November 2005 Archives

Grumble

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It's been about a year and a half, maybe even two years, since I've been really really sick. That's kind of a record, as people with kids will know.

From the time your kid goes to pre-school until they get second grade or so, cold season starts with school and lets up somewhere late in spring, and you're sick more than you're well all that time.

If you've got two kids like I do, well spaced, about the time the first gets to the 'not bringing home so many colds' phase, the second one hits pre-school and it all starts up again. Not so bad if your kids are close together because you've still got your cold immunities built up, but with kids four years apart, they lapse.

But my youngest is in second grade, and I'm past the baby-cold phase by several years. And my no-major-cold record shows this. No flu, no major cold, no sinus infections. Even with my stress level up as high as it's been the last year.

So I'm particularly cranky this week, with the cold that just won't let up. I'm getting to the point where anger is replacing misery as I get just enough better to 1) have no excuse to stay outta work 2) start to see all the shit I need to get done and 3) still just feel like getting in bed for the day.

Plus, I hate fucking blogging about feeling bad. I hate self-pity. I'd far rather blog about Dean Gray Tuesday or favorite holiday music or about how much The Amazing Race sucks this season. I'd rather blog about how fucking brilliant GRRM is and how great his new book is (The one good thing about being sick - I can read all day).

But all I can think is, christ my sinuses hurt, I need to take a fistful of pills and go to sleep.

Thus - grumble, grumble, grumble. It's about all I have to say for myself today.

BoingBoinged over the death of mashuptown

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Hey, I got a mention in BoingBoing. Sweet.

Alas, it's because I hipped Cory to the demise of one of my favorite places in the internet, Mashuptown.

My brutha-man Art has been hosting some of the freshest, tastiest mashups around, but the RIAA nazis are on his track. It's a sad day, but I'm still off to buy Mashuptown swag to show the man some support.

Thanks for the mashups, Art.

The c'thulu family circus

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Not as brilliant as dysfunctional family circus, sure, but still, pretty fuckin' brilliant.


The Cthulhu Circus

The Nameless Dread - C'thulu Family Circus.


(Props to BoingBoing of course)

Another Day Older and Deeper in Debt

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I'm fourty-four years old today. And I'm trying to write something meaningful and staring at a mocking blank screen with nothing to say about my life to date.

I turned comments off on this. If I can actually finish something it'll get replaced later.

Cold for the holiday

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Ignore me, ok? I hate bitching about being sick. And yet, I feel compelled to.

Nothing quite like using a nice holiday weekend to sleep off an annoying fucking cold. Just what I was wanting. Instead of having some sort of night out on the town with friends, or some sort of nekkid holiday revel to celebrate by birthday, I've been alternately sleeping, watching my football team get royally smacked, and trying to complete some basic domestic tasks like laundry before I have to go back to work.

I was gonna take tomorrow off for my birthday. I dunno what I was gonna do, maybe just take my motorcycle up a hill or maybe go sit in a cafe and write. But I was gonna do something just for me. Only now I don't fucking feel like it. If I'm gonna be sick, I might as well be working.

Too late though, I already put in for an extra day off.

Honestly the thing that pisses me off most about being sick is that I wanna go work out. Which means I'm getting back to gym-rat mentality. I wanna get in there and work 'til I sweat, work 'til it burns. And I can't, not when I'm dizzy and coughing and sneezing.

Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.

GRRM makes my brain hurt

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GRRM (George R. R. Martin) make my brain hurt.

I swear, the man must sit around all day thinking, how can I make these books more dense and confusing?

I'm maybe a hundred pages into A Feast for Crows, GRRM's latest brick in the Song of Ice and Fire googology. And my eyes are crossed with confusion at every chapter.

Who the fuck is Aryn? Wait, who was Dontos again? Why is Myrcella important? Wait, I thought Stannis was dead...

Dammit Martin, you need to put some synopsis pages in these volumes if you're gonna make us wait five years between. I cannot fucking keep track of all your characters and connections.


Honestly, though, I'm remembering again why I used to say GRRM is the most intense, compelling fantasy writer working today. The man's amazing. Most of these giant multi-brick series are nothing but rehash Tolkien; the best of them still trapped in a genre that is getting thicker and thicker with cliche, and the worst going on and on and on without ever seeing an end. Clearly editing is a thing of the past for most of these series.

Martin, even while writing a series that is growing and growing, seems to have some laser-tight focus on where his story's going. For all his hundreds of characters, this series feels like a history, not like an aimless jaunt through someone's daydreams of heroics and magic.

I don't know how he keeps track of it all. But I know it's brilliant.

Yet, I hope he's close to done. There's another book due out next year, and after that, knowing Martin, another half-decade wait; that's ok if he's getting close to the end, but I'd really like to see how it all ends sometime before my kids go away to college.

Ok. Now it's time for another dose of cold medicine, and I'll crawl back into the book.

Thankless Thanks

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I recall last year trying to write an entry about giving thanks. I thought I'd posted it, and I find I had the same issue then as I have now - I can't seem to quite find what I want to say.

Like the silly cultural tradition of the new year's resolution, we in america, at least (does anyone outside the US practice something like this? I don't know) take one day of the year to 'give thanks'.

This, like christmas, is ostensibly a religious celebration. The act of giving thanks is in fact, thanking your chosen deity for whatever you have.

It's the funny dichotomy of american culture; we were founded in many ways by religious pariahs, zealots who fled home country rarther than assimilate into a less-devoute population. So much of the very core of american culture is, still, puritan and deeply god-fearing. The notion of the first thanksgiving is one of a feast held to honor god for providing.

Yet, we are also the nation that has Separation of Church and State written into the most basic foundation of our culture, the constitution.

Thus we have Thanksgiving and Christmas days as national holidays, yet we're not able to call it christmas in school anymore, we have to refer to 'winter holidays'.

I'm not a christian. In any way. I've talked about it before - my atheist upbringing, my lack of any faith or spirituality. I celebrate these holidays as cultural tradition, not as spiritual or religious festival. Yet they're important to me in a deep and fundamental way. I love the holiday traditions. I love christmas music, lights, tinsel. I love the fall colors, the traditions of ballgames and parades. These are my culture as an american. Dress up and decoration, songs and games, friends and family. Tribe.

But I also know what lies under it all. Deeper than western cultural traditions, deeper than christian gods.

Gym Manners

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It's been a while since I was working out regularly. And you know other than in highschool, I've only ever worked out in one gym, the 24 hour joint near my house. I've tried a few other places, the Y, a work gym, other fitness chains. But my local 24 is very close to me, never crowded, and has what I really care about, a decent free weight room, with a smith press, a power rack, a real plate/sled style leg press, and enough press benches that you can always find one free. I've had a membership there off and on for about twelve years. The place just works for me. But it's been a year since I was last in a serious training phase.

Today, I was staring around the gym and thinking, what the fuck has happened to people's gym manners since I was last here?

You know, there aren't many rules. Wipe your sweat off, don't leave trash around. Don't hog a machine if you're not really using it(Toning? get away from the free weights. Calf exercises? Go use the calf machine, get off the fucking leg press). Don't ask to 'work in' when I'm in the middle of a set (in fact, don't ever fucking talk to me, I'm in the zone and you don't exist).

But that's all trivial.

There is one thing that makes me absolutely bugfuck at the gym, and that's not putting the plates away. Fuck, you put them on, take them off. Don't walk away from a machine and leaves plates on it. Ever. Don't walk away from a barbell and leave plates on it. Ever. Put the fuckin' 45s with teh 45s and the 10s with teh 10s. Don't fucking mix them. Have trouble lifting the 45s? Ask for help.

How hard is this?

Today, every machine in the room had plates on it, and every plate rack had 25s or 35s sandwiched between 45s. I stood behind some joker on the iso-lat pulldown, who's loaded a double fistfull of 25s on the thing. I watched him use the machine wrong (working his torso back and forth instead of driving with the elbows), and then he fucking walks away, right past me. No attempt to re-rack his fucking weights. I kept eye contact with him the entire time I was putting his plates away and putting my 45s on the machine, and not one fucking hint of contrition.

Is this just me? Am I being unreasonable to expect people to do a little fuckin' housekeeping? Sure, gym staff need to take care of this, but a once-a-day tidy should be enough. They shouldn't have to babysit.

Ok. Fine. Luggin' plates is good for my forearms. I'll just get that for you. No, no, it's ok. Go take a sauna, it's what I'm here for.

You smell like Cumming

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Alan Cumming, star of Spy Kids, the brilliant Anniversary Party, X2, and about a zillion other movies, has a fragrance out.

And it's called - wait for it...

Cumming.

Suddenly, guess what you're all getting in your xmas stockings?


Ah, it gets better. I just updated the above link to point to the official cumming web site, and by all means go watch the video. He's so sweetly girlish, I'd date him!

And the price? $69.

(Props to Amie Sue for hippin' me to this)

Goblet of Missing Plot-Lines

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Ok, so I loved Goblet of Fire.

However, I loved it in a Shining way.

Because they butchered the book. They left out most of it; key characters, key plot lines, key developments. They whipped past things like the Quiddich World Cup and the Pensieve so quickly as to make them fairly irrelevant. They cast Rita Skeeter brilliantly and then did nothing at all with her, leaving out the entire reason she was in the book.

There were casting issues as well. Fleur Delacour should be impossibly, breathtakingly pretty. The actress who played her, despite the adorable name of Clémence Poésy, is just sort of average looking. Cedric Diggory was also an average-looking boy. Ginny Weasley, also needs re-casting; it's obvious in Half Blood Prince how important she is, and we need more than an average looking girl with mousy-brown hair to play her. How can anyone even notice her next to Emma Watson, she's growing up into quite a little heartbreaker?

But you know, it all seemed not to matter much when I was watching it. The film looked so fucking good, and the action was so well done and so well paced, that I was almost gasping for breath the entire time. This is certainly the best any of these films has looked, and has the best effects.

Basically, what Newell (the director) seemed to have done is said, forget trying to pack the whole book in, let's just make a movie that's cool and fun to watch. And he nailed it, without question.

Yet the problem with this is that Rowling's books are so dense, so complicated, so rich in characters, names, history, mystery, and magic. You can't just strip them down and keep what makes them so brilliant. It's not just about a few kids in a school, it's about events and people who shape the entire magical world. This is an entire culture, almost a universe that she's developed.

So while I was loving the movie while I watched it, the more I think on it, the more it bothers me. While certain characters were given plenty of screen time, or made fantastic use of the time they had (Fred and George - god, I love these guys), where the hell was Mrs. Weasley? Where was Charlie, the rock star of the family? Where was Siruis Black (Sure, in the fire, but dammit, he should have more than two minutes screen time!).

I think it was a huge mistake to try to make one movie. They original plan was to split it into a pair; there was enough material for five or six hours of film, certainly, and with editing, you could have had two very good hours of movie. For some reason, though, Newell chose to make one instead. I've never heard what his reasoning was, but I have a hard time buying that it was a good idea.

This book, in many ways, is the hinge-point of the series. It's where things turn serious; it's where they go from being kids to being young adults. It's where the romantic relationships are born, and it's where we see the forces of evil begin to gain ground. So much of the next two books is set up in this one that you really need the side-plots, in many ways.

I walked out of the theater thinking this was the best movie of the four so far. And in terms of just making a movie I think it is. Yet, for all that I think it's ok to make a great movie by not doing the book right (look at Jaws or The Shining), this is one case where you can't just make a movie. You're making an installment of a series, and you're bringing to life a great mythos. You have to do more than make a movie, you have to maintain that mythos. I am not sure Mike Newell did that.

But what the hell. It's damned fun to watch. And I'll see it again. It is a good movie, if we don't pay too much attention to what's missing.

WWPD (What Would a Pirate Do?

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I love getting a mysterious package in the mail.

Well, unless there are, like, human heads in it. *


I just got this:

11570-2


From the lovely and talented DarkNeuro.


And my birthday isn't even 'til next week.

* in fact I don't even mind the human heads, if they're nice 'n fresh...

Frog in my Hair - I'll have what he's having

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I'll have some of what Joaquin Phoenix is having, please:


...Out of the blue, Phoenix suddenly changed the subject, asking, “Do I have a large frog in my hair?”

Reporter: No, no.

Phoenix: “Something’s crawling out of my scalp.”

Reporter: No, you look great.

Phoenix: “No, but I feel it. I’m not worried about the looks. I’m worried about the sensation of my brain being eaten. … What did you ask me?”

I've been walking around since I read this, thinking I’m worried about the sensation of my brain being eaten. I think I wanna party with 'ol Joaquin.

Goblet of Fire Book/Movie differences

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Warnings for detail geeks.

If you're like me and went through Prisoner of Azkaban saying Wait, that's not right, get ready to do it a lot more in Goblet of Fire. Here's your handy checklist:

Goblet of Fire Book/Movie differences

I'm hoping it's a Shining thing where it might be wrong, but it's good. That wasn't the case in Prisoner of Azkaban, but I'm hearing this is a better film, despite the hack-n-slash on the plot. Goblet isn't that good a book (WAY too long and with too many plot holes), so it's got a lot of room for trimming, much more so than Prisoner of Azkaban.

I'm off to see it tomorrow, we'll see.

I wanna be Titus Pullo

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I wanna be Titus Pullo.

(Warning, there are minor spoilers toward the end of this, after the cut)

If you're watching Rome you know what I'm talkin' about. If you're not watching Rome, well, we're down to the last episode, so wait for the DVD to come out; which should hit when next season rolls around. Or wait for HBO to start a re-show.

Rome is a fantastic show; it takes a few episodes to get going and knowing your roman history helps a little since they don't always explain the relationships and historical significance of everything. But once the show gets going, it's fucking brilliant, well written, well acted, incredibly well cast.

But I've said all that before.

The thing I want to talk about, though, is Titus Pullo.

TiVo fixes the overlap problem

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God, finally TiVo fixes the overlap problem.

Always before, if you set a show to record 1 minute over, tivo would then ignore a following recording. Now, with a software update just released, Tivo has a fix for this which causes the higher-priority show to 'clip' the overlap from the lower priority show.

This has been one of my biggest annoyances with TiVo for years. Maybe they're finally gonna start fixing some of these little annoyances...

Justifiable Homicide

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Justifiable Homicide.

The brutal killing - sometimes after appropriate torture - of people who richly deserve it.

Case in point: customer service reps who fuck something up, then want to argue about it instead of saying I'm sorry sir, I'll get it fixed.

The word service is, theoretically, in there for a reason. You'd think. Evidently not.

I actually told a woman who works for Wells Fargo "Your email management skills are not my problem." But you know, in my head her hot red blood was dripping down my arm as I held her tender white throat in one hand, and drew a straight razor slowly across her neck, carving her a second smile.

So what I said? Pretty nice, all things considered.

Pardon me, I need to look for someone to hurt...

that old line about calgon

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I'm having one of those weeks.

I know I talk about running away to that mythical tropical isle, (or that mythical sailboat so I can visit all the tropical isles) all the time. That's sort of always running in the back of my head, 24x7. And you know, it could happen, I could just snap one day and off I go.

But I'm having one of those weeks where it doesn't have to be coconuts and tropical breezes. I'm having one of those weeks where just no fresh problems and no backlog of work and no fucking drama would be - you know, swell. Where just having a couple days all to myself sounds like the next best thing to paradise.


I don't have time for details today. So let's just summarize:

    Kids school. Headmaster drama. [shudders]

    Work. Review time. Too much to do, no idea where to put my attention. Stress and panic all around me. Impossible schedules.

    Money. God, life was so much simpler way back when we were all rich for those couple years around the dotcom boom. I keep thinking, one more pay cycle and I'll have this wild animal under control, and then it breaks free again.

    Home. I went on a clean-and-throw-away tear last weekend, and I got halfway and ran out of weekend, which means my house is all garbage bags full of un-sorted kids clothes and the kids rooms are both full of bins of unsorted toys. When it's done we'll have a radically much clearer house but meantime it's a fucking mine field and I don't have time to touch it; this means everyone's stressed (is it only me that gets a charge from the chaos?)


Add that to the ever-present list of things to do (bills, laundry, general house maintenance, cooking, cleaning, workouts), and the list of things I wanna do (write, play, teevee, movies, resident evil, read), and I've got at least two point five days of stuff for every 24 hours hours of day.

Maybe if I just give up sleeping?

the opposite of nightmare

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We've all woken from nightmares a time or two. Woken, sometimes gasping, sometimes screaming, sometimes just to an awareness, oh thank god that was a dream. The sweaty, sheets-cumppled, heart beating, terror-bleeding-into-relief feeling as dream fades.

But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the opposite of that.

Have you ever a dream that's so good, so right, so perfect, that waking up feels like a nightmare? A dream of utter contentment, complete perfection, all-is-right-with-my-world.

A waking moment, floating up from the deep, warm, womb-like pool of dream, to find that all life's problems and pains and losses and realities are terrifyingly still real, and the dream's bliss, the dream's utter perfection and contentment, is lost.

I had that moment a night or two ago. At, of course three am - what I call the worrying hour. How often have I had conversations with friends about middle of the night wakings; the eye of that storm turns around three am. AT that hour, life's tiniest problems are magnified, life's sturm und drang blown to operatic proportion. I woke, a little after that hour, from a warm and contented dream. Not a sex dream, nothing so raw, intense and carnal. No, a simple dream of simple uncomplicated pleasure, the details of which were fading away long before the night was over.

I woke, and drank water, and stared at the dark ceiling, and felt warm glow replaced by reality, and it feel like I was starting a nightmare, not waking from a dream. Work, and kid's school, health, tasks to do. Things lost. Desires that live in my heart all the time, yet which are forever beyond my grasp. Wants and needs and fears. Age and aches and frustrations, like a drowning pool, quicksand closing over my head.

I want my dream back, I thought. I need my dream back.

How I envy people who can lucid dream; who can live out in dreams what they want in waking life. Though I fear if I could do it, I might never wake.

I wound up getting out of bed at three thirty, wobbling into my cold living-room, wrapping myself in a blanket, and finishing a book, Bujold's Hallowed Hunt. (I'll post a review shortly, that's another topic). I was still awake when my kids got up for school, though I managed to slip back into bed for an hour of sleep; dreamless this time, no nightmares, no blissful contentment, just black emptiness, which was what I needed.

I want to find that dream again. Whatever it was, lost now in haze. I want it back.

Archie McPhee needs a Wishlist

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Want.

You know I'm all about want don't you?

Archie McPhee has a whole pirate collection.

And I want it all.

You know, my birthday is the end of the month. And a guy just can't have too many pirate accessories...

Archive McPhee needs a wishlist, like Amazon has.

Thx to Greggg for making me want this shit. And incidentally for doing a graphics tuneup on my blog. You rock, brutha-man.


(oh and by the way, I already have the pirate devil duckie. I don't know why, but devil duckies seem to find me)

Does the name pavlov ring a bell?

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I'm looking at my hit logs - as usual. And I see it a hit from Porto, Portugal.

And suddenly I'm sitting here absolutely salivating for a glass of port. I would kill a man right now for a vintage tawny.

Good lord, I'm so suggestible.

Must.


Have.


Port.

Tag Sandwich

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Ok, ok. I give in.

I got tagged by DarkNeuro on this, but I was up to the task of resisting it. And then I got tagged by AAG.

I can resist them one at a time. I can't resist a sandwich, though. [homer] Mmmmm. Sandwich [/homer]


Ok, so it goes like so:


  1. Delve into your blog archive.
  2. Search the archives for the 23rd post.
  3. Find the 5th sentence, or closest to.
  4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions. Ponder it for meaning, subtext or hidden agendas.
  5. Tag 5 people to do the same.

Thus:

My 23rd entry. More or less since they're not numbered exactly that way.

The fifth (more or less) sentence: I actually had an erotic dream about someone from Orkut last night.

Here's the funny part. I can't recall who that dream was about. I have some guesses though. Given the date (Mar26 '04), it's not some of the people I'd first guess. Maybe the object of my dream remembers.

Alright then. Tag Five (suddenly a Dave Brubeck tune starts playing in my head). I am tempted to only tag people I know won't play, just to break the chain. But... What the fuck.

So: Panties3, Brutha Ray, Greggg, Trance (who probably won't play), and Doxy (who absolutely won't play).

Play or not. All the same to me, Cats n' Kittens.

Laugh or Cry

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I feel a mixture of nausea and excitement when I read this article:

     TEL AVIV, Israel (Reuters) - British singer and songwriter Phil Collins said on Sunday he would be open to a reunion of his old band Genesis.


It was pretty much just pure nausea until I read this line:

"I'm happy to sit behind the drums and let Peter (Gabriel) be the singer. If (a reunion) happens, I'll be there."

I dunno if this is just phil flappin' his gums or if there's something to this. But Genesis - real Genesis, Peter Gabriel genesis, Steve Hackett Genesis, Lamb and Nursery Cryme Genesis, Supper's Ready Genesis - were and are one of my favorite bands of al time.

Yet - that same band, as members melted away, went on to spawn a band I loath; Invisible Touch Genesis, Abacab. We Can't Dance Genesis.

And then there's Phil Collins. Once of the best drummers in rock history, truly, truly brilliant at the kit, and possibly the best singing drummer ever, yet author of some of the most trite pop hits of - well, of his era anyway, in a time before boy bands and spice girls and brittany spears. I fucking hate Phil Collins as a solo artist. And yet, I love his drumming, and his singing in the transition Genesis, Trick of the Tail Genesis, Wind and Wuthering Genesis, Seconds Out Genesis.

So I look at the idea of a reunion - one of the greatest bands ever, certainly one of the two or three most important prog-rock bands (you could make a case for King Crimson being the other), and I want to believe. I want to think Steve Hackett would come back, that Peter Gabriel would come back. That Genesis could be Genesis again.

Gabriel's burnt out, certainly. He really hasn't done a lot musically since So. It was obvious when he started naming albums he was out of ideas. He'll never be that psychotic blur of motion he was. Nor will Phil Collins. I don't even know if Hackett's working any more, I've lost track. But even if they have not a thing to say musically between them, to hear them play The Knife or Watcher of the Skies. God, I get goosebumps thinking about it.

And then I imagine them playing fucking sussudio, a selection of mike and the mechanics favorites. And I just don't know.

I hate it when great old bands come back and suck. Leave it the fuck alone, I want to say, don't show us how old you are, how bad you've sold out. Don't fucking do it. Yet, sometimes, they still have it. They still mean it. They can still play the old songs.

I never saw real Genesis. I picked up on them right after Peter split the band. Yet, Genesis, that first time, stands out in my mind as possibly the most brilliant concert I've ever seen. It was one of those I saw god moments. I've seen Peter, when we was at his creative peak. I've seen Steve Hackett. Great concerts all.

Do I want to go back? I don't know.

In fact, if they do it, I'll have to. If Peter stands in front of Genesis, with his flute and bass drum, I have to go. If I get a chance to hear Hackett with Genesis again, if I can listen to them play In The Cage and Back in NYC.

But god. I'm afraid. I don't know if I can take hearing an unfelt, sellout version Lilywhite Lilith or Dancing With The Moonlit Knight.

Better they don't, I think. Better they don't.

New Toys for Big Kids

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So, I have this iSight web cam. And I never use it, even though, you know, you'd think I would.

But I just download a new application that's simply too much fun - PhotoBooth.

I've been playing with this all day, when I should be working on my stupid self-assessment for my stupid review. But this is far, far more entertaining. It has a set of funhouse-mirror sort of effects that are just fucked up.

Body Circle Sale

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Body Circle Jewelry - my favorite maker of piercing jewelry, and damn fine people - are having their winter 20% off everything sale.

All sorts of good things to be had. This is when I order the 14k jewelry, like the 8ga gold ring I have in my right ear:

Golden Earring


(Suddenly I have 'Radar Love' stuck in my head. I've been drivin' all night, my hand's wet on the wheel - There's a voice in my head that drives my heel...)

I'd really like to replace all my piercing jewelry with gold, including the nipples, but the nipples are nowhere near healed yet, plus I dunno what size I'll want it 'em when they're healed (10g most likely). But I'm at least gonna get another ring for that right ear to match the one I have.

Body Circle make really good quality jewelry, they're really easy to deal with, and tend to ship stuff out quickly. I love these people.

Sale runs through November, so this is also a good xmas shopping opportunity.

Suffocated?

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Lord. Why?

They don't even have the real answers on this like, my head will explode or I'll die during a dangerous sex act.


Suffocated

93%

Stabbed

93%

Gunshot

73%

Posion

73%

Cut Throat

67%

Accident

60%

Suicide

60%

Disappear

53%

Bomb

40%

Drowning

33%

Eaten

33%

Natural Causes

13%

Disease

7%

How Will You Die??
created with QuizFarm.com

domain monkeys

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I'm monkeying with my domains - changing dns from zoneedit to a local nameserver and so forth - so if you have any trouble getting to any of the moronosphere.com blogs (or editiong your own blog if you're one of the bloggers I host), it should be temporary.

Why? Just because I can.




Ok, I got all my domains (well, almost all my domains) migrated to my local dns servers from zoneedit. Zoneedit has some nice features (The ability to do mail forwards easily), but I got tired of getting bills for zones I didn't have. I'm now using local nameservers hosted by the good folks at ThePlanet


I also registered several variants on my domain name, moronosphere.com - .net, .org, etc. Why not, I figured. They're not all live yet, but eventually they'll all forward to here, at least until I have reason to maintain more than one site. I'm finding the whole domain hosting thing very entertaining; I think something like Globe of Frogs and five minutes, a few clicks, and a small payment, it's GlobeofFrogs.com, just like that.

Of course then I think, why'd I register that. But whattaya gonna do, sometimes you just can't help it. It's kind of a caps for sale thing. You Monkeys You!

Tsunami of Spam

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I'm suddenly getting a lot more comment spam slipping past my spam filter so I just switched on comment moderation. You'll get a note saying your comment needs to wait on approval (but that sexual favors offered should speed this approval process).

But please, comment early, comment often. Show me the love. Me Love You Long Time.

Ground Beef Panties

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Ok, this is too fucking funny.

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Quaker Maid Meats Inc. on Tuesday said it would voluntarily recall 94,400 pounds of frozen ground beef panties that may be contaminated with E. coli.

The beef products were produced by Reading, Pennsylvania-based Quaker on July 19 and shipped to retail stores in Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Virginia and Wisconsin.

(link)


That's gonna be a lot less funny when they fix the typo and it says 'patties'.


(Props to BoingBoing)

Reasons for naught

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I'm having one of those weirdly incommunicado weeks. I can't find anything to write, I don't seem to be talking to anyone.

I just can't seem to communicate. I can blame this on Resident Evil 4, or on the fact that I just started working out and it's eating up my time, making me tired, and leaving me sore. Or the fact that I'm deep into the latest Bujold Chalion fantasy (Which fucking rocks - when did she get this good?)

That's all bull though. The bottom line is, I'm just feeling fucking fried, mentally and emotionally. I'm in one of those places where I drop out so bad I start getting mail from people who want to know if I'm mad at them, or worse, I start to think they're mad at me.

I need to sleep late and then have noplace to go for a week. I need to take mid-day naps in a hammock under a palm tree and then wake up to lunchtime rum drinks. Instead, I'm looking out the window and seeing night already, and I'm remembering how much I hate this time of year, when the clocks change and suddenly it's dark before my work day is anywhere close to over.

God, it's been a long time since I've felt tropical air. It feels like a whole fucking lifetime has passed in the fifteen months since last I swam in warm ocean. Two lifetimes maybe. And I'm still dreaming about sailboats.


The nipples are healing well. But I'm remembering how fucking long it takes to heal these things. They are just aching to have someone lick and suck on them. Maybe if I pick up a dental dam...

Piercings are made to be sucked on.


I want to be writing. I have a novel, or a short story, or something, forming in my head. A deranged sort of psycho-drama (well, duh, what else). I have models for three characters, and a vague plot line. But I know I can't get anywhere. My life has no space in it right now for the kind of drop-everything week I need for a writing project, the kind of week that birthed my novella. Best I can do is write an outline and hope it sticks well enough to write later.


I know, I owe pictures. Halloween pix of the kids, plus I'll-show-you-mine-you-show-me-yours nipple pictures. Soon. Promise. And maybe one of the dozen entries I have unfinished will finally see completion and I'll have a meaningful update here.

Just, you know, never assume I don't love you to death, just because you don't hear from me.

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