If this were England in the 1500s there would probably be a tax on it.
Baa.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Of Sheep and Taxes
If this were England in the 1500s there would probably be a tax on it.
Baa.
Friday, May 24, 2013
"I like your shirt."
Rule #1: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
Rule #2: If you can't say something that would sound nice on paper without snarling in anger or jealousy when you utter words, don't say anything at all.
Rule #3: Run the filter three times before speaking...kind of like Mom's "how many times you must wash the vegetables before eating them" rule.
This morning, I was thinking about being warm. My phone says it's 43 degrees outside. In the motherland, and Austin, and (it seems) pretty much everywhere else, it's 73 degrees (or higher). I wore a coat to work today. And I wished I had another blanket last night. Being 1 blanket short is never fun.
Thinking about being warm made me think about two days ago, when it was warm, and I complimented someone on her shirt. It was cute -- a salmon baby-doll style contraption I probably would wear if it was in my closet. And then I thought about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland.
Thinking about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland, and shirt compliments made me think of An Incident.
About ten years ago I was sitting with a boy on a porch on a warm night. It was his porch, not mine...though we had spent many hours sitting on my porch. It was a fairly rare occurrence for me to be sitting on his porch, and I didn't really love to do it, as the first time I did, I got stung by a bee, right between the eyes. But that's another story for another blog post.
*Background: He always sat to my left. I always leaned against the post. Eventually, I would move down from the top stair and start dead-heading the petunia bush that mom always kept by the front planter. We would talk until it was time for him to go home or until he got bored of sitting still and wanted to go for a walk or a drive.*
Earlier that evening, I had been telling him a story about a mutual friend of mine.
**Interruptus: I was in high school when this happened, and I could be kind of mean-spirited. Please keep the folly of youth in mind as you read this. Also, I hope everyone in the story forgives me for telling it here.)**
The story went like this: A few weeks ago, I had been walking with said friend in the foyer of our high school. A boy I had known for years, but who was a relative unknown to her, approached her and started talking to her.
**Interruptus: Looking back, he reminded me of Napoleon Dynamite. He wore sweats to school four days out of five, and moon boots every day in the winter. This particular day, he was wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt that had definitely seen better days, and a pair of green sweats. He was tall and gangly, and had Nerd with a capital N written all over him. He's the sort of guy who will never let go of his LEGO collection and can be a little awkward in social situations, but has phenomenal brainpower and can solve crazy hard math problems in his head. He'll probably win awards someday, if he hasn't already. I liked him -- liked to talk to him, and I thought he was interesting, though at the time, I thought of him as an intellectual equal and not as a creature with a y chromosome...if that makes sense.**
The boy approached my friend, who is very pretty. He said "hi" to her. I'm not sure he looked her in the eye -- he rarely did so with anyone, and I got the impression that he liked her, so he would have been intimidated. He was probably looking at a spot just over her shoulder or at the floor. (This girl, it should be known, was so captivating that one time when she was out, her date was so busy staring at her that he forgot to drive, and subsequently was in a minor car accident, which put a slight damper on their outing.)
My friend looked at him and said, "Hi," in her friendly way, and then she said something that (at the time) completely flabbergasted me: "I like your shirt." I don't remember his response. I just remember thinking..."what the ?!?!?! Girl, what are you thinking? His shirt has at least three holes in it, and considering he was probably at least half a foot taller than he was when his mom bought it for him, it isn't the most glamorous of looks." He moved away, past us, down the hall toward the band room (which thankfully I only had occasion to enter twice in my whole high school career) and I turned to my friend and said, "Did you really like his shirt?" I couldn't help it. It seemed completely incredulous to me that this girl, who had probably never even seen an episode of TMNT in her life, would be complimenting his shirt. Her reply, "No. But he looked like he needed a compliment."
I think my jaw dropped. The idea of telling someone you liked his shirt when you didn't actually just seemed to be sticky icky...a form of lying. If you think he needs a compliment, tell him you dig his curly hair, or tell him you like his posture, or tell him it's good to see him, or tell him something that's true...but don't tell him you like his old ratty shirt when you really don't. It could be his favorite, yes. But you're not doing yourself, or him, any favors by making false statements.
Interruptus: People who know me know that I'm not shy to give compliments to people about their clothes. I'll tell strangers in the elevator I love their coat, or shoes, or luggage. I'll tell people I hardly know that the color of their shirt matches their eyes. I'll walk past guys at church and make eye contact and then move my fingers down my chest in an outline of a tie and make a thumbs up. But only if I really like the article of clothing!!! Perhaps I am so free with compliments in part because of this friend; although I did not/do not necessarily agree with her method, I did appreciate the fact that she thought about someone else and what kind of day he/she was having and if he/she needed a pick-me-up, and my friend wanted to help.
So I was sitting on this boy's porch, telling him this story, and laughing a little about it...asking, "why would she have done that?" And then, out of nowhere, the girl (who happened to like the owner of the porch I sitting on...most of the time) drove up. The boy and I looked at each other. (He happened to like her back...most of the time). He was wearing a red shirt with the logo of a nearby university on it (#1), which had a bitter rivalry with another nearby university (#2)...and her family were staunch University #2 fans. The look on her face as she got out of the car and walked toward us was priceless. She clearly was wondering what I was doing there, and why I was sitting on the porch with him. (There was at least two feet of space between us, as there always was whenever we Porchified.) She seemed a little irritated, but seemed equally determined to hide it. She walked up the sidewalk toward his house and said, "Hey, (boy). I like your shirt." If the word "shirt" was venom, it probably would have been lethal-injection grade if she had been close enough to get the needle in.
It was horrible.
It was horrible, because sometimes the Sneaky Snark comes out of me. I really don't like it when it does. But this time I let it slip out: I turned to him and said with a straight face, "Yes, (boy). I like your shirt." Between my tone, and a raised eyebrow, the boy got what I was digging at and we started to laugh hysterically. I had literally just finished telling my tale of shirt-liking-fakery, and then she appeared, and told he of the university #1 shirt that she liked his shirt in a tone that said she didn't care a flying fig about his shirt, but she wanted to know what he was doing sitting there with me. And it was even more horrible because she had no idea why we were laughing. I couldn't very well tell her, but I knew she would ask, and "nothing" was definitely going to be an insufficient answer, in addition to being untrue. I said something that slightly mollified her, but I still felt horrible inside. At least she had good intentions when she told TMNT boy that she liked his shirt. I was being nothing but petty by telling Boy She Liked about the story. (There were lots of relationship politics between the three of us. Frankly, it would take too long to detail, and I really don't want to go there.)
I don't remember if I got up to leave, or if she did, or if the three of us sat there awkwardly (for it surely could have been nothing but awkward) for awhile. I am kind of glad I don't remember.
So, for Rule #1, it's okay to compliment. Just mean whatever you say.
Rule #2 is still a challenge sometimes. Sarcasm in all its forms is a touchy thing, and should be used sparingly.
Rule #3 will help with both Rule #1 & #2, and will help you avoid feeling horrible like I did at the end of The Incident because I was snarky in response to someone not following Rule #2.
But you can be sure that if I ever tell you I like your shirt, I really do like it.
Rule #2: If you can't say something that would sound nice on paper without snarling in anger or jealousy when you utter words, don't say anything at all.
Rule #3: Run the filter three times before speaking...kind of like Mom's "how many times you must wash the vegetables before eating them" rule.
This morning, I was thinking about being warm. My phone says it's 43 degrees outside. In the motherland, and Austin, and (it seems) pretty much everywhere else, it's 73 degrees (or higher). I wore a coat to work today. And I wished I had another blanket last night. Being 1 blanket short is never fun.
Thinking about being warm made me think about two days ago, when it was warm, and I complimented someone on her shirt. It was cute -- a salmon baby-doll style contraption I probably would wear if it was in my closet. And then I thought about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland.
Thinking about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland, and shirt compliments made me think of An Incident.
About ten years ago I was sitting with a boy on a porch on a warm night. It was his porch, not mine...though we had spent many hours sitting on my porch. It was a fairly rare occurrence for me to be sitting on his porch, and I didn't really love to do it, as the first time I did, I got stung by a bee, right between the eyes. But that's another story for another blog post.
*Background: He always sat to my left. I always leaned against the post. Eventually, I would move down from the top stair and start dead-heading the petunia bush that mom always kept by the front planter. We would talk until it was time for him to go home or until he got bored of sitting still and wanted to go for a walk or a drive.*
Earlier that evening, I had been telling him a story about a mutual friend of mine.
**Interruptus: I was in high school when this happened, and I could be kind of mean-spirited. Please keep the folly of youth in mind as you read this. Also, I hope everyone in the story forgives me for telling it here.)**
The story went like this: A few weeks ago, I had been walking with said friend in the foyer of our high school. A boy I had known for years, but who was a relative unknown to her, approached her and started talking to her.
**Interruptus: Looking back, he reminded me of Napoleon Dynamite. He wore sweats to school four days out of five, and moon boots every day in the winter. This particular day, he was wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt that had definitely seen better days, and a pair of green sweats. He was tall and gangly, and had Nerd with a capital N written all over him. He's the sort of guy who will never let go of his LEGO collection and can be a little awkward in social situations, but has phenomenal brainpower and can solve crazy hard math problems in his head. He'll probably win awards someday, if he hasn't already. I liked him -- liked to talk to him, and I thought he was interesting, though at the time, I thought of him as an intellectual equal and not as a creature with a y chromosome...if that makes sense.**
The boy approached my friend, who is very pretty. He said "hi" to her. I'm not sure he looked her in the eye -- he rarely did so with anyone, and I got the impression that he liked her, so he would have been intimidated. He was probably looking at a spot just over her shoulder or at the floor. (This girl, it should be known, was so captivating that one time when she was out, her date was so busy staring at her that he forgot to drive, and subsequently was in a minor car accident, which put a slight damper on their outing.)
My friend looked at him and said, "Hi," in her friendly way, and then she said something that (at the time) completely flabbergasted me: "I like your shirt." I don't remember his response. I just remember thinking..."what the ?!?!?! Girl, what are you thinking? His shirt has at least three holes in it, and considering he was probably at least half a foot taller than he was when his mom bought it for him, it isn't the most glamorous of looks." He moved away, past us, down the hall toward the band room (which thankfully I only had occasion to enter twice in my whole high school career) and I turned to my friend and said, "Did you really like his shirt?" I couldn't help it. It seemed completely incredulous to me that this girl, who had probably never even seen an episode of TMNT in her life, would be complimenting his shirt. Her reply, "No. But he looked like he needed a compliment."
I think my jaw dropped. The idea of telling someone you liked his shirt when you didn't actually just seemed to be sticky icky...a form of lying. If you think he needs a compliment, tell him you dig his curly hair, or tell him you like his posture, or tell him it's good to see him, or tell him something that's true...but don't tell him you like his old ratty shirt when you really don't. It could be his favorite, yes. But you're not doing yourself, or him, any favors by making false statements.
Interruptus: People who know me know that I'm not shy to give compliments to people about their clothes. I'll tell strangers in the elevator I love their coat, or shoes, or luggage. I'll tell people I hardly know that the color of their shirt matches their eyes. I'll walk past guys at church and make eye contact and then move my fingers down my chest in an outline of a tie and make a thumbs up. But only if I really like the article of clothing!!! Perhaps I am so free with compliments in part because of this friend; although I did not/do not necessarily agree with her method, I did appreciate the fact that she thought about someone else and what kind of day he/she was having and if he/she needed a pick-me-up, and my friend wanted to help.
So I was sitting on this boy's porch, telling him this story, and laughing a little about it...asking, "why would she have done that?" And then, out of nowhere, the girl (who happened to like the owner of the porch I sitting on...most of the time) drove up. The boy and I looked at each other. (He happened to like her back...most of the time). He was wearing a red shirt with the logo of a nearby university on it (#1), which had a bitter rivalry with another nearby university (#2)...and her family were staunch University #2 fans. The look on her face as she got out of the car and walked toward us was priceless. She clearly was wondering what I was doing there, and why I was sitting on the porch with him. (There was at least two feet of space between us, as there always was whenever we Porchified.) She seemed a little irritated, but seemed equally determined to hide it. She walked up the sidewalk toward his house and said, "Hey, (boy). I like your shirt." If the word "shirt" was venom, it probably would have been lethal-injection grade if she had been close enough to get the needle in.
It was horrible.
It was horrible, because sometimes the Sneaky Snark comes out of me. I really don't like it when it does. But this time I let it slip out: I turned to him and said with a straight face, "Yes, (boy). I like your shirt." Between my tone, and a raised eyebrow, the boy got what I was digging at and we started to laugh hysterically. I had literally just finished telling my tale of shirt-liking-fakery, and then she appeared, and told he of the university #1 shirt that she liked his shirt in a tone that said she didn't care a flying fig about his shirt, but she wanted to know what he was doing sitting there with me. And it was even more horrible because she had no idea why we were laughing. I couldn't very well tell her, but I knew she would ask, and "nothing" was definitely going to be an insufficient answer, in addition to being untrue. I said something that slightly mollified her, but I still felt horrible inside. At least she had good intentions when she told TMNT boy that she liked his shirt. I was being nothing but petty by telling Boy She Liked about the story. (There were lots of relationship politics between the three of us. Frankly, it would take too long to detail, and I really don't want to go there.)
I don't remember if I got up to leave, or if she did, or if the three of us sat there awkwardly (for it surely could have been nothing but awkward) for awhile. I am kind of glad I don't remember.
So, for Rule #1, it's okay to compliment. Just mean whatever you say.
Rule #2 is still a challenge sometimes. Sarcasm in all its forms is a touchy thing, and should be used sparingly.
Rule #3 will help with both Rule #1 & #2, and will help you avoid feeling horrible like I did at the end of The Incident because I was snarky in response to someone not following Rule #2.
But you can be sure that if I ever tell you I like your shirt, I really do like it.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Journey in a Truck
(Waits for those of you who actually know me to recover from your boggled brains.)
My boss told me he bought said truck with the idea to buy the smallest truck possible to haul the maximum amount of cargo he'd ever need to haul at one time. When he said "truck," I was thinking something like a Toyota Tacoma. Then he told me that he was going to pick me up in the truck for the weeklong road trip. I was, admittedly, not very excited about the prospect of riding in a tiny cab. It became obvious to me as soon as I saw him standing next to his vehicle that he is not from the South or from Texas or from anywhere else but New York. I say this because in New York, "quarter" is qwah-tah and water is wah-tah. His truck was a Honda CR-V.These scenes remind me of the "Hanover Winter Song," wherein the ice-gnomes from "long - forgotten Norways" march. It was a bit late in the season, but the way the snow fell on these trees made me think of thousands of arboreous (yes, that is now a word) soldiers were marching in their Norways, the snow elegantly sticking to their backs as they crested one ridge and resolutely marched down the other side. No undignified windmilling of arms or galloping down the hill for these chaps. Nope. None at all.
I can now do it in my sleep.
Here's our arrival to our second resting place, and the sun setting over it:
Here's the view from my hotel room (below).
Then on the way back, I saw something beautiful: what looked like it was a former river bed. I also ate a fresh strawberry shake at a place that was right across the street from this sign: I wonder if you read it the way I did. I kind of hope so. My boss thought I was kind of lunatic because I laughed so hard and insisted on taking a picture of it with my camera.Clearly, he didn't read the sign the way I did.
Then, we drove and drove and drove some more. Basically, the whole day was about eating and driving. We got caught in a microburst and pulled off the side of the road. I really wanted to get home as soon as possible, but under the circumstances, it was probably safer to pull off the road for a few minutes.
It just so happened to be our luck that the nearest pull-off was Multnomah Falls. So I looked at the falls through the windshield, and then, ten minutes later, after the rain had abated somewhat, I rolled down the window and took a picture that was clear...that is, so the waterfall looked like a waterfall and not like spilt milk.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Oops...I did it again (spendaholic version)
I think I did it again
I convinced myself it's okay to spend
oh money
yes I'm sure it's a steal
I know that I've found a true, real deal
cause to open my wallet
That is just so typically me
oh! spending money
[CHORUS:]
Oops!...I did it again
I found a great deal, got lost in the thrill
oh! spending money
oops you'd think that I'd stop
But I'll shop til I drop
Or till they take my card
You see my problem is this:
I can shop all day,
Online or in stores, Wal-Mart or E-Bay
I cry, paying the bills
I say I'm all done, I'm through with deal thrills
But to open my wallet,
That is just so typically me...
[Repeat CHORUS]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Please note:
I'm not trying to make light of people with the very serious habit of overextending themselves financially on a regular basis. It's a serious thing, and I'm not recommending it. I just couldn't resist the parody that popped in my mind one day at work. Also it's kind of ironic because anyone who knows me knows that in a past life I was related to Ebenezer Scrooge in his pre-Christmas Carol days.
I convinced myself it's okay to spend
oh money
yes I'm sure it's a steal
I know that I've found a true, real deal
cause to open my wallet
That is just so typically me
oh! spending money
[CHORUS:]
Oops!...I did it again
I found a great deal, got lost in the thrill
oh! spending money
oops you'd think that I'd stop
But I'll shop til I drop
Or till they take my card
You see my problem is this:
I can shop all day,
Online or in stores, Wal-Mart or E-Bay
I cry, paying the bills
I say I'm all done, I'm through with deal thrills
But to open my wallet,
That is just so typically me...
[Repeat CHORUS]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Please note:
I'm not trying to make light of people with the very serious habit of overextending themselves financially on a regular basis. It's a serious thing, and I'm not recommending it. I just couldn't resist the parody that popped in my mind one day at work. Also it's kind of ironic because anyone who knows me knows that in a past life I was related to Ebenezer Scrooge in his pre-Christmas Carol days.
Monday, May 6, 2013
May the Fourth Be With You
May 4, 2013:
12:00 am: pack with PK while listening to music
1:45 discuss upcoming move with PK
2:30 sleep
6:30 wake up because of sunlight
7:00 get out of bed
7:20 roll out cinnamon stacks
8:05 pull cinnamon stacks out of the oven and hand them to incoming movers
8:20 move commences
9:00 truck full, on to storage unit
9:30 storage unit paperwork that was supposed to take five minutes is now complete
10:00 truck full
10:30 done unloading at new apartment
10:45 egg break
11:00 clean while listening to poppy music on repeat. SOTD: "Boyfriend" by JBiebs. (I know.)
1:30 pizza break, watch 30 min of "starman" (lame!)
2:00 clean in zombie-like manner
3:45 derby day party
4:30 delicious chicken
5:45 muddy horses are through; Orb wins
6:15 library drop off
6:45: nap on the bed
7:45 clean
9:30 party; 2 of 4 on Just Dance
10:30 elevate feet
11:00 sleep
Notes:
1. Molasses and bourbon marinated chicken is super yum.
2. Fig trees are awesome.
3. Always do paperwork before moving day.
4. Jonners birthday is May the 4th.
5. Eating breakfast is always a good thing.
6. People who volunteer to help other people and who are patient and kind are the absolute best.
7. Roads in Oregon make no sense.
8. Take your time and do a walk-through or you'll end up regretting it.
9. Always know where your sheets, packing tape, scissors, and a screwdriver and wrench are.
10. Star Wars is still awesome.
12:00 am: pack with PK while listening to music
1:45 discuss upcoming move with PK
2:30 sleep
6:30 wake up because of sunlight
7:00 get out of bed
7:20 roll out cinnamon stacks
8:05 pull cinnamon stacks out of the oven and hand them to incoming movers
8:20 move commences
9:00 truck full, on to storage unit
9:30 storage unit paperwork that was supposed to take five minutes is now complete
10:00 truck full
10:30 done unloading at new apartment
10:45 egg break
11:00 clean while listening to poppy music on repeat. SOTD: "Boyfriend" by JBiebs. (I know.)
1:30 pizza break, watch 30 min of "starman" (lame!)
2:00 clean in zombie-like manner
3:45 derby day party
4:30 delicious chicken
5:45 muddy horses are through; Orb wins
6:15 library drop off
6:45: nap on the bed
7:45 clean
9:30 party; 2 of 4 on Just Dance
10:30 elevate feet
11:00 sleep
Notes:
1. Molasses and bourbon marinated chicken is super yum.
2. Fig trees are awesome.
3. Always do paperwork before moving day.
4. Jonners birthday is May the 4th.
5. Eating breakfast is always a good thing.
6. People who volunteer to help other people and who are patient and kind are the absolute best.
7. Roads in Oregon make no sense.
8. Take your time and do a walk-through or you'll end up regretting it.
9. Always know where your sheets, packing tape, scissors, and a screwdriver and wrench are.
10. Star Wars is still awesome.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Once Upon a (Beach) Time
Once upon a time, a mom and her girl went to the beach. The purpose of the trip was a vacation for the mom, and a working trip for the daughter. They drove to the coast late one night and listened to songs that soothed the daughter and made the mom wonder what in the heck her child was listening to. (With a few exceptions.)
The daughter worked in between bouts of extreme ear disease, wherein she lay near expiration on the bed while the mother, being a mom, took care of her offspring.
When the daughter was working, the mother borrowed said daughter's car and drove up and down the coast, seeing what there was to see, stopping where there were places to stop, and generally enjoying herself.
In some places there were outcroppings of rock. In others, there was plenty of foam.
In yet other places, there were trees mostly blocking the view, which made for dramatic photo settings.
Seafoam's like the sea's whipped cream...except whipped cream shouldn't hiss.
One day, the daughter left work and decided to go to the state park with her mom. It was late in the day, but they wanted to make every minute count. Although they couldn't see the tide pools, they drove down to see the lighthouse anyway.
The daughter had been so intent on going to play that she forgot to take her name tag off, and as it was cold and time was short, she didn't notice until it was too late and the white blob was in all the pictures. Oh well. At least she's labeled!
The fog around them was fast and thick, moving not with little cat feet, but with slithery snakiness. From the time these two pictures were taken, no more than five minutes had elapsed. The lighthouse went from being picturesque to fulfilling its purpose while they were there -- if you look hard, you can see the beacon of light at the top of the house.
The mom and daughter had been having a discussion about this blog. The mother told the daughter that implied presence was very important. (They had a discussion about proper office decor. It was a suitable segue.) The mom wanted to be the implied presence for the rest of the photos.Here's the mother's implied presence.
Then they went to dinner, and had calamari and crab cakes, some prawn delicious salad (the daughter found that although prawn are tolerable, it was really the rest of the salad that was magnificent), and some Brazilian stew concoction with coconut milk. They shared with each other. :) (The mother said the crab cakes were in her Top Five Ever.)
Thank you, Yelp, and Local Seafood, for helping them achieve this yumminess.
This just goes to show you that while you can lead by example, you can only lead a horse (daughter) to healthy food; you can't make her drink (partake).
On their way out of town, they spied a tree that had been trimmed to avoid the telephone/electricity poles. And they stopped at a little gallery. Black and gold bowls and glass intricacies caught the mother's fancy, and a series of oils of the coast were the focus of the daugher's experience. There was also the ultimately comfortable rocking chair for the mother, which was not the most comfortable rocking chair experience ever for the daughter (unsurprising), and there were an awful lot of contemporary abstract lamenesses, regardless of whose point of view you take.
The daughter was so enchanted with the oils that she bought not just one, but two. She had them wrapped, like Mallow and Wallow, and they are still bundled safe in their little cradles of bubble wrap, in anticipation of next week's move.
Another road trip, another set of experiences, and another beach comb behind them, mother and daughter are now on to the next adventure.
What's next? Stay tuned to find out. (The story won't be on the 11 o'clock news. These things take more time to develop than the next headline.)
Sunday, April 21, 2013
The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
The first time I saw a version of The Hobbit I think I was in sixth grade and we watched the animated version in school. It was supremely boring and I wanted to fall asleep.
I didn't read the book until I was perhaps sixteen, maybe seventeen. I read it out of obligation, to be honest. It was one of those "should read" books, like a Dostoevsky. (Sorry to all you D fans.) I remember trying to figure out the "teeth" riddle as I read it before I read ahead, and I'm sorry to say that riddles are just not a strength of mine and I would have had a gleeful song sung over me by Gollum and been eaten up if it had been me in Bilbo's place.
The Unexpected Journey portion came out at Christmas, but I didn't have time to see it then. I wanted to see it later, but never got around to it until March. I went to see it with a friend in a very odd setting...an observatory IMAX. So the screen, though huge, was curved at weird angles and half the time I felt like I was floating. The other half, my eyes were trying too hard to focus and nearly made me sick.
I was thinking of the movie for days after:
* The dwarves theme song, which we are introduced to in Bag End, when they have solemned out after their food binge, particularly hung with me. The dark, sad, deep humming haunted me. It made me think of days when everybody knew the same songs and sang together, spontaneously. Nobody needed to cajole or beg or play modest or make excuses of "I can't sing." Everybody just did it; it was part of life; a way of entertainment, of building community;
* the goblin king looked a little too much like Jabba the Hutt for my realistic capabilities;
* the dark orc and the light orc sounded exactly alike, and how cheesy they made him (Azog) look;
* the "thunder fight" in the mountain pass;
* the white warg, and Elvish blades;
* the humor with which they did some scenes, particularly the 'play' between Smeagol and Gollum, and how well Bilbo handled the situation;
* how mad I was that they made Radagast the Brown look like an idiot; it was like they were trying to copy Jar Jar Binks or something. Utterly ridiculous;
* and wrinkles on immortal elves. To their credit, the actors aged well, but ten years weighs on anyone and it just wasn't the same; and
* Richard Armitage could probably even rock a real Dwarf beard. Of this, I am convinced. (See CCC post.)
I watched it again tonight. It seemed darker, and the humor more bleak than I remembered. Perhaps it was my underlying mood; perhaps I was just more enthralled the first time. ('Twould be unsurprising if that was the case.)
I got the movie from Redbox. My first ever. It made me think of Two Ace. :)
It's time for bed. Past time. But I just had to say that the world Tolkien created has taken me on an unexpected journey. I learned more about myself from reading the quad than I have from almost any other book...it was a felicitous combination of being in the right place, the right time, and the right frame of mind when I read them for maximum positive impact. I'll always be grateful I read it, and look forward to the next part of the now-expected journey.
I didn't read the book until I was perhaps sixteen, maybe seventeen. I read it out of obligation, to be honest. It was one of those "should read" books, like a Dostoevsky. (Sorry to all you D fans.) I remember trying to figure out the "teeth" riddle as I read it before I read ahead, and I'm sorry to say that riddles are just not a strength of mine and I would have had a gleeful song sung over me by Gollum and been eaten up if it had been me in Bilbo's place.
The Unexpected Journey portion came out at Christmas, but I didn't have time to see it then. I wanted to see it later, but never got around to it until March. I went to see it with a friend in a very odd setting...an observatory IMAX. So the screen, though huge, was curved at weird angles and half the time I felt like I was floating. The other half, my eyes were trying too hard to focus and nearly made me sick.
I was thinking of the movie for days after:
* The dwarves theme song, which we are introduced to in Bag End, when they have solemned out after their food binge, particularly hung with me. The dark, sad, deep humming haunted me. It made me think of days when everybody knew the same songs and sang together, spontaneously. Nobody needed to cajole or beg or play modest or make excuses of "I can't sing." Everybody just did it; it was part of life; a way of entertainment, of building community;
* the goblin king looked a little too much like Jabba the Hutt for my realistic capabilities;
* the dark orc and the light orc sounded exactly alike, and how cheesy they made him (Azog) look;
* the "thunder fight" in the mountain pass;
* the white warg, and Elvish blades;
* the humor with which they did some scenes, particularly the 'play' between Smeagol and Gollum, and how well Bilbo handled the situation;
* how mad I was that they made Radagast the Brown look like an idiot; it was like they were trying to copy Jar Jar Binks or something. Utterly ridiculous;
* and wrinkles on immortal elves. To their credit, the actors aged well, but ten years weighs on anyone and it just wasn't the same; and
* Richard Armitage could probably even rock a real Dwarf beard. Of this, I am convinced. (See CCC post.)
I watched it again tonight. It seemed darker, and the humor more bleak than I remembered. Perhaps it was my underlying mood; perhaps I was just more enthralled the first time. ('Twould be unsurprising if that was the case.)
I got the movie from Redbox. My first ever. It made me think of Two Ace. :)
It's time for bed. Past time. But I just had to say that the world Tolkien created has taken me on an unexpected journey. I learned more about myself from reading the quad than I have from almost any other book...it was a felicitous combination of being in the right place, the right time, and the right frame of mind when I read them for maximum positive impact. I'll always be grateful I read it, and look forward to the next part of the now-expected journey.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Birthday
Today's my long-time bestie's natal day.
Lots of people are upset about birthdays, especially when they get older, and it's not so much about the presents you get, but the fact that you're moving on in life. Maybe it's that they're not a fan of wrinkles. Maybe they're upset that they haven't been more productive with their time. Maybe it's a day of reminders to make them wish they'd made different choices and they could just rewind.
I haven't really been a fan of my own birthday for many years. I admit...I'm sneaky about it. I try not to mention it to people not in the family, and it's not on fb. I've even resorted to reverting to calendar years when I think about how old I am, and even tell people that I'm the year I will be turning, just so I won't have to do the mental calculation to figure it out.
On the other hand, my "new year" resolutions generally go by natal year. Last year was the "year of Me." I did really great for about the first six months and after that all my good intentions kind of went by the wayside. "Me" year was supposed to be building up myself, literally (going to the gym to rid myself of Pre-RS-arm syndrome) and figuratively, by broadening/deepening my confidence, my skill sets, and my ability to make decisions.
But I digress...as I usually do.
The point is: birthdays are not about you...exactly. They're about celebrating the fact that you have been able to spend another year with people who care about you.
Lots of people are upset about birthdays, especially when they get older, and it's not so much about the presents you get, but the fact that you're moving on in life. Maybe it's that they're not a fan of wrinkles. Maybe they're upset that they haven't been more productive with their time. Maybe it's a day of reminders to make them wish they'd made different choices and they could just rewind.
I haven't really been a fan of my own birthday for many years. I admit...I'm sneaky about it. I try not to mention it to people not in the family, and it's not on fb. I've even resorted to reverting to calendar years when I think about how old I am, and even tell people that I'm the year I will be turning, just so I won't have to do the mental calculation to figure it out.
On the other hand, my "new year" resolutions generally go by natal year. Last year was the "year of Me." I did really great for about the first six months and after that all my good intentions kind of went by the wayside. "Me" year was supposed to be building up myself, literally (going to the gym to rid myself of Pre-RS-arm syndrome) and figuratively, by broadening/deepening my confidence, my skill sets, and my ability to make decisions.
But I digress...as I usually do.
The point is: birthdays are not about you...exactly. They're about celebrating the fact that you have been able to spend another year with people who care about you.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
CCC
When I was in third grade, my teacher put "CCC" up on the board. She was trying to teach us about acronyms. It worked because we tried to think of CCC's all day and none of them were correct for most of the day...and I still remember what happened. We'd been creative all day, to no avail, and finally, one of the boys in the class shouted, "chocolate chip cookies!" The teacher had made a batch of CCC's and we happily devoured them because back when I was a young'un we didn't worry about if fellow classmates (or teachers) had poisoned the cookies.
I'm not going to talk about those CCC's though.
Today's CCC is...Catalog of Celebrity Crushes
Yep. You read it right.
In order to be eligible for the CCC, I have to think you're dreamy for more than two months and I have to have taken the trouble to look for you again, whether it's by watching another game, movie or another TV series or another movie you've starred in.
Starting with most recent, going back to graduate school days.
ID: Ian Somerhalder
Crush Date: Dec 2012-March 2013
Claim to Celebrity: Actor
How We Met: He's a snarky, witty bad-boy vampire who has way better chemistry with the silly fool of a heroine than the other person vying for her love. (It turns out he's actually dating his co-star in real life. No wonder!) He has a really bad camera smirk, and is completely unphotogenic when he tries to smile.
ID: Brandon Crawford
Crush Date: 8/12-12/12
Claim to Celebrity: Professional athlete
How We Met: Shortstop of the SF Giants on their winning 2012 WS squad. Even his teammates think he's dreamy. I think it's endearing that he:
(a) is married;
(b) let his wife's sister crash with them in their one bedroom apartment before he hit the big time; and
(c) gets to live his lifelong dream of playing on the field where he fell in love with baseball.
ID: Adam Levine
Crush Date: Fall 2011-Present
Claim to Celebrity: Singer, Reality TV
How We Met: Lead singer of Maroon 5 and judge on the Voice. I liked his voice years before I saw his face, which was actually not on a cover or on the Voice. I "met" him on a Hulu ad for ADHD. He's fine for a guy with a high voice. ;)
ID: Chris Hemsworth
Crush Date: 2011-2012
Claim to Celebrity: Actor
How We Met: Oh, Summer 2011...amid all the heartache, you brought me eye candy. (You should see him when he's smiling. It makes me melt, so I couldn't put a smile up here.) God of Thunder, your weird shoulder pads do nothing to deter from your aesthetic awesomeness. He even did the cougar'ed thing and married someone several years his senior. His only drawback is that he sounds uncannily like Heath Ledger, and looks an awful lot like him, too. (Which isn't bad. Just...disconcerting, considering.)
ID: Taylor Kitsch
Crush Date: 2008-2012
Claim to Celebrity: Actor, model
How We Met: He was the uber bad bad BAD boy on Friday Night Lights that you couldn't help but to fall for anyway. The one that was so tough and had so many problems but had an innate vulnerability that was completely irresistible. For a Canadian, he does Texas well.
ID: Sidney CrosbyCrush Date: May 08-May 10
Claim to Celebrity: Professional Athlete
How We Met: Run for the Cup in 2008 w/ Rosc.
I adored you, Sid, for oh so long -- your flash and panache as you made big moves, your on-ice swagger, your rookie hothead days. But then you basically fell asleep during the Olympics only to wake up in the last 90 seconds of overtime in the final game and make one key play. I would have loved you so much more if you'd put your heart in every minute.
ID: Matt Bomer:
Crush Date: 2008-Present.
Claim to Celebrity: Actor
How We Met: He was Chuck's nemesis who was actually a good guy. I was sad when he was ousted off the show...but overjoyed when I found out he was getting his *own!* Just watch the opening credits of White Collar - and then pause it when you see the snippet of him with the excited look on his face after he successfully steals a car. I dare you not to drool.
ID: Daniel Henney
Crush Date: 2007-2008
Claim to Celebrity:
Actor, model, passable singer
How we Met: He's "Mr. Perfect." At least, in the movies. ;) For some reason, I liked the movie "Seducing Mr. Perfect" so much. (He's the leading man.) I watched some other stuff with him in it, too...though I'm sad to say that our relationship came to an abrupt end when I totally lost all respect because I found out he lied about having a degree. He's cute without it--no need to lie.
ID: Jerry Yan
Crush Date: 2006-2007; 2011
Claim to Celebrity: Actor, boy band member, model
How We Met: He was "pineapple-head." How cute. :)
Seriously...he's so dreamy. I used to have wallpaper of him on my laptop. It was a still I'd captured from one of the series I saw him in. Jerry is better than Ben & Jerry's for boy drama therapy.
ID: Channing TatumCrush Date: 2006-2007
Claim to Celebrity: Actor, model
How We Met: I met him and was over him before he was Sexiest Man Alive, I'll have you know. I first saw him in Step Up. He's got some mad dance skillz. And I will even admit (though I cringe while doing so) that I watched She's the Man -- twice. (!)
ID: Richard Armitage
Crush Date: 2006-Present
Claim to Celebrity: Actor, passable singer
Nickname: Ricardo Armitoggy.
How We Met: I saw his "brooding" face on the cover of North & South and thought...wow. This guy is so unattractive. And then by the end of the movie, I had completely been won over and thought he was basically the hottest thing since sunburns. I really liked that he did his own singing for The Hobbit, as well. (I even think he'd look good as a 'full' dwarf...that's how good looking he is.)
ID: Hugh JackmanCrush Date: Ever since X-Men came out
Claim to Celebrity: Actor, singer
How We Met: X-Men. This is a heavy-duty crush. I haven't seen Les Mis yet, but I've seen many of his other movies, including the ill-advised Australia (which would have been fine if they'd left the last hour off.) I even dig his blond haired, "Oklahoma!" singing look. My crush on him will probably never fizzle unless he and his wife split because he cheats on her.
ID: Tom Welling
Crush Date: 2001-2008
Claim to Celebrity: Actor, model
How We Met: He's Superman. Of course we met. Of course he liked me better than Lois Lane or that annoying Lana character.
He just looks better and better. Did you know he used to be a construction worker? And he saved someone from a mugging once. Maybe he's a real life superman.
He just looks better and better. Did you know he used to be a construction worker? And he saved someone from a mugging once. Maybe he's a real life superman.
ID: Derek Jeter
Crush Date: 1997-2007
Claim to Celebrity: Professional Athlete
How We Met: Oh, Derek. I first laid eyes on your actual person on June 24, 2004. It was at Camden Yards. Kenny Lofton was leadoff hitter. I was spouting nonsense about your ridiculous contracts to my roommate. You got up and I told you that you were going to hit a home run, just for me, over the middle of the back fence. And you know what...you did it. I'd been a crushed fan for a long time, but that just sealed the deal. PS: Everyone is happy they didn't bump you to give A-Rod your slot at SS. We all know he doesn't quite deserve it. That's not very kind of me, but it's true nonetheless.
My celebrity crush list is a little longer than that, of course. I just wanted to do the ones that I have crushes on now, or who aided me through my graduate school journey. There are many people who didn't quite make the cut. Maybe I'll list them out another time, when I feel the urge to update my CCC.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
[Not] Only In My Dreams
I dreamed I was talking to a guy I had been on a few dates with. In my dream, I knew the dates had taken place some months (perhaps even years earlier, and I knew that he had told me that he was not interested in me in that way after a few dates, but that we had remained on friendly (or so I thought) terms. In my dream, he was telling me again, and asked me if I knew what he meant. I met his gaze directly and said I did in fact know what he meant.
He brought up the old conversation, as if somehow, because I was now sitting in the car with him with the engine stopped, cold seeping through my toes, I hadn't gotten the message the first time. He looked at me very intently and asked me again if I knew what that meant. (I was a little confused -- although in the dream I remembered that since the past conversation we had been in loose, cordial contact, I hadn't seen him since and I never made any overtures--in short, I had Behaved Appropriately.) And, like an idiot, I said I could. At the time, dream-me wanted to preserve good feeling. After all, I liked this guy -- enough that I had actually not wanted to stop dating him. But I felt like I was lying. I said I could...not that I was going to. I said I could...not that I would be able to right then and there.
He continued, as if he could sense my internal struggle, emphasizing that he would:
- never want to kiss me,
- never want to hold my hand,
- never want to date me,
- never want to marry me, and, most assuredly,
- never want to look at me in wonderment and awe as he held our baby.
There was raw earnestness and honesty in his face. I could tell he believed he was "doing the right thing" by making things abundantly clear for me. I felt my heart crack, but I couldn't look away. I knew he thought he cared about me, but not in that way. My heart beat wildly in my chest; I felt my face suffuse in a telltale blush as I pinched my calf just by the knee and struggled to master my body's reactions to this news.
Again, he asked me if I could accept what that meant.
I snapped, emotionally. I did not feel at all that right then and there
in that moment
in that car
with his eyes boring into me
and my hands feeling clammy
and my strength of will keeping me from uttering even one sound of pain
and my eyes blinking just once
as I demanded that my body not cry, not cry, not cry
at the injustice that I was being forced to yet again acknowledge that I could really accept what that meant (infused with all the bitterness and vitriol I could muster).
I reminded myself that I had makeup on. Makeup is the code word for "armor against crying." It just adds insult to injury when your mascara runs. So I refused to humiliate myself.
He went on...and on. Repeating himself over and over. Making it abundantly clear, in and out, through and through: he was not interested, he cared about me, but not like that. I felt like he was batting raquetballs made of diamond, etched with Valentine word candy-esque phrases, onto the wall of my chest...and he was in good shape, so it wasn't painless.
"I care," drilled one ball. An "I never..." ball dribbled into the corner after resoundingly smacking into my heart. "I don't want to hurt you" hit a bulls-eye. "I want to keep you in my life" whizzed past at record-breaking speed.
Dream-self was hurt. It was clear that up until this point, dream-me had still liked the guy, but had in fact realized that he wasn't interested in her/me, and had let all but a tiny, occasional mirage of that way feeling evaporate.
Zingers continued to flow, jabbing into my heart with unerring accuracy. It was like dream guy was ruthlessly squashing any bit of good feeling I had toward him, methodically erasing all good-will, spoiling every memory, and creating only shock and hurt to fill the gap.
I woke up, feeling clammy inside and out.
I closed my eyes and as I dozed in and out, I played out the rest of the dream in my head: I lost the urge to cry. An emptiness bloomed inside me, great and terrible. After the emptiness, a curious calm crept over me. I looked at him. Really looked at him. And I realized that he wasn't the person that I thought he was, and that I didn't need to accept his assessment of me, and I didn't need to try to be nice to him, and I definitely didn't need to twist myself into an emotional pretzel to satisfy any ill-conceived "need" to keep him in my life.
That was when I undid my seat belt, opened the door, collected my purse, and walked away without looking back. I had nothing else to say to a person who would be so thoughtless that it was cruel, and tell me he wanted me to stick around for more of the same. I heard him calling to me, pleading. But my footsteps continued without pausing.
And my awake self is oh-so-glad I walked away.
He brought up the old conversation, as if somehow, because I was now sitting in the car with him with the engine stopped, cold seeping through my toes, I hadn't gotten the message the first time. He looked at me very intently and asked me again if I knew what that meant. (I was a little confused -- although in the dream I remembered that since the past conversation we had been in loose, cordial contact, I hadn't seen him since and I never made any overtures--in short, I had Behaved Appropriately.) And, like an idiot, I said I could. At the time, dream-me wanted to preserve good feeling. After all, I liked this guy -- enough that I had actually not wanted to stop dating him. But I felt like I was lying. I said I could...not that I was going to. I said I could...not that I would be able to right then and there.
He continued, as if he could sense my internal struggle, emphasizing that he would:
- never want to kiss me,
- never want to hold my hand,
- never want to date me,
- never want to marry me, and, most assuredly,
- never want to look at me in wonderment and awe as he held our baby.
There was raw earnestness and honesty in his face. I could tell he believed he was "doing the right thing" by making things abundantly clear for me. I felt my heart crack, but I couldn't look away. I knew he thought he cared about me, but not in that way. My heart beat wildly in my chest; I felt my face suffuse in a telltale blush as I pinched my calf just by the knee and struggled to master my body's reactions to this news.
Again, he asked me if I could accept what that meant.
I snapped, emotionally. I did not feel at all that right then and there
in that moment
in that car
with his eyes boring into me
and my hands feeling clammy
and my strength of will keeping me from uttering even one sound of pain
and my eyes blinking just once
as I demanded that my body not cry, not cry, not cry
at the injustice that I was being forced to yet again acknowledge that I could really accept what that meant (infused with all the bitterness and vitriol I could muster).
I reminded myself that I had makeup on. Makeup is the code word for "armor against crying." It just adds insult to injury when your mascara runs. So I refused to humiliate myself.
He went on...and on. Repeating himself over and over. Making it abundantly clear, in and out, through and through: he was not interested, he cared about me, but not like that. I felt like he was batting raquetballs made of diamond, etched with Valentine word candy-esque phrases, onto the wall of my chest...and he was in good shape, so it wasn't painless.
"I care," drilled one ball. An "I never..." ball dribbled into the corner after resoundingly smacking into my heart. "I don't want to hurt you" hit a bulls-eye. "I want to keep you in my life" whizzed past at record-breaking speed.
Dream-self was hurt. It was clear that up until this point, dream-me had still liked the guy, but had in fact realized that he wasn't interested in her/me, and had let all but a tiny, occasional mirage of that way feeling evaporate.
Zingers continued to flow, jabbing into my heart with unerring accuracy. It was like dream guy was ruthlessly squashing any bit of good feeling I had toward him, methodically erasing all good-will, spoiling every memory, and creating only shock and hurt to fill the gap.
I woke up, feeling clammy inside and out.
I closed my eyes and as I dozed in and out, I played out the rest of the dream in my head: I lost the urge to cry. An emptiness bloomed inside me, great and terrible. After the emptiness, a curious calm crept over me. I looked at him. Really looked at him. And I realized that he wasn't the person that I thought he was, and that I didn't need to accept his assessment of me, and I didn't need to try to be nice to him, and I definitely didn't need to twist myself into an emotional pretzel to satisfy any ill-conceived "need" to keep him in my life.
That was when I undid my seat belt, opened the door, collected my purse, and walked away without looking back. I had nothing else to say to a person who would be so thoughtless that it was cruel, and tell me he wanted me to stick around for more of the same. I heard him calling to me, pleading. But my footsteps continued without pausing.
And my awake self is oh-so-glad I walked away.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Van Gogh
I used to wonder why you tried to cut your ear off.
Now that I have been infected for eight weeks, I know.
It starts as an ache, spreads to an itch, shuts your canal.
And that, my friend, is just the beginning of the show.
If it was just the hearing loss, or the bright red burn,
or the gooey ick, or the overwhelming fulness,
or even two of these foes conjoined in impishness
That would be one thing. But it's more than that, isn't it.
It's the feeling that you've been dragged through the mud for miles
day after day, neverending grinding of life's stones
A slow, seemingly endless slog, framed by fitful sleep
episodic bursts so brief you think you dreamed them up.
So, Vincent (hope you don't mind the informality)
I'm here to tell you: I know. I care. I sympathize!
I dream of microscopes attached to tiny vacuums
The suction so sweet, the relief so complete...oh, rapture!
From the painting, I can see you tried to bandage yours.
I'm trying an alternate treatment method: so far
I s'pose it's an improvement, but just can't "git 'er done."
Waiting for the ick to end is proving very hard.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Dear Ear
(Please sing this in your head to the symphony that "If I had Words To Make A Day for You" -- sung by Farmer Hoggett in Babe -- is based off of.)
If I had words to make you hear for me
I'd string them into a strong melody
It would be soft and warm, encouraging
To not irritate, but be so soothing.
I'd sing you a song of hope for the best
Of longing for nights of undisturbed rest.
Of my dream that one day you'll clear for me
So I won't spend my life with ENT(s).
My song would show you I mean business
Your failure causes me nothing but stress
I know you really want to help me out
Please do so before I begin to shout.
Oh ear I love you, yes I really do
I'm just sick and tired of this--aren't you?
We'll both be better off without this yuck.
So to you and me I wish best of luck.
One day we will both be triumphant, ear!
Nights will be for sleeping, and I will hear
The whole of each word that is said to me
Repeats and ringing will not torture me.
If I had words to make you hear for me
I'd string them into a strong melody
It would be soft and warm, encouraging
To not irritate, but be so soothing.
I'd sing you a song of hope for the best
Of longing for nights of undisturbed rest.
Of my dream that one day you'll clear for me
So I won't spend my life with ENT(s).
My song would show you I mean business
Your failure causes me nothing but stress
I know you really want to help me out
Please do so before I begin to shout.
Oh ear I love you, yes I really do
I'm just sick and tired of this--aren't you?
We'll both be better off without this yuck.
So to you and me I wish best of luck.
One day we will both be triumphant, ear!
Nights will be for sleeping, and I will hear
The whole of each word that is said to me
Repeats and ringing will not torture me.
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