SNAPPIN' TIME
It's bad because I started the 11:00 hour today by doing a Google search on the phrase "nervous breakdown."
I'm not there yet. I'm close.
I know I shouldn't talk about work stuff, but suffice to say this morning I came in to find out that a profile I was planning to write for an upcoming issue fell apart because the dude was let go from his company last week. This is the second profile in only two months where this exact thing has happened, and I am forced to scramble to find replacement stories and people to interview. It's NOT an easy thing to do. Also today: several of my articles are in the toilet after being reviewed by the editorial review board...I have all kinds of rewrites and "pulls" to do (gotta find even MORE replacement editorial, yay!) all the while still trying to get my normally-scheduled work done. I've had a string of stupid, terrible luck the past 6 months or so with bad articles; not ones I have written, but ones I have recruited. Every time I have to go back and pull an article at the last minute and drop everything, it pushes my on-time projects back by however much time it takes me to clean up the mess. So, in essence, everything's been backed up. I HATE being late on things! Today, it's just really freaking me out and I want to let my frustrations out by simply going to Crazyville. My self-control reserves are at capacity...not gonna hold much longer...she's gonna blow! And not in the dirty way!
It isn't just work, either. Life's a messy thing in general, and with stress comes an increase in bad headaches and a desire-to-sleep. I've only been able to sleep through the night sporadically lately, though, so it's all screwed up. I just know my new MO is to come home from work and take a nap. Lame.
And do not get me started on my book. This week I experimented with chopping up some chapters I've already written, moving things around and adding new bits where appropriate, blah blah blah. And it isn't working. In fact, I wrote a terrible scene where I made my beloved protagonist do something completely out of character and way too disturbing, thinking it would add more "drama" (yeah, it's in quotes for a reason) to the plot and take it in a direction that would be more exciting than the current expanded narrative. I wrote it two days ago and it's bothered me ever since. So I have to go back and take it out, for the good of the book AND for my own viewpoint of the character. Now, I THINK I have an idea of what I am going to do to fix things up, but I am supposed to be thinking about my JOB and the stuff I have to edit and write in order to collect a paycheck.
Here's an idea, Me: don't get a job where you have to write all day because it will suck all the energy for your FUN WRITING away. Maybe do something else in your next life besides business writing. Floral arrangement, perhaps?
I hope that anyone who's still reading this lame blog even as I go through this summer's funk is having a much better day than I am. Go run around and laugh...blow some bubbles, dance in the grass, hug your kid or your dog... just enjoy whatever you are able to do. It's important.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
SWAMPS
In my opinion, swamps suck.
They're just too wet and swampy. Deep in the swamp, there are scads of creatures waiting to kill you...or at least really creep you out. Toads, weird mud-dwelling fish, huge bugs, and possibly alligators depending on the extent and deepness of the swamp. I want to do a lot of things in my life, but I don't have any real desire to visit a swamp in the future. I'll now tell you why.
I like regular land. Regular land is pretty cool, if you think about it in terms of how much better it is than swamps. Regular land isn't filled with putrid water and mud; you won't lose your sneaker stepping into regular land. You can build things on regular land. Try doing that in a swamp. Man, you're going to be sorry...because that building will not last for longer than maybe a few hours. It would be an incredible waste of resources and time to build a house on top of swampy land.
Sure, they say some people can build houses deep in the swamps, because I guess there are patches of land where a house could theoretically stand, but it's just not a great idea. Because, OK, even if you are on the one patch of regular land in the swamp, you're still living in the middle of a swamp. You can't just send the kids outside to play on a nice day. Chances are, if you do that, the kids ain't coming back because they'll be pulled down into the muck by a hungry swamp predator. I bet toads can grow really big in the swamps. I wouldn't be surprised at all to read a headline sometime that reads like this: "Child Consumed By Colossal Swamp Toad."
Plus there's the thing with swamp people.
The stories abound in the south-- of inbred, isolated families living somewhere hidden in the swamps, growing more insane every day. These are the "folks" who wouldn't feel so bad eating one of their own when he or she dies; "it's meat, ain't it?" They have a child who has facial features disturbingly similar to a goat, because somewhere down the line there was a grandpa who got frisky with the livestock. The patriarch of this clan probably pulls on his big wadin' boots every morning, climbs in the old rowboat, and patrols the swamp waters around his home with an ancient shotgun resting on his lap. Oh, he'll shoot ya. He'll shoot ya dead if he sees ye wandering onto his "land." So git outta there fast, city boy.
The swamps will play tricks on a person's mind. You could be an accomplished Harvard Law professor, or a chess wizard, or even a real wizard...and you could go into the swamp fully aware that you might fall prey to strange imaginings given the spooky surroundings, and you'll STILL go a little batty after a few days in the swamp. Especially if you're alone, and you are in an area with a lot of bats, because being covered in bats is probably the most effective way to go batty. But I digress...
Swamp gas can appear to look like ghostly lights hovering over the water. In folklore, these are called will o'the wisps. They say many a person has drowned because they chased after the will o' the wisps, thinking they were fairies or something. Some fairies. They live in a gross SWAMP and smell like methane and phosphene. Awesome.
You might imagine hearing that "Deliverance" banjo playing somewhere, but that's just a cliche so if you have any of your wits left, try to remember that. Because, despite popular belief, you are actually less likely to be raped in a swamp than you are a corporate office building right in the middle of midtown, in broad daylight. It's true, look it up.
Forget about bringing your horse through the swamps. Horses have been known to be sucked in by the "sadness" of the swamps, and there's no saving them no matter how much you cry and beg the horse not to die.
So yeah...leave your horse home when you go on that big quest that takes you through the stupid swamps. That's just a recipe for horrible, horrible emotional scarring.
The last thing to make you crazy in the swamps would probably be the Skunk Ape. This is a mythical creature said to dwell in the swamp part of our country, and they apparently stink really bad. Unfortunate people who've been visiting the swamps have reporting seeing a large ape-man creature lumbering through the trees, and then smelling a stench not unlike decaying corpse-assholes coated with that liquid that's left at the bottom of your trash can when you haven't cleaned it in two years, and they KNOW...it's the Skunk Ape. And they get out of there. Why? It's not because the Skunk Ape is dangerous. No one wants to get that stink on them.
So, say you being CHASED by the Skunk Ape during your foray into the swamps. You're going to freak out. You're going to get utterly desperate to escape. You'll try to climb things you shouldn't climb, like old dead tree branches that will snap under your weight... you'll try to swim away in the black, smelly water and you'll get covered in horrible swamp-microbes and bugs... after running for a few days from the Skunk Ape, you might even try to fly but all you'll really do is tire your arms out from all the senseless flapping. The Skunk Ape is probably a tenacious bastard, too, and he won't give up easily. He'll just keep on chasing you, and that foul stink will chase you, too...and it's inevitable that you'll snap.
JEEBUS! This thing is gonna get you!!
Some of us would probably give in and go live with the Skunk Ape, because how can you return to civilization now that you smell like that? Others among us would fight the Skunk Ape, but that's just not a good idea because the Skunk Ape is actually just a lover, and wants to be held, that's all...if you beat him up, you're going to feel so shitty about yourself. You'll be haunted by thoughts of, "How could I be such a mean bastard? I didn't know I was capable of such cruelty. I cannot live with myself." And one thing the swamp doesn't have is a warehouse full of antidepressants.
In closing, if you decide to vacation in a swamp this coming holiday, please go into it prepared. Read up on the swamp. Get your vaccinations. Find magic shoes that will keep you from sinking into the mud. Learn self-defense and the proper way to punch a giant toad right in the sweet spot so you can kill it. I hope this post has helped begin your education into the mysteries and dangers of the swamps. Don't be drawn in by the romantic notions of what a swamp might SEEM to be. It's really just a fucking, wet, nasty swamp and that's the reality. So get used to it.
The End.
(The Swamp Monster, also known affectionately in some blogger communities as the Smut Monster)
In my opinion, swamps suck.
They're just too wet and swampy. Deep in the swamp, there are scads of creatures waiting to kill you...or at least really creep you out. Toads, weird mud-dwelling fish, huge bugs, and possibly alligators depending on the extent and deepness of the swamp. I want to do a lot of things in my life, but I don't have any real desire to visit a swamp in the future. I'll now tell you why.
I like regular land. Regular land is pretty cool, if you think about it in terms of how much better it is than swamps. Regular land isn't filled with putrid water and mud; you won't lose your sneaker stepping into regular land. You can build things on regular land. Try doing that in a swamp. Man, you're going to be sorry...because that building will not last for longer than maybe a few hours. It would be an incredible waste of resources and time to build a house on top of swampy land.
Sure, they say some people can build houses deep in the swamps, because I guess there are patches of land where a house could theoretically stand, but it's just not a great idea. Because, OK, even if you are on the one patch of regular land in the swamp, you're still living in the middle of a swamp. You can't just send the kids outside to play on a nice day. Chances are, if you do that, the kids ain't coming back because they'll be pulled down into the muck by a hungry swamp predator. I bet toads can grow really big in the swamps. I wouldn't be surprised at all to read a headline sometime that reads like this: "Child Consumed By Colossal Swamp Toad."
Plus there's the thing with swamp people.
The stories abound in the south-- of inbred, isolated families living somewhere hidden in the swamps, growing more insane every day. These are the "folks" who wouldn't feel so bad eating one of their own when he or she dies; "it's meat, ain't it?" They have a child who has facial features disturbingly similar to a goat, because somewhere down the line there was a grandpa who got frisky with the livestock. The patriarch of this clan probably pulls on his big wadin' boots every morning, climbs in the old rowboat, and patrols the swamp waters around his home with an ancient shotgun resting on his lap. Oh, he'll shoot ya. He'll shoot ya dead if he sees ye wandering onto his "land." So git outta there fast, city boy.
The swamps will play tricks on a person's mind. You could be an accomplished Harvard Law professor, or a chess wizard, or even a real wizard...and you could go into the swamp fully aware that you might fall prey to strange imaginings given the spooky surroundings, and you'll STILL go a little batty after a few days in the swamp. Especially if you're alone, and you are in an area with a lot of bats, because being covered in bats is probably the most effective way to go batty. But I digress...
Swamp gas can appear to look like ghostly lights hovering over the water. In folklore, these are called will o'the wisps. They say many a person has drowned because they chased after the will o' the wisps, thinking they were fairies or something. Some fairies. They live in a gross SWAMP and smell like methane and phosphene. Awesome.
You might imagine hearing that "Deliverance" banjo playing somewhere, but that's just a cliche so if you have any of your wits left, try to remember that. Because, despite popular belief, you are actually less likely to be raped in a swamp than you are a corporate office building right in the middle of midtown, in broad daylight. It's true, look it up.
Forget about bringing your horse through the swamps. Horses have been known to be sucked in by the "sadness" of the swamps, and there's no saving them no matter how much you cry and beg the horse not to die.
So yeah...leave your horse home when you go on that big quest that takes you through the stupid swamps. That's just a recipe for horrible, horrible emotional scarring.The last thing to make you crazy in the swamps would probably be the Skunk Ape. This is a mythical creature said to dwell in the swamp part of our country, and they apparently stink really bad. Unfortunate people who've been visiting the swamps have reporting seeing a large ape-man creature lumbering through the trees, and then smelling a stench not unlike decaying corpse-assholes coated with that liquid that's left at the bottom of your trash can when you haven't cleaned it in two years, and they KNOW...it's the Skunk Ape. And they get out of there. Why? It's not because the Skunk Ape is dangerous. No one wants to get that stink on them.
So, say you being CHASED by the Skunk Ape during your foray into the swamps. You're going to freak out. You're going to get utterly desperate to escape. You'll try to climb things you shouldn't climb, like old dead tree branches that will snap under your weight... you'll try to swim away in the black, smelly water and you'll get covered in horrible swamp-microbes and bugs... after running for a few days from the Skunk Ape, you might even try to fly but all you'll really do is tire your arms out from all the senseless flapping. The Skunk Ape is probably a tenacious bastard, too, and he won't give up easily. He'll just keep on chasing you, and that foul stink will chase you, too...and it's inevitable that you'll snap.
JEEBUS! This thing is gonna get you!!Some of us would probably give in and go live with the Skunk Ape, because how can you return to civilization now that you smell like that? Others among us would fight the Skunk Ape, but that's just not a good idea because the Skunk Ape is actually just a lover, and wants to be held, that's all...if you beat him up, you're going to feel so shitty about yourself. You'll be haunted by thoughts of, "How could I be such a mean bastard? I didn't know I was capable of such cruelty. I cannot live with myself." And one thing the swamp doesn't have is a warehouse full of antidepressants.
In closing, if you decide to vacation in a swamp this coming holiday, please go into it prepared. Read up on the swamp. Get your vaccinations. Find magic shoes that will keep you from sinking into the mud. Learn self-defense and the proper way to punch a giant toad right in the sweet spot so you can kill it. I hope this post has helped begin your education into the mysteries and dangers of the swamps. Don't be drawn in by the romantic notions of what a swamp might SEEM to be. It's really just a fucking, wet, nasty swamp and that's the reality. So get used to it.
The End.
(The Swamp Monster, also known affectionately in some blogger communities as the Smut Monster)
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
I HELPED ROB A BLOG
It's true...Vegas Princess and I took over today's WTF?! Wednesday post over at Naynay's blog. Since it appears I am too lazy to do a proper post here, go over there and check out what VP and I did! Do it! As Wilford Brimley would say, "It's the right thing to do. And I have diabeeetus, you sons a bitches."
It's true...Vegas Princess and I took over today's WTF?! Wednesday post over at Naynay's blog. Since it appears I am too lazy to do a proper post here, go over there and check out what VP and I did! Do it! As Wilford Brimley would say, "It's the right thing to do. And I have diabeeetus, you sons a bitches."
Monday, July 21, 2008
FISH PEDICURES?! UM, NO.
If there's one thing I'm sure of in my life, it's that I would never, ever get a fish pedicure. There are a lot of other things I wouldn't subject myself to as well, like working the kill floor in a slaughterhouse, swimming with sharks, elective eye surgery, or eating anything that Andrew Zimmern eats on Bizarre Foods... but fish hold a special place in my soul. They're the creatures on this planet that I am the MOST afraid of. It's called icthyphobia. I don't like fish. Period.
I was horrified when I got to work this morning, and like any other day, I turned my computer on and scanned the local news site as usual for any interesting headlines. Normally I end up clicking on whatever sensational headline they throw at me-- and lately, it's been BAD stuff too, like babies drowning and dead bodies found behind someone's house-- and after a minute or two, I'm done and I can move on to other stuff. Today, however, my eyes stopped and bugged out when I saw this headline: "Fish pedicures: Carp rid human feet of scaly skin."
Oh. My. HELL.
Here's the story.
Unbelievable! So let me get this straight: people will pay--MONEY, precious money they earned working hard for a living-- to stick their bare feet into a tank of warm water and let 100 or so tiny carp chew the dead skin off of their feet? Really? Why?! Does this seem absolutely and utterly insane to anyone else, or is it just me and my fear of fish, blowing this out of proportion? Because, EWWWW... I could not in a million years willingly do this. And I have calluses, don't get me wrong. Ironically, this morning as I was taking care of my feet after my shower I was thinking about how I have no desire to go for a professional pedicure because I've got inherited 'issues' with my feet (ingrown nails, callus problems, yuck) and can't imagine letting some stranger wielding a razor go near my sensitive toes. I can't stand manicures for the same reason, although I've got very healthy nails; I just don't want someone pushing and cutting cuticles and all of that. Leave them ALONE. They grow there for a reason, people. I get compliments on how strong and healthy my NATURAL nails are from women who subject themselves to the torture of manicures, and I just want to slap their foreheads and say, "Duh, I don't get manicures or rip off my cuticles, ya big dummy....THAT'S why they look this way!" I know I'm in the minority here since so MANY of my friends like manicures and even (shudder) pedicures, and that's fine, because different strokes for different folks, right? I think so. THAT'S what I'm talkin' bout, Willis.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Fish pedicures.
Even typing that phrase makes me actually shudder. Hairs are standing up on my arms right now!
The article says that these little carp have no teeth, and they will eat anything in the tank that they can...and that means the dead, flaking skin on FEET in this case. They say that because the fish have no teeth, they can't eat the healthy skin because they can't (ugggh) bite into it. So you have to sit there and let these wee little demons swarm around your feet and toes and nibble/suck away your dead skin...willingly sit there and LET this happen. No! No! Noooooooo fucking WAY!
I had a nightmare one time that I was shopping in a grocery store that had no real floor; it was just a big shallow tank full of huge fish. Customers had to ride on ski-lift type seats up and down the aisles, grabbing groceries off the shelves when they rode past. The thing was, everyone was REQUIRED to take their shoes and socks off, and let their feet dangle in the water amongst these disgusing fish. In the dream, no one had a problem with this because in this twisted nightmare-world, this was a completely normal way to go shopping for groceries. Why not? Makes perfect sense, right?
So in the nightmare, I am on the ski-lift-thing, riding through the store with my bare feet in the water. I am trying to lift them up and out of the water because these fish are just PACKED into the tank, and there's nowhere to put your feet except on and pushed up next to slimy fish bodies...but the water rises and I can't get my feet up high enough. That's when I look down and realize the fish have huge HUMAN LIPS. And they are making sucky faces and opening and closing their horrible mouths after my feet. Oh my God...I woke up completely freaked out.
That nightmare was at least ten, maybe even fifteen years ago. It's in my top 5 Worst Dreams Ever list. My worst nightmare is so awful and disgusting I won't even type it here because seriously...it's THAT bad. Anyway, though, having my feet trapped in a tank full of fish is QUITE high on my list of horrors.
So no fish pedicures for me. Ever. Ever.
I'm upset that I even read this. Because I bet I'll dream about it at some point, now. Or, the next time I am soaking my feet at home I will make myself freak out because I will imagine I feel little fish in there, under the bubbles, gumming my calluses. Great. Thanks SO MUCH, Associated Press, for bringing me "the news" today. I hate you. May 1,000 toothless carp suck at the dead skin around your cold, unfeeling hearts. You deserve it, you terrible bastards.
If there's one thing I'm sure of in my life, it's that I would never, ever get a fish pedicure. There are a lot of other things I wouldn't subject myself to as well, like working the kill floor in a slaughterhouse, swimming with sharks, elective eye surgery, or eating anything that Andrew Zimmern eats on Bizarre Foods... but fish hold a special place in my soul. They're the creatures on this planet that I am the MOST afraid of. It's called icthyphobia. I don't like fish. Period.
I was horrified when I got to work this morning, and like any other day, I turned my computer on and scanned the local news site as usual for any interesting headlines. Normally I end up clicking on whatever sensational headline they throw at me-- and lately, it's been BAD stuff too, like babies drowning and dead bodies found behind someone's house-- and after a minute or two, I'm done and I can move on to other stuff. Today, however, my eyes stopped and bugged out when I saw this headline: "Fish pedicures: Carp rid human feet of scaly skin."
Oh. My. HELL.
Here's the story.
Unbelievable! So let me get this straight: people will pay--MONEY, precious money they earned working hard for a living-- to stick their bare feet into a tank of warm water and let 100 or so tiny carp chew the dead skin off of their feet? Really? Why?! Does this seem absolutely and utterly insane to anyone else, or is it just me and my fear of fish, blowing this out of proportion? Because, EWWWW... I could not in a million years willingly do this. And I have calluses, don't get me wrong. Ironically, this morning as I was taking care of my feet after my shower I was thinking about how I have no desire to go for a professional pedicure because I've got inherited 'issues' with my feet (ingrown nails, callus problems, yuck) and can't imagine letting some stranger wielding a razor go near my sensitive toes. I can't stand manicures for the same reason, although I've got very healthy nails; I just don't want someone pushing and cutting cuticles and all of that. Leave them ALONE. They grow there for a reason, people. I get compliments on how strong and healthy my NATURAL nails are from women who subject themselves to the torture of manicures, and I just want to slap their foreheads and say, "Duh, I don't get manicures or rip off my cuticles, ya big dummy....THAT'S why they look this way!" I know I'm in the minority here since so MANY of my friends like manicures and even (shudder) pedicures, and that's fine, because different strokes for different folks, right? I think so. THAT'S what I'm talkin' bout, Willis.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Fish pedicures.
Even typing that phrase makes me actually shudder. Hairs are standing up on my arms right now!
The article says that these little carp have no teeth, and they will eat anything in the tank that they can...and that means the dead, flaking skin on FEET in this case. They say that because the fish have no teeth, they can't eat the healthy skin because they can't (ugggh) bite into it. So you have to sit there and let these wee little demons swarm around your feet and toes and nibble/suck away your dead skin...willingly sit there and LET this happen. No! No! Noooooooo fucking WAY!
I had a nightmare one time that I was shopping in a grocery store that had no real floor; it was just a big shallow tank full of huge fish. Customers had to ride on ski-lift type seats up and down the aisles, grabbing groceries off the shelves when they rode past. The thing was, everyone was REQUIRED to take their shoes and socks off, and let their feet dangle in the water amongst these disgusing fish. In the dream, no one had a problem with this because in this twisted nightmare-world, this was a completely normal way to go shopping for groceries. Why not? Makes perfect sense, right?
So in the nightmare, I am on the ski-lift-thing, riding through the store with my bare feet in the water. I am trying to lift them up and out of the water because these fish are just PACKED into the tank, and there's nowhere to put your feet except on and pushed up next to slimy fish bodies...but the water rises and I can't get my feet up high enough. That's when I look down and realize the fish have huge HUMAN LIPS. And they are making sucky faces and opening and closing their horrible mouths after my feet. Oh my God...I woke up completely freaked out.
That nightmare was at least ten, maybe even fifteen years ago. It's in my top 5 Worst Dreams Ever list. My worst nightmare is so awful and disgusting I won't even type it here because seriously...it's THAT bad. Anyway, though, having my feet trapped in a tank full of fish is QUITE high on my list of horrors.
So no fish pedicures for me. Ever. Ever.
I'm upset that I even read this. Because I bet I'll dream about it at some point, now. Or, the next time I am soaking my feet at home I will make myself freak out because I will imagine I feel little fish in there, under the bubbles, gumming my calluses. Great. Thanks SO MUCH, Associated Press, for bringing me "the news" today. I hate you. May 1,000 toothless carp suck at the dead skin around your cold, unfeeling hearts. You deserve it, you terrible bastards.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
TABLOID SCIENTISTS
I saw this today on Gallery of the Absurd, and had to share the goodness:
This shocking photo spread was lifted from this great post all about what it would be like if scientists were the people featured in all the tabloids. And it's funny, because it's true...scientists ARE just like us!
I feel so much cooler now!
I saw this today on Gallery of the Absurd, and had to share the goodness:
This shocking photo spread was lifted from this great post all about what it would be like if scientists were the people featured in all the tabloids. And it's funny, because it's true...scientists ARE just like us!
I feel so much cooler now!
Monday, July 14, 2008
HELL!
This shall be known as the Summer of Not Blogging. I am beginning to wonder if this is starting to fade for me; I just don't feel like writing here all that much anymore and while it's sad, since I've been doing it for over five years now...it's also just evolution, too. My interests are shifting, very subtly. It happens.
I loved Hellboy 2 this weekend. I was very excited to see it, even more than I let on. The first Hellboy movie was awesome. I remember being very shocked by my reaction to it. I was prepared to feel "ehhhh..." about it. Ron Perlman as a big devil-guy? Selma Blair? Huh? Nope, it didn't seem to be a recipe for anything out of the ordinary. But then I watched it and was roped in. Such fun characters! I adore Hellboy's attitude and general sense of goodness. I love that he loves cats and smokes cigars. Every time the movie comes on, I have the same reaction: "Why the hell haven't I bought some of those comics/ graphic novels yet, anyway?" I know I'd like to read them. I have to get around to it. I know I'll fall in love even more.
Anyway, Hellboy 2 was even better than the first one, I think. I admit I miss David Hyde Pierce's voice for Abe Sapien, but that was pretty much my only complaint. Guillermo del Toro is a fantastic director for a movie like this. Plus, the visuals and creativity splashed all over every frame were stunning. I loved the troll market scene, and keep giggling over the line: "I'm not a baby. I'm a tumor." Creatures EVERYWHERE in this movie, and lord knows I love me some creatures! (Oh, and Seth McFarland was the voice for Johann Kraus, which is pretty cool, too. For the record, I'd rather listen to Kraus than Stewie--who is really wearing on me anymore. I won't say the same about Brian the dog, though. I still love Brian.) I kind of can't wait to see this one again, and I really do plan to see it one more time in the theater (probably the second-run theater, though, with ticket prices being what they are and about 18 more movies coming out that I MUST see). I just relaxed, sat back and enjoyed this movie. It was right up my alley, as they say. I'd like to watch this with Mirrormask and Pan's Labyrinth...make it a triple-feature. OK, a quad-feature, because I want to watch the first Hellboy, too.
And now, this weekend we finally get The Dark Knight. Now, I'm not positive we will see it this weekend only because of the crowds and everything...but we're not going to be able to wait very long at all. It's just too intriguing, looks TOO awesome. Even before he died and they started leaking the first footage of Heath as the Joker, I knew that my fears about the casting were completely unfounded. A totally insane, messy Joker is the way it's SUPPOSED to be. I am of the crowd that feels the Batman/ Dark Knight story/character should be dark, brooding and filled with inner conflict. I want to be haunted by the story. Batman Begins accomplished this so well. And now, I think The Dark Knight is easily going to surpass that. I've been waiting a long time for this one. Maybe I'm not all fanboy(girl) about it, not quite-- but I have been thinking about it all year and eagering anticipating the sensory and emotional experience of watching it unfold on the screen, finally.
"People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy, and I can't do that as Bruce Wayne. As a man,I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed. But as a symbol...as a symbol I can be incorruptible. I can be everlasting."
This shall be known as the Summer of Not Blogging. I am beginning to wonder if this is starting to fade for me; I just don't feel like writing here all that much anymore and while it's sad, since I've been doing it for over five years now...it's also just evolution, too. My interests are shifting, very subtly. It happens.
I loved Hellboy 2 this weekend. I was very excited to see it, even more than I let on. The first Hellboy movie was awesome. I remember being very shocked by my reaction to it. I was prepared to feel "ehhhh..." about it. Ron Perlman as a big devil-guy? Selma Blair? Huh? Nope, it didn't seem to be a recipe for anything out of the ordinary. But then I watched it and was roped in. Such fun characters! I adore Hellboy's attitude and general sense of goodness. I love that he loves cats and smokes cigars. Every time the movie comes on, I have the same reaction: "Why the hell haven't I bought some of those comics/ graphic novels yet, anyway?" I know I'd like to read them. I have to get around to it. I know I'll fall in love even more.
Anyway, Hellboy 2 was even better than the first one, I think. I admit I miss David Hyde Pierce's voice for Abe Sapien, but that was pretty much my only complaint. Guillermo del Toro is a fantastic director for a movie like this. Plus, the visuals and creativity splashed all over every frame were stunning. I loved the troll market scene, and keep giggling over the line: "I'm not a baby. I'm a tumor." Creatures EVERYWHERE in this movie, and lord knows I love me some creatures! (Oh, and Seth McFarland was the voice for Johann Kraus, which is pretty cool, too. For the record, I'd rather listen to Kraus than Stewie--who is really wearing on me anymore. I won't say the same about Brian the dog, though. I still love Brian.) I kind of can't wait to see this one again, and I really do plan to see it one more time in the theater (probably the second-run theater, though, with ticket prices being what they are and about 18 more movies coming out that I MUST see). I just relaxed, sat back and enjoyed this movie. It was right up my alley, as they say. I'd like to watch this with Mirrormask and Pan's Labyrinth...make it a triple-feature. OK, a quad-feature, because I want to watch the first Hellboy, too.
And now, this weekend we finally get The Dark Knight. Now, I'm not positive we will see it this weekend only because of the crowds and everything...but we're not going to be able to wait very long at all. It's just too intriguing, looks TOO awesome. Even before he died and they started leaking the first footage of Heath as the Joker, I knew that my fears about the casting were completely unfounded. A totally insane, messy Joker is the way it's SUPPOSED to be. I am of the crowd that feels the Batman/ Dark Knight story/character should be dark, brooding and filled with inner conflict. I want to be haunted by the story. Batman Begins accomplished this so well. And now, I think The Dark Knight is easily going to surpass that. I've been waiting a long time for this one. Maybe I'm not all fanboy(girl) about it, not quite-- but I have been thinking about it all year and eagering anticipating the sensory and emotional experience of watching it unfold on the screen, finally.
"People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy, and I can't do that as Bruce Wayne. As a man,I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed. But as a symbol...as a symbol I can be incorruptible. I can be everlasting."
Monday, July 07, 2008
THE MURDEROUS PALMS
Since Friday, June 27, these palm trees have attacked me twice:
Sure, they look innocent enough...planted there next to the pool, providing shade and a semblance of a "tropical" feel to our desert backyard. But don't be fooled. They're very nasty. They want to kill me, and they want to do it without mercy.
Allow me to explain.
On a regular basis, I water these palms (and another one near the pool filter) by placing a hose at their bases and moving it after a couple of hours or so. We don't have an irrigation system for our trees, and this method of moving-the-hose has worked fine for at least two years now. I also weed and rake the gravel yard to keep it looking neat and spiffy. G mows the grass and does the harder work of trimming the trees back, and together we keep the backyard in good condition.
The trees are mostly harmless. A jacaranda, a purple plum, two Chilean mesquites, a Chinese tallow and a lovely eucalyptus. They can be trimmed and their amputated limbs hauled away with little chance of injury. But there are three dangerous trees in the yard...the Mexican fan palms. And their scary, long, super-sharp BARBS.
The larger the palms grow, the more fierce the barbs. They seem like razor-sharp claws anymore, and it's pretty much impossible to go near these palms without getting poked. Here's a close-up of what these terror-spikes look like:
The first time the palms attacked me, I was bending underneath the huge fronds to re-arrange the hose so the damn things could receive nourishment and grow even bigger and more ruthless. A barb or two raked across my scalp, poking in and drawing a shitload of blood. Head wounds bleed so much worse than any other type of wound. I ran in the house and called to G, so he could assess the damage and apply some alcohol to the cuts and help me mop the blood out of my hair. It was lovely, and the two puncture wounds did heal up very well with little trouble except when I accidentally scraped them with my fingernail later that evening when running my hands through my hair.
Cut to exactly one week later. This time, it was the morning of the 4th of July and we were getting the yard and house ready for visitors. G was in the house slicing and preparing the veggies and fruits, and I was in the yard, slathered in a thick layer of sunblock, popping the weeds up and out of the gravel with the hula-hoe (I don't know the proper name for it, but it's a metal loop at the end of a stick). I was moving along very well, listening to She & Him on my headphones, methodically killin' weeds and raking everything up into neat piles to be picked up at the very end.
I was wary to go near the palms now. I did every other section of the yard first and left that region for last. Finally, it was time to hit some of the weeds with the hoe and rake them away. I carefully removed weeds near the outside edge of the palm-tree-region, not caring about ducking underneath to do extensive weeding. I wasn't going to risk yet another head wound. Everything was going fine, until I reached the rake out and underneath the palm to quickly rake the weeds and gravel right near the pool edge.
Instantly, I was caught. A barb cut through my shirt and settled somewhere in the skin of my neck. I was stuck to the tree. I couldn't move because I could feel the barb under my skin, and had no way of telling which way the barb had gone in and how to pull myself off the tree without tearing anything further. Last thing I needed was a ripped-open neck.
I yelled for help ("Greg! Help!" on repeat) since I didn't have my cell phone on me, and it took a couple of minutes before G finally ran out back to free me. He couldn't really hear me out there, since the A/C was running and the TV was on as he was working in the kitchen. The dogs apparently heard me, though, and went to the back door and let him know something was wrong out in the backyard. Anyway, he got out there and managed to unattach me from the barb. I got upset, not just because I'd been stabbed in the neck by a tree and it hurt, but because what kind of SPAZZ am I to sustain two palm injuries like that? Why am I so accident-prone, anyway? What's the deal with me? Normal people don't get hooked in the neck by trees.
The good news was, the barb went in kind of sideways under the skin, so the wound wasn't deep this time. It just looked like a reddish-purple hickey with a red hole in the middle. It's still very ugly. The bad news is, the barbs on a Mexican palm tree apparently have some sort of toxin on them. I'm fine, but I did get bad headaches both days I was injured; headaches that felt nothing like a migraine but instead like a too-tight helmet around my entire skull, making me super sleepy. Greg says that when he gets poked with those barbs when he's trimming the fronds back, the joints in his hands get stiff and sore for a few hours. I tried to find information online about this mysterious toxin, but I came up empty. It's a very strange thing to have a tree that you have shown nothing but kindness suddenly turn and try to kill you. The purple plum would NEVER do a thing like this.
So, that's my story of how the palms and I became mortal enemies. I sincerely fear and loathe those palm trees now. I don't trust them for a second anymore, and I'm thinking of trading a responsibility with G so he can take over watering duties on those particular trees for awhile. Once they grow a little taller and the fronds are all trimmed off to a point where it will be easy to walk around them, maybe I'll feel a little more confident venturing into their territory again. Until then, though, I'm not ashamed to admit my intense fear. They're just evil and they clearly HATE ME. They want me dead, I know it. They are having fun toying with me and my spilled blood. Bastard palm trees.
I know it's really bad and I have no business going near them because yesterday, when I took the two photos above, I narrowly avoided being poked in the face...possibly the eye...by a wayward frond riddled with barbs. I was trying to get a close-up of the barbs and as I was checking the photo, the wind carried a long spiky frond right up to my cheek. I jumped back so fast I almost fell in the pool. And that, my friends, is the LAST TIME I risk my life around those fuckers. Hope you have enjoyed this story and the pictures that I nearly died to obtain.
Stay safe out there.
Since Friday, June 27, these palm trees have attacked me twice:
Sure, they look innocent enough...planted there next to the pool, providing shade and a semblance of a "tropical" feel to our desert backyard. But don't be fooled. They're very nasty. They want to kill me, and they want to do it without mercy.
Allow me to explain.
On a regular basis, I water these palms (and another one near the pool filter) by placing a hose at their bases and moving it after a couple of hours or so. We don't have an irrigation system for our trees, and this method of moving-the-hose has worked fine for at least two years now. I also weed and rake the gravel yard to keep it looking neat and spiffy. G mows the grass and does the harder work of trimming the trees back, and together we keep the backyard in good condition.
The trees are mostly harmless. A jacaranda, a purple plum, two Chilean mesquites, a Chinese tallow and a lovely eucalyptus. They can be trimmed and their amputated limbs hauled away with little chance of injury. But there are three dangerous trees in the yard...the Mexican fan palms. And their scary, long, super-sharp BARBS.
The larger the palms grow, the more fierce the barbs. They seem like razor-sharp claws anymore, and it's pretty much impossible to go near these palms without getting poked. Here's a close-up of what these terror-spikes look like:
The first time the palms attacked me, I was bending underneath the huge fronds to re-arrange the hose so the damn things could receive nourishment and grow even bigger and more ruthless. A barb or two raked across my scalp, poking in and drawing a shitload of blood. Head wounds bleed so much worse than any other type of wound. I ran in the house and called to G, so he could assess the damage and apply some alcohol to the cuts and help me mop the blood out of my hair. It was lovely, and the two puncture wounds did heal up very well with little trouble except when I accidentally scraped them with my fingernail later that evening when running my hands through my hair.
Cut to exactly one week later. This time, it was the morning of the 4th of July and we were getting the yard and house ready for visitors. G was in the house slicing and preparing the veggies and fruits, and I was in the yard, slathered in a thick layer of sunblock, popping the weeds up and out of the gravel with the hula-hoe (I don't know the proper name for it, but it's a metal loop at the end of a stick). I was moving along very well, listening to She & Him on my headphones, methodically killin' weeds and raking everything up into neat piles to be picked up at the very end.
I was wary to go near the palms now. I did every other section of the yard first and left that region for last. Finally, it was time to hit some of the weeds with the hoe and rake them away. I carefully removed weeds near the outside edge of the palm-tree-region, not caring about ducking underneath to do extensive weeding. I wasn't going to risk yet another head wound. Everything was going fine, until I reached the rake out and underneath the palm to quickly rake the weeds and gravel right near the pool edge.
Instantly, I was caught. A barb cut through my shirt and settled somewhere in the skin of my neck. I was stuck to the tree. I couldn't move because I could feel the barb under my skin, and had no way of telling which way the barb had gone in and how to pull myself off the tree without tearing anything further. Last thing I needed was a ripped-open neck.
I yelled for help ("Greg! Help!" on repeat) since I didn't have my cell phone on me, and it took a couple of minutes before G finally ran out back to free me. He couldn't really hear me out there, since the A/C was running and the TV was on as he was working in the kitchen. The dogs apparently heard me, though, and went to the back door and let him know something was wrong out in the backyard. Anyway, he got out there and managed to unattach me from the barb. I got upset, not just because I'd been stabbed in the neck by a tree and it hurt, but because what kind of SPAZZ am I to sustain two palm injuries like that? Why am I so accident-prone, anyway? What's the deal with me? Normal people don't get hooked in the neck by trees.
The good news was, the barb went in kind of sideways under the skin, so the wound wasn't deep this time. It just looked like a reddish-purple hickey with a red hole in the middle. It's still very ugly. The bad news is, the barbs on a Mexican palm tree apparently have some sort of toxin on them. I'm fine, but I did get bad headaches both days I was injured; headaches that felt nothing like a migraine but instead like a too-tight helmet around my entire skull, making me super sleepy. Greg says that when he gets poked with those barbs when he's trimming the fronds back, the joints in his hands get stiff and sore for a few hours. I tried to find information online about this mysterious toxin, but I came up empty. It's a very strange thing to have a tree that you have shown nothing but kindness suddenly turn and try to kill you. The purple plum would NEVER do a thing like this.
So, that's my story of how the palms and I became mortal enemies. I sincerely fear and loathe those palm trees now. I don't trust them for a second anymore, and I'm thinking of trading a responsibility with G so he can take over watering duties on those particular trees for awhile. Once they grow a little taller and the fronds are all trimmed off to a point where it will be easy to walk around them, maybe I'll feel a little more confident venturing into their territory again. Until then, though, I'm not ashamed to admit my intense fear. They're just evil and they clearly HATE ME. They want me dead, I know it. They are having fun toying with me and my spilled blood. Bastard palm trees.
I know it's really bad and I have no business going near them because yesterday, when I took the two photos above, I narrowly avoided being poked in the face...possibly the eye...by a wayward frond riddled with barbs. I was trying to get a close-up of the barbs and as I was checking the photo, the wind carried a long spiky frond right up to my cheek. I jumped back so fast I almost fell in the pool. And that, my friends, is the LAST TIME I risk my life around those fuckers. Hope you have enjoyed this story and the pictures that I nearly died to obtain.
Stay safe out there.
Friday, July 04, 2008
SLEEPY SUMBITCH
Ever stare at a blank screen with no clue what you're going to write? Well, that's been me for a couple of weeks now. I can't explain it, but I did want to just log on here and let you all know I'm still alive...I apologize for not writing or even visiting/ commenting on your blogs much...and I am OK. I've just had a sleepy brain, is all. Yaaaawwwn.
And it's still sleepy. Maybe I have that Mad Cow Disease.
"If you had a choice between bein' the top scientist in your field, or gettin' Mad Cow Disease, what would it be?"
So, here we go again...it's Independence Day. Every year, I want to recite Bill Pullman's heroic speech in the movie about it being OUR Independence Day (from the aliens). Because I really hate aliens so much, and I like to think that we, led by Bill Pullman, would go up there and git 'em all and then they couldn't come down here and ruin life as we know it.
I used to worry that when we set off fireworks on the 4th of July, we were advertising to the aliens where we could be found. ("Hey, aliens...We're down here! Just follow the colorful explosions to a planet just full of pink, fleshy morons to probe!") I'm not kidding about this, either. When I was little (OK, I think I really was in my teens... and I'm not just saying that for comedic effect, either), I truly believed we should "lay low" and not send anything up into the skies like fireworks or those searchlights. I don't care how much we need Batman, we've got to work out a system to contact him without making a spectacle of the surface of the moon. That's just a recipe for trouble. We're like the teenage girl in the short skirt and too much makeup of the universe; you know, the one who was just asking for it.
Well, it's two in the morning and I'm going to sleep now. Again. Before I go, I will leave you with a PHOTO MONTAGE featuring some bloggers, some other people, other stuff I'm just way too lazy to caption, and a hot dog. Heck, I'd have seconds!
Happy 4th!
Ever stare at a blank screen with no clue what you're going to write? Well, that's been me for a couple of weeks now. I can't explain it, but I did want to just log on here and let you all know I'm still alive...I apologize for not writing or even visiting/ commenting on your blogs much...and I am OK. I've just had a sleepy brain, is all. Yaaaawwwn.
And it's still sleepy. Maybe I have that Mad Cow Disease.
"If you had a choice between bein' the top scientist in your field, or gettin' Mad Cow Disease, what would it be?"
So, here we go again...it's Independence Day. Every year, I want to recite Bill Pullman's heroic speech in the movie about it being OUR Independence Day (from the aliens). Because I really hate aliens so much, and I like to think that we, led by Bill Pullman, would go up there and git 'em all and then they couldn't come down here and ruin life as we know it.
I used to worry that when we set off fireworks on the 4th of July, we were advertising to the aliens where we could be found. ("Hey, aliens...We're down here! Just follow the colorful explosions to a planet just full of pink, fleshy morons to probe!") I'm not kidding about this, either. When I was little (OK, I think I really was in my teens... and I'm not just saying that for comedic effect, either), I truly believed we should "lay low" and not send anything up into the skies like fireworks or those searchlights. I don't care how much we need Batman, we've got to work out a system to contact him without making a spectacle of the surface of the moon. That's just a recipe for trouble. We're like the teenage girl in the short skirt and too much makeup of the universe; you know, the one who was just asking for it.
Well, it's two in the morning and I'm going to sleep now. Again. Before I go, I will leave you with a PHOTO MONTAGE featuring some bloggers, some other people, other stuff I'm just way too lazy to caption, and a hot dog. Heck, I'd have seconds!
Happy 4th!
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