3.31.2008
Holy Hell Geekery, Batman!
The Raconteurs have a new album. And they're on tour. Granted, they aren't quite as good as The White Stripes, but I'll take what I can get since Meg's having problems. You see, Jack White is a god - a musical diety. In person, he's a real sweetheart and genuinely appreciative of his fans. When I met him, I was starstruck for a week. Ticketmaster sends me little alerts when a band they think I like comes to town. After learning of the new Raconteurs album, via said Ticketmaster alert, I was curious to view their website. It is (and this is where the geekery comes into play) set up to look like an old-school green-screen computer monitor, like the kind they have in 80's movies like Terminator. A true geek could probably tell you the make and model and OS for the thing, but I'm not that good. Anyway, go an check it out, even if you don't like the band. You'll see what I mean and then I won't feel so stupid.
3.20.2008
Sista's Gotsta Stick Togetha' 'N Hell
The Park Bench blog is going to be my new regular reading. Just check out this post.
3.17.2008
Soft, Cuddly and Straight from Hell
With all of my knitting groups, belly dancing class, gym workouts and general drunken stupor, I feel like I hardly accomplish anything. But, over the weekend, I sat down and made a Softie! Softies are basically stuffed animals/objects that are designed by indie artists and generally not for children (because of small parts or delicacy). The one I made is from the Softie kit I bought on Wednesday at Fancy Tiger.
I also found this lovely website this morning, called Softies Central. The Softies book is on this blog, at the top left. I'll try and post a pic of my Softie - which is a little cake - as soon as I sift through all the crap on my camera and suffer through the insufferable download process (or is that upload?) I think I could get into making these in a big way. I've got dozens of ideas floating around in the ol' noggin. The trouble is translating them into workable patterns.
I also found this lovely website this morning, called Softies Central. The Softies book is on this blog, at the top left. I'll try and post a pic of my Softie - which is a little cake - as soon as I sift through all the crap on my camera and suffer through the insufferable download process (or is that upload?) I think I could get into making these in a big way. I've got dozens of ideas floating around in the ol' noggin. The trouble is translating them into workable patterns.
3.14.2008
Evening Sans Hell
I stop at the door and fit the key into the lock. Click. I push the door open with my foot and stumble into the room. A multitude of bags in paper, plastic and canvas jostle and rustle in my arms, threatening to fall to the floor. I use my foot again to shut the door behind me. I pause. The gentle and warm scent of jasmine tea wafts into my nostrils. With my eyes closed, I breathe deeply in and out for a few minutes. Slowly, I open my eyes again. More calmly now, I amble into the kitchen. Most of the mess I'm carrying gets deposited on the counter top. A paper bag crumpled around a bottle of imported French Pinot Nior. A canvas sack bearing a selection of cheeses, a tub of Greek olives and a bagette. Plastic static clings to an 8 pound package of 9 Lives.
Something warm and soft curls around my ankles, bringing a sleepy grin to my face. Meow! I bend over and drop my hand to the creature's head. I can feel the vibrations coming from his throat reverberating somewhere in my chest. He appreciates the attention.
A few moments late, but no less welcome, a mechanical click sounds in the next room. The soothingly hip melodies of Getz/Gilberto dance casually to my ears. A corkscrew is probably the easiest object to find in the apartment. Second to that are the wine glasses. I uncork the bottle of red and inhale a familiar boquet. I slide a large plate from the cupboard and load it with chunks of various cheeses, a handful of assorted olives (the garlic stuffed are my favorite), and several slices from the bagette.
Trying not to trip over Mr. Noisypants, I take my glass and my plate into the other room and settle into a huge easy chair. It's a little worn and the cats have nicked the uphostry a couple of times, but I sink right in. The uncomforable heels are kicked off right away. I wince distractedly as fresh cuts and blisters meet the air. Leaning back, setting the glass on the roughly hewn wooden end table to my left, I grope under the cushions for a skinny black remote control. Click.
What a nice way to start the weekend (too bad it's not true).
Something warm and soft curls around my ankles, bringing a sleepy grin to my face. Meow! I bend over and drop my hand to the creature's head. I can feel the vibrations coming from his throat reverberating somewhere in my chest. He appreciates the attention.
A few moments late, but no less welcome, a mechanical click sounds in the next room. The soothingly hip melodies of Getz/Gilberto dance casually to my ears. A corkscrew is probably the easiest object to find in the apartment. Second to that are the wine glasses. I uncork the bottle of red and inhale a familiar boquet. I slide a large plate from the cupboard and load it with chunks of various cheeses, a handful of assorted olives (the garlic stuffed are my favorite), and several slices from the bagette.
Trying not to trip over Mr. Noisypants, I take my glass and my plate into the other room and settle into a huge easy chair. It's a little worn and the cats have nicked the uphostry a couple of times, but I sink right in. The uncomforable heels are kicked off right away. I wince distractedly as fresh cuts and blisters meet the air. Leaning back, setting the glass on the roughly hewn wooden end table to my left, I grope under the cushions for a skinny black remote control. Click.
What a nice way to start the weekend (too bad it's not true).
3.05.2008
Out of the Frying Pan and Into Hell
The office in which I work has an email group designed specifically for topics that aren't work related. It is to said group that people email their requests for plumbing referrals, sell their hockey tickets, and advise the rest of us about their childrens' fundraisers. Occasionally, someone will post a topic that raises an uproar and causes a backlash of email, such as a comment about supporting the troops or attending a GLBT banquet.
Yesterday, I was hoping for a recommendation regarding breast cancer charities. More specifically, which one might be beneficial for me to donate to. I sent an email to the group, mentioning that I was seeking an organization that does not fund animal testing. My email said nothing (although it was implied) about whether or not animal testing is wrong. It didn't attempt to sway the reader toward one conclusion or another regarding that topic. In fact, here's exactly what I sent:
I'm sure that, with all of the socially conscious individuals in the office, someone can recommend a worthy charity to donate to. Any suggestions? I'm looking for a charity that fights breast cancer, but does not do animal testing.
Thanks!
Not terribly zealous on the subject of animal testing, right? Considering the fact that I'd like to peel the flesh from the bones of any individual who thinks that it's justified to torture animals by the thousands in unnecessary lab tests, I'd say that my keeping the email as brief as I did shows exceptional restraint.
Of course, there had to be people who thought they needed to take up a torch against me. They were somehow offended that I declined their precious Susan G. Komen Foundation and their Lance Armstrong Foundation because they fund animal torture/murder/mutilation. I was polite. I was tolerant. I tried to inform. I didn't say, "It's fuckers like you who make it so hard to effect positive change in this world. You're the reason I have no faith in mankind."
I sent this link to a couple of people. A lady I know in the office responded, letting me know that the website I sent her to advocated stem cell research, which she did not support. "It kills babies," her email said. She's pro-life and almost began an argument with me over the abortion issue. I steered clear of that one. I did, however, tell her that I didn't know much about stem cell research and that I would check it out. I proceeded to do exactly that. A little while later, I came up with a link to a brochure released by (of all things) Right To Life. They, fortunately, offered a sensible take on the subject. Go here for the pdf. She thanked me for the information and I thanked her for prompting my research. Everybody's happy.
That's an example of when things go the right way. Another person responded to me in quite a different way. He basically told me that the best way to do medical research is to inject things into rats. He refused to consider other options. His final email to me was, "As a biologist, I disagree. I'll leave it at that." Hmmm....wait a minute. A biologist, eh? Well, it seems odd that a biologist would be masquerading as an attorney working for the government. Seems to me that a man so completely educated on the topic of biological research might have considered a position elsewhere. I wanted to boil his eyeballs and stomp on his testicles. I still do, actually. So nice of him to decide that the conversation was over and that he had the final say. So lovely of him to dictate when I should lay my beliefs to rest.
I did, actually, let him have that final word. Seeing as how I like being able to pay my bills and that my current mode of employment allows me to accomplish that, it didn't seem wise for me to continue the debate. The whole point was that I never intended for there to be a debate with anyone! All I wanted to do was help someone. See what happens?? This is why I clam up when my little political knitting group gets me riled. I want to continue to get along with these people. I haven't learned to argue past a certain point without getting angry. I wonder if that makes me just as bad as those religious fanatics who run around demanding that everyone believe in Jesus.
Yesterday, I was hoping for a recommendation regarding breast cancer charities. More specifically, which one might be beneficial for me to donate to. I sent an email to the group, mentioning that I was seeking an organization that does not fund animal testing. My email said nothing (although it was implied) about whether or not animal testing is wrong. It didn't attempt to sway the reader toward one conclusion or another regarding that topic. In fact, here's exactly what I sent:
I'm sure that, with all of the socially conscious individuals in the office, someone can recommend a worthy charity to donate to. Any suggestions? I'm looking for a charity that fights breast cancer, but does not do animal testing.
Thanks!
Not terribly zealous on the subject of animal testing, right? Considering the fact that I'd like to peel the flesh from the bones of any individual who thinks that it's justified to torture animals by the thousands in unnecessary lab tests, I'd say that my keeping the email as brief as I did shows exceptional restraint.
Of course, there had to be people who thought they needed to take up a torch against me. They were somehow offended that I declined their precious Susan G. Komen Foundation and their Lance Armstrong Foundation because they fund animal torture/murder/mutilation. I was polite. I was tolerant. I tried to inform. I didn't say, "It's fuckers like you who make it so hard to effect positive change in this world. You're the reason I have no faith in mankind."
I sent this link to a couple of people. A lady I know in the office responded, letting me know that the website I sent her to advocated stem cell research, which she did not support. "It kills babies," her email said. She's pro-life and almost began an argument with me over the abortion issue. I steered clear of that one. I did, however, tell her that I didn't know much about stem cell research and that I would check it out. I proceeded to do exactly that. A little while later, I came up with a link to a brochure released by (of all things) Right To Life. They, fortunately, offered a sensible take on the subject. Go here for the pdf. She thanked me for the information and I thanked her for prompting my research. Everybody's happy.
That's an example of when things go the right way. Another person responded to me in quite a different way. He basically told me that the best way to do medical research is to inject things into rats. He refused to consider other options. His final email to me was, "As a biologist, I disagree. I'll leave it at that." Hmmm....wait a minute. A biologist, eh? Well, it seems odd that a biologist would be masquerading as an attorney working for the government. Seems to me that a man so completely educated on the topic of biological research might have considered a position elsewhere. I wanted to boil his eyeballs and stomp on his testicles. I still do, actually. So nice of him to decide that the conversation was over and that he had the final say. So lovely of him to dictate when I should lay my beliefs to rest.
I did, actually, let him have that final word. Seeing as how I like being able to pay my bills and that my current mode of employment allows me to accomplish that, it didn't seem wise for me to continue the debate. The whole point was that I never intended for there to be a debate with anyone! All I wanted to do was help someone. See what happens?? This is why I clam up when my little political knitting group gets me riled. I want to continue to get along with these people. I haven't learned to argue past a certain point without getting angry. I wonder if that makes me just as bad as those religious fanatics who run around demanding that everyone believe in Jesus.
3.03.2008
Vent Thine Hellish Spleen
Dear Asshole,
Yeah, you in the big, silver, oversized pickup truck. There's something called a "stop sign" that you apparently aren't aware of. It's red and white and shaped like an octagon (that's a shape with eight sides). Printed on the sign is the word "STOP" in big white letters. Yes, that's what those are. With me so far? Well, when you see one of these "stop signs", you are supposed to take your foot off of the pedal that makes your truck go fast (the accelerator) and put your foot on the pedal that makes your truck stop (the brake). You are supposed to stop your truck before you reach the sign. Do we understand the "stop sign" now? Do we??
Next, we'll learn about something called a "crosswalk". That's when there are white stripes painted on the street. People are supposed to walk across the street where those stripes are and you're not supposed to run them over. If you hit someone with your truck while they're walking on the "crosswalk" because you haven't stopped at the "stop sign", then you get in big trouble. You might even go to jail. Of course, the person you hit might just get up and smash your pin head through your own effing windshield. Yes, that might happen too.
It's a good thing that, this morning, when you failed to stop at the stop sign and I was in the crosswalk, you didn't hit me with your truck. I guess you didn't hear me yell, "Way to stop at the stop sign you f'ing asshole!!!!" before you drove off. It's too bad there wasn't a brick handy, because I would have made sure you stopped. You probably couldn't hear a thing over the noise of the huge engine under the hood of your absurdly large and most likely gas guzzling vehicle. Being behind the wheel of such a monstrosity only serves to accentuate the impression that you may be compensating for the inability to please a woman due to the horribly inadequate penis with which you were endowed at birth. The equation works like this: the larger and more unnecessary the truck is, the smaller the penis must be. Every remotely intelligent woman is familiar with this. So, unless you're trying to pick up other men who are similarly ill equipped, you might try something in the way of a hybrid or a Mustang.
I'm sure you must have been in a hurry this morning. There must have been a sale on magnifying glass and tweezer sets down at the Small Package store. I'm sure that killing someone with your truck wasn't much of a concern compared to that. Stopping at the crosswalk could have cost you a precious second or two anyway and we can't afford to be late, now can we? It's so lucky for you that I didn't get much of a look at your face. Then I'd know you if I saw you on the street. Then you might find yourself choking on your own reproductive organs. Thank God for small favors. I would if I were you. Asshole.
Fond Regards,
Neko
Yeah, you in the big, silver, oversized pickup truck. There's something called a "stop sign" that you apparently aren't aware of. It's red and white and shaped like an octagon (that's a shape with eight sides). Printed on the sign is the word "STOP" in big white letters. Yes, that's what those are. With me so far? Well, when you see one of these "stop signs", you are supposed to take your foot off of the pedal that makes your truck go fast (the accelerator) and put your foot on the pedal that makes your truck stop (the brake). You are supposed to stop your truck before you reach the sign. Do we understand the "stop sign" now? Do we??
Next, we'll learn about something called a "crosswalk". That's when there are white stripes painted on the street. People are supposed to walk across the street where those stripes are and you're not supposed to run them over. If you hit someone with your truck while they're walking on the "crosswalk" because you haven't stopped at the "stop sign", then you get in big trouble. You might even go to jail. Of course, the person you hit might just get up and smash your pin head through your own effing windshield. Yes, that might happen too.
It's a good thing that, this morning, when you failed to stop at the stop sign and I was in the crosswalk, you didn't hit me with your truck. I guess you didn't hear me yell, "Way to stop at the stop sign you f'ing asshole!!!!" before you drove off. It's too bad there wasn't a brick handy, because I would have made sure you stopped. You probably couldn't hear a thing over the noise of the huge engine under the hood of your absurdly large and most likely gas guzzling vehicle. Being behind the wheel of such a monstrosity only serves to accentuate the impression that you may be compensating for the inability to please a woman due to the horribly inadequate penis with which you were endowed at birth. The equation works like this: the larger and more unnecessary the truck is, the smaller the penis must be. Every remotely intelligent woman is familiar with this. So, unless you're trying to pick up other men who are similarly ill equipped, you might try something in the way of a hybrid or a Mustang.
I'm sure you must have been in a hurry this morning. There must have been a sale on magnifying glass and tweezer sets down at the Small Package store. I'm sure that killing someone with your truck wasn't much of a concern compared to that. Stopping at the crosswalk could have cost you a precious second or two anyway and we can't afford to be late, now can we? It's so lucky for you that I didn't get much of a look at your face. Then I'd know you if I saw you on the street. Then you might find yourself choking on your own reproductive organs. Thank God for small favors. I would if I were you. Asshole.
Fond Regards,
Neko
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