the loosen strings part. Most of the time, no difference, but the changes in air pressure in the luggage compartment plus string tension will eventually cause the neck to break at the nut.

And take along spare strings because one often breaks when you retighten.

Not another project, cheezy Pete

Yes, I am now working on a number of different projects.  I’m trying to concentrate on stuff I enjoy.  Anyway, the most recent one is called Tarot for Atheists, and it’s a radical revisioning of the Tarot in light of contemporary life.  For entertainment purposes only.  It’s loads of fun. I have already invented a pi layout and a Fibonacci layout and an x bar layout and a delta layout and will find other mathematical and scientific layouts I’m sure.

George and Kima also continue to chew thoughtfully on my brain.  Kima just ran down Denman street like a Catherine wheel in octopot form.  George is chasing after her apologizing to the pedestrians.  The next day signs appear all up and down the street Beware of Runaway Squid.

Margot is suffering dreadfully from allergies, her eyes are getting gunked up every day.  Eddie pulled a Margot last night and did something he’s never done the entire time I’ve known him … he got under my feet when I took my eyes off him.  I’m lucky I didn’t boot him across the room.

Used the cpap loaner for the first time last night.  YUCK.  It’s supposed to get easier, but it smells like ass and I can only sleep in one position or the mask shifts.  This will hurt my back.  Shoulder quite sore today, but I will press on through the exercises.

Today I go deal with business winding down things, hopefully.  We shall see.

I have now read a substantial portion of the Benedictine Rule to support my learnings in watching the Cadfael mysteries.  St. Benedict was an interesting dude.

 

I have had a very restful and yet sociable weekend.

This is a lovely combinertation in my view.

 

(Excerpt from The Warlord’s Cook)

I had this story from my mother.  She said it was from a book that was burned, but she read the book many times before she was fifteen and swears this is how it went.

Once upon a time, there was a man seeking employment speaking gibberish.  He could have gone into guild politics, and it would have been easier yet to go into religion.  He was an honest speaker of gibberish, nothing more, and he asked only that he be given an opportunity to practice his trade.

It was his job to hang around a certain rich man (actually, it was a group of rich guys who took him on as a kind of time share court jester but that only becomes relevant in a different story)- and while he was hanging around a certain rich guy, he was brought into the company of those who, for whatever reason, the rich guy wanted to mock and bewilder and otherwise mentally mess about with.

In those days – which weren’t that long ago, truth be told, although how far away it seems now for those of us too young to have been there – the rich man would have business meetings and the man who spoke gibberish would sit in a corner of the room, out of the way, and occasionally say something quietly but clearly in gibberish, and the rich man would pause, and say, “I will definitely have to consider that.”  The negotiations, of whatever form, would stagger along for a few moments and then there would be another outburst from the corner.  The rich man would pause, and say something soothing again. The fourth time this happened the rich man looked at him and paused long enough to eat a whole nut, and then said,

“Now Blib, you’re disturbing the work we’re doing. You’ve given me enough advice for tonight.”

Glaring (he had a ghost white face and big googly eyes) Blib would leave the room, looking like he was ready to kill someone.

“I hope he doesn’t mean to come back,” the rich man would say and then only the strongest minded individual would be able to continue along the path he had set for himself prior to the meeting.

Blib had similar sorts of jobs with other rich men, and he would sometimes pretend to be a soup-spilling waiter who also spoke gibberish, which caused no end of hijinks.

Abruptly one day the rich men all decided they wanted to spend the same amount of money for different things.  Blib had no work. One by one each of them turned to paying someone else to amuse them.  One preferred sex with men, one sex with women, one took up exotic drugs, one consumed more alcohol, and the last became depraved in the company of sheep. The moral of this story is very simple.

Depending on rich people is like building on sand.

 

If I think the warlord is being an ass I tell him one of my mother’s Blib stories.  She had a lot of them and they all ended the same way, hell for Blib.  He always managed to get another job though; Blib had a facility for survival that I always admired.

 

Mozart, moods and metal origami

I was a complete frackup this weekend.  I did manage to get some cleaning and laundry done, and I did cook some meals, so I didn’t entirely lay about and do nothing – but mostly I did, while feeling sorry for myself.

Saturday I bought work clothes for our dreaded new overlords have high standards in these things.  I even bought stuff that matched, which is just weird, and it was all solids or stripes, no tie dye. All of it makes me look older than my mother, buy which I mean that it’s all like polyester pantsuits.  Saturday night Jeff and I went to the opera.  It was a masterpiece but the chairs are BRUTAL at the Queen Elizabeth theater and the perfume was a-waftin’.  At half time, despite it being a superlative performance with amazing direction and one tight orchestra, we bailed.  If we could have watched it without being gassed by the fancy lookers in the audience, that would have been grand.  Jeff and I want to go back but we’re thinking a matinee.  The opera was Marriage of Figaro, and honestly, a better introduction to the opera isn’t possible.

Sunday, despite the fact Joy sent me a reminder email that I was supposed to do set up for church, I forgot and came to church late and Jason did all my work for me.  I did a penance afterwards which consisted of drying every last dish that had to be washed out for the annual congregational meeting.  I came home in full bore collapsing mode, I was so upset, and watched Talladega for a while.  Many crashes and a nailbiter finish.  I finally hauled myself up and tidied a bit.  After supper Paul and Keith came over.  I got all weepy and tragic on Paul, who very sensibly responded by hauling out the massage table and working me over until I quit whining, at which point he tucked me into bed (trust a dad to know how to do that right) and went home and then I slept for ten hours.  This is so much more sleep than I normally get that I am thrilled out of my mind.  I haven’t had any beer in the last two days, either.

And just to prove I haven’t stopped taking an interest in cool stuff.  …. metal origami.

Why I blog

Take that, people who say it’s nothin’ but narcissism.

Also, I have a terrible memory and a blog helps me remember when things happened.

Also, Katie has used my blog to help her remember when distressing and horrific things, as reported by me, happened.

Yesterday Paul and I drove up-island to visit his cousin Ruth in Nanaimo.  She’s living on an acre of land and she got it for a steal of a price, and she and her fisherman spouse are living very happily.  She has to walk fifteen minutes to get her mail, and another ten to get her eggs, but she’s a five minute drive from a yoga studio and she has her own well, so there.

She made us a fabulously warm welcome, and soon we were deep in talk about cob houses and straw bale houses and the Cuban 5 and the amazing local arts and politics scene, and after Paul re-strung her guitar I said I’m getting my mandolin, and she hauled out her Indian drums (sounds like tablas but they weren’t) and we had a fabulous 90 minutes of jamming.  I kept nervously checking the Malahat webcam.  Long about 4 we decided to head back.

And it snowed.  Paul and I were bemoaning our lack of cameras, because the snow slid down the road signs and just hung there, and some of the visual effects were quite funny.  The snow was worse in Victoria than up the Malahat, go figure.

Paul went off to hang with Dr Filk for the evening (more music, somewhere, and a meal in there too) and I grabbed some Mayan Chocolate Haagen Dazs and a small round of Brie (my god, they fell on it like animals…. well behaved, queuing animals) and Darwin had a noisy bath and went to bed and we ate pizza and I started reading The Caryatids by Bruce Sterling and at 7:30 I collapsed.  See what a day without coffee can do to me?  Also I did all the driving, since Paul has come to the realization that he can tolerate my tailgating and random lane changes way better than vice versa.  A couple of hours in the car also allowed us the opportunity for an airing of the grievances (or was more usually the case, the bragging of the amazingness) re the kids. Sometimes it’s good to have a chance to bash away at this stuff so we can present a united front when the next issue comes up….

Woke up at 4, edited the sound files I recorded yesterday of Darwin’s charming vocalizations, finished the Caryatids (three stars but I still want to know where the food of the future will be coming from), showered, and now I’m looking forward to a meal at my Granny’s place of residence and a nice ride home on the ferry, probably late in the afternoon.  And I can haz new quilt, which is actually a quilt that my mum made when I was tiny, so I am extremely happy about my ‘haul’.  Oh, also my grampa’s memory book (two thick tomes) has been delivered to me in duplicate for Jeff.

So far an AWESOME weekend, and watching Katie motor her way – reading, my god, she’s reading! – through the Sookie Stackhouse books is making me very very happy.

Movies

So, there are three movies I should mention which have wormed their way in front of me:  Jane Austen Book Club, La Vie en Rose, and Blast from the Past.

Jane Austen Book Club was goodhearted and fun, and there were definitely some good lines in it.  It could also have been entitled “Managing Multiple Fandoms in a Testosterone Reduced World” but that I guess is being too cynical.  I liked it because there was a character in it called Allegra, so every time her mother called for her or a character mentioned her name I’d sorta jerk reflexively.  And she’s a babydyke, just to add to the wonder…. Anyway, nautilus3 recommended it and I finally watched it with Jeff. He likes Emily Blunt (so do I) and there’s a scene where her character Prudie is being a ****ing pain in the ass, and I said, “I’ve been that woman, and Christ she’s annoying” and occasionally Jeff would pause it, waggle his eyebrows and go “That was a classic chickflick moment.”  Definitely a better script than you usually get with these kinds of outings, and the morals are delivered like the bill in a good restaurant, in a leisurely and tactful way.

La Vie en Rose I’m not going to talk about much.  If you like Edith Piaf, see the movie.  It’s great, and the lead performance is nothing short of mesmerizing – I can understand the Oscar nod. One of the best biopics ever, that I’ve seen anyway, possibly nosing out Ray as being the best I’ve ever seen.  And tasteful.  AND THE DUBBED SINGING IS AMAZING.  The lip synch was incredible.

Blast from the Past…. If you like Alicia Silverstone and Brendan Fraser, you’ve probably already seen it.  If you’re looking for a nice little comedy, undemanding, charming and steadily amusing, this will be a good companion.  I must mention the guest spot by Christopher Walken, who was just starting his streak of being in all movies in a supporting role.  I must own to liking Brendan Fraser – he was AWESOME in the first Mummy flick (I haven’t bothered with the others) and I really liked him in George of the Jungle.  He’s a goofy looking guy…  At one point in the movie I burst into tears and sobbed a couple of times.  After the movie I explained what was going on (Brendan did something for Alicia that somebody did for me once, and I lost it) and Jeff just said, “Oh, I just thought you’d gone crazy.”  Thanks, bud.

On another note, have you ever spent a fair amount of time with somebody, on a casual basis – like somebody you eat lunch with – and then one day he comes out and says something that everybody else at the table, including you, finds rather disturbing, and when somebody calls him on it he doesn’t notice?  I had one of those moments yesterday.  Rather than get into details, I’ve decided to turn the spotlight back on myself.  Mocking the afflicted IS NOT A NICE THING TO DO.  I should stop doing it.  I should recognize when I’m doing it.

Master Jeff is in da house

Eddie and Gizmo celebrated his return by running up and down the hallway in an attempt to mimic the percussive qualities of army boots on wooden floors.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop with the ghetto slang.  I know there are many things that are seriously wrong with me…that seems to be pretty minor, all things considered.

That goshdarned full moon, which was fan-dancing with the clouds when I was standing on the ‘train platform last night!  I went to Brentwood Mall under its malign influence and bought matching earrings, bag, shoes and hairband (?!) and then bought, yeesh, makeup and got taught, in a very luxurious and unhurried way, how to apply it.  I’d say something about lipstick on a pig at this point, but I suspect nautilus3 is rather sensitive on that subject, for two reasons; one, the pig is her totem animal and she’s not one for mocking them, and two, when she was a high powered executive with 600 full time equivalents reporting to her (didn’t know that, eh, thought she was just a nice old lady, did ya?) lipstick was the only makeup she wore.  I wish I’d stayed and gotten my toes done but I’ll see if I can do that tonight.

mOm and pOp told OnSpec to send me a free copy of the their mag, and for bedtime reading (I hardly ever read a book these days, such is the pull of one phosphor dot screen or another) I read halfway through it.  Apart from thinking that the writing style of all the contributors remarkably similar, I really enjoyed it, and I think I will subscribe.  When you pick up a mag and DON’T think at any point, why’n’earth did they publish this, that’s a good sign.  I even liked the poetry, which is either a sign of necrosis of the brain or quality, you pick.

Off to a party tonight (thus the matching shoes, bag, earrings, hairband), and I will look fabulous in my outfit.  I even depilated, which is either a sign of the apocalypse or that I’ll be exposing more of my surface area than is normally the case, you pick.  Daughter Katie’s supposed to turn up and fix my hair, but after a lot of fussing around last night (Jeff would have been harrumphing had he been here, I was in the facility so long) I think I can do it myself if she bails. At least she’s okay.  I grouse, but I worry ’bout that kid. She’s moving back in with her pop and Keith and I for one am thrilled.

Tomorrow, I go shopping at Famous Foods in the AM and then ScaryClown comes over in the PM and we’ll have a documentary fest and I think I’ll cook up some yummy food.  He has to leave early (after supper) because he’s due to get up at hours ungodly on Sunday to get to the airport to fly to Providence, where he intends at some point to climb in a taxi or round up a sympathetic coworker (it’s a biz trip) and get driven out to HP Lovecraft’s grave.

This, like everything else in my mind, dovetails neatly with other family news; the parental units have commissioned a metal sculpture of one of the Old Ones.  It is disguised as a cephalopod, but those in the know will be aware that it is actually (dah dah duhhn!) something otherworldly.

I am planning on taking ScaryClown to Gadget House at some point and asking my parents to adopt him as a grandson, or possibly a nephew.  The idea of going on a road trip with ScaryClown alternately makes me blanch, giggle and furrow my brow.

Then, Sunday, my 50th birthday. It simply wouldn’t BE my birthday if I wasn’t importing guests, so Dr Filk has, with my warm thanks, agreed to come across the pond – Lady Miss Banjola, who will likely also attend, is requiring his presence for further practice, rehearsal, and scoffing, teasing and saying, You’re Fired repeatedly. All perfectly standard.  It should be a small and convivial crewe.  (Also with any luck Darwin the Alert and Lexi the Not-So-Alert-as-Darwin will attend.)  I’m gonna have an acoustic bass in my living room.  Let joy be unrefined!  Oh, yes, there will be filk.

I just opened a card from my folks, which reads “Thank you for the special gift of being our daughter.  Happy half century!”  Gosh, (scuffs toes) couldn’t have done it without yuz. PS thanks for the terabyte drive pOp.  Jeff and I are considering what uses to put it to…..

False Creek & home again.

I now know how to get to False Creek by bus.  The “Spit” yesterday (Spits being gatherings of Dunnett fans) was at Monk McQueens on False Creek,  a restaurant I’ve never been too. The service was sort of the standard Vancouver crabby – but the food was good and the view and company very pleasant.  The husbands don’t usually come along – most middle aged men will take a quick one in the ear before spending the afternoon with a bunch of strong willed middle aged women – but one did and he definitely was no wallflower.  AND I got a free button (Gelis is my heroine) which is pretty funny…. but it would only be funny and make sense for you if any of you had read the books. I ate oysters and drank draft Russell’s while the sun moved.  (Yes, technically everything is moving, and the earth is rotating around the sun).

Got a lift home, thank you Ingrid, and then finished Band of Brothers and watched the most recent episode of BSG.  Once again, operating on the theory that you just can’t have enough sleep, I went to bed early.

Waffles with strawberries and sausage for breakfast; barbecued pork chops, new potatoes with chives and sour cream, and fresh asparagus for dinner last night.

We expect to see Keith turn up some time today; apparently he went canoeing yesterday.

I’ve moved the strawberry plants the Luddite gave me to the front stairs, where they will get more light. Although he’s from south London originally, when he’s larding it on thick he goes pure Yorkshire and says things like Look-sure-ee, lass! which never fails to crack me up.  I think it’s a Look-sure-ee that I’ve got strawberry plants on my front stairs.

Today, puttering and laundry and at least one song stuck in Songwriter.  I’ve got some short ones… at this point anything would do.  Of course, the most recent one is Willie P’s Lament.  It’s only a minute long, in its current configuration; I’m quite fond of it. I just wish I could play it and simultaneously get the fretboard fingering, the picking, and the intonation solid.  I’m definitely working on the ‘best two out of three’ theory but I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, I only wrote it a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t been practicing much.  It was fun practicing it on Wreck Beach earlier – all I can say is my next instrument will be even lighter than a mandolin.

The only thing wrong with this video… and other random posts all sfw

Is that it isn’t mashed up with Thomas Dolby’s Wind Power.

(spectacular failure under load of a commercial wind turbine in Denmark).

An old post from boingboing, reminiscent in many ways of a Monty Python sketch.

A copyright picture of an F-16 intake vortex. Hath coolness!

Buffy’s going to Paleyfest???? ho lee chow!

wOOt, real time satellite tracking!

Ooh, slashfic. Where was I again? Actually, this is fanfic, but you get the point. For those of us who love SF and don’t understand slash, it’s where you rewrite the stories so all the right, or all the wrong, people actually have sex. Throw in some Buffy, Pirates of the Caribbean and Terminator, and … well, it’s a bad idea, but everybody’s doing it, including me (Jayne and Zoe??????). The difference between me and all the other slashficcers is that I DON’T PUBLISH IT, and you thank his noodly appendage for that. Ooh, an all cast photo….

Physics continues to operate for this unfortunate pole vaulter.

I’m up, might as well drink coffee.

Is it the world’s cutest lizard? It’s plenty cute!

Some guy did a cartoon of this, and next thing you know, the power of the internet made it so.

If you got this far, go look at some Mitch Hedberg on youtube. I just want you to understand that I think he is one of the sexiest men who ever lived. Yes, I am sick. That haircut! All the guys in my high school had that haircut! Heart Heart.
Look what I found on a contemporary feminism site!

Happy Valentines Day, Canada – Harper rams one past us YET AGAIN.

Now I’m really mad. I have to write a letter to somebody.

A small but appreciative audience.

I read my story-so-far to the Luddite, who is now encouraging me to finish it, and making suggestions, including less talk and more action.  ‘Twas ever thus!  About some things men are quite consistent.

Dragged my surly self into the office an hour early to learn about setting up queues for the VOIP lines.  My head  buzzed like a thwacked beehive and I was insufficiently slept and caffeinated to actually take on anything resembling information.  Fortunately the day got better although I felt like I could have used toothpicks to keep my eyes open.