Feb 28, 2013

Which is worse?


Overheard this morning on GSN's Card Sharks from 1970-something:

Host: "Alright, ladies. Here is the first question: Out of 100 marriage counselors, how many said that in certain situations, it is okay for a husband to cheat on his wife?"

Contestant #1: "Well, it is never okay. So my guess is 19."

Contestant #2: "Oh my gosh! I don't know! Um, my guess is something higher than 19?"

Host: "And the answer is: 53. 53 out of 100 marriage counselors surveyed said that in certain situations it is okay for a husband to cheat on his wife."



Overheard this morning on GSN's Press Your Luck, also from 1970-something:

"If I had to describe myself, I would say I'm a cross between Erma Bombeck and John McEnroe."


Feb 25, 2013

And we'd all cuddle under a thin quilt of flour sacks and read passages from The Pilgrim's Progress by the light of a tallow candle.

I used to love when the power would go out, which it unfailingly did each summer when it was 95 degrees with 95% humidity, but I got to sleep in a swimsuit so that was awesome. But now when the power goes out I just lose my shit because I'm bathing my kids by flashlight and this LED mushroom nightlight because the camping lanterns aren't charged, and then I'm making them dinner (by flashlight because I can't have open flame around these fools) with whatever can be scrounged up from the pantry (just like The Walking Dead only I don't have Andrea's prom tendrils). After I put them to bed tonight, I lit some candles and popped a beer, only to realize it was too dark to read, too cold to sit outside, too powerless to heat any food and I'll be damned if I was going to eat salad again I AM A GROWING LADY BY GOSH, and too quiet to be alone with my thoughts which mostly consisted of feeling sorry for myself and thinking about how bored I was. And right as I decided to take a bath, the power came on. And then every single fucking thing in the house started beeping and recharging and whirring and zinging and of course all the lights went on in the kids' rooms because I was too harried earlier in the evening to be proactive about flipping switches. First world problems, indeed. And the thing is, I really connect to ye olden tymes before electricity, when people just sat around fires and smoked corncob pipes and worried about their salted ham hocks hanging in the barn. It's hard to make changes when you realize how reliant you've become on electricity. I'd like to think I could live off the grid but naw, there's no way. If I had a pile of yahrzeit candles and books, perhaps I could do it. And also I'd need a real toilet. And possibly the occasional ability to see videos about cats and dogs playing together.

Feb 24, 2013

Every Oscar musical number should just be this

Do it! But don't do it! But do it! But watch through your fingers!

Ack! I just watched those clips that Houston's Memorial Hermann hospital Tweeted! Do not watch them! But do watch them! But don't! Both my kids were born this way and I've been so intrigued to figure out exactly what goes on, despite my husband being of the you-don't-ever-want-to-know variety since he peeked over the sheet (however, he also swears he saw a vending machine full of medical instruments, so you know, I was never real sure of what he saw down there). I look at my scar and can't figure out how they pulled 9.5lb and 7.5lb babies out of there, but now I know. The initial procedure looks like a Tauntaun being made into a sleeping bag but with way less guts spilling out. And then they just reach in and root around and all of a sudden find a baby head and pull out this human! So incredible. I watched the clips while furiously shaking my hands and saying, "Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!" I've never watched a Saw movie but imagine I would react physically in much the same fashion.

Feb 23, 2013

Ain't no way in hell a Ginsu knife is cutting through a rusty nail, people!

That sound you just heard was me using a Ginsu knife to cut through the screw-top of the bottle of wine I'm drinking. Contrary to popular belief, your boyfriend will be disappointed when you order him these knives for his birthday because he will find out immediately after opening them that not only can they not cut through tin cans, but they cannot even slice tomatoes. But your boyfriend will still marry you. And he will insist on keeping those awful knives around because he thinks they are a sweet memento and he is sappy like that. And sometimes, amazingly, the Ginsus will come in handy and actually cut through surfaces like paper and whatever wine bottle screw-tops are made of (Kleenex).

I hate to bother you, the Universe

But I'm currently unable to locate a street lamp for purchase to use inside my home, thereby making most Newsies choreography too difficult to replicate. Also, asking to be backed by a chorus of turn-of-the-century teenage street orphans sounds really creepy, but me dancing alone to "Seize the Day" just doesn't have the same umph, in my opinion.

Feb 22, 2013

My Crazy Ass Jobs, Part 1

Because I don't currently have a "real" job (I have a job but it is paid in equal amounts of love and insolence from my children) and will probably never again have a "real" job (because of finally directing people to my blog which is recently all about finger banging, thereby ensuring that any background checks will probably prove me unhireable, which is too bad because I was a pretty decent grantwriter in a past life), I've been thinking a lot about jobs I used to have. Many of which were pretty fucking crazy, like, real crazy. But most of those were in the central valley of California close to Yosemite so, you know, crazy awesometown central.

So let's start kind of at the beginning. Which is the summer before my sophomore year of college. When my parents were like, "This is ridiculous. Everyone has a job except you. Get out there and find one. We're not kidding around this time."  Which led to me getting a red Sharpie and circling the classifieds in the local newspaper a la Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan (seriously, that's who I pretended to be). And I would go to these weird interviews for relatively untrained people to do things like sell Kirby vacuums door-to-door or supervise some sort of toy shipping operation where I think "toys" was a code-word for "anal beads".  Why I couldn't be a normal person my age and just go over to Sonic up the street and strap on some rollerblades, I don't know, but one thing about me is that I am terrified of asking questions so saying, "Excuse me, sir, may I have a job application?" at any place that regularly employed teen labor was out of the question.

I had a girlfriend who was in the same job-needing boat, and one day she came over to my house and was like, "I found a place! Come with me to talk to the manager!" So we drove to a sportsbar in the middle of this rundown strip center that was totally the shits. We met with a man named Mark that looked like Barth from You Can't Do That On Television, except about 7 feet tall and overweight but with the same cigarette glued to his lower lip. Our interview was two questions long (how old were we and did we have previous waitressing experience- the answers were "over 18" and "no") and then we were hired for $2.10 an hour plus tips.  I'm pretty sure that when we both told our parents that we found jobs and drove them by the place there was a general consensus that this was not, in fact, a very good decision on our parts and that we were on the hook for keeping our wits about us at all times and letting them know immediately if anything untoward was taking place there (and let me say that only untoward things took place there).

Where to begin...oh geez, who even knows. I should just make a bulleted list.

  • The owners were six or seven men over age 40 who would come in all the time, super drunk, and then proceed to sexually harass everyone. Quotes included: "If you lost 15 or 20lbs, you could totally be in Playboy." And "Hey, Theresa, nice crop top. Reach up and get me those darts will you? No, up higher. Higher, Theresa." Also "Bend over so I can look at you."
  • The bartenders were sometimes protective but always creepy. The one who everyone thought was gay, shaved off all his body hair, and looked like a wrinkly old Ken doll but who was not really gay, invited me to see Pantera out of town one time, and when I turned him down he quit speaking to me. 
  • The most frequent patrons were a (probably) homeless man that just sat at the bar and drank free refills of coffee all day until they kicked him out at night, a men's softball team that had members who would untie your waist apron (a maneuver which is surprisingly violating) and tell you they'd tip you $20 if you'd agree to go out with them and then upon finding out you wouldn't would only tip you $1, depressing women asking for the house white Zinfandel, other depressing women all coked-out and vomiting in the bathroom and on the pool tables and near the arcade games, etc., etc., you know the rest.
  • The chef was also the Thursday night karaoke deejay (DJ Creamy D). He initially seemed funny and nice enough. Until his pregnant girlfriend started coming in and hanging out at the bar. In her high school softball uniform.
  • Creamy D's sidekick was the kitchen assistant, Doc. He was never not making nachos and chicken fingers high as a motherfucking kite. I let him drive my car one night to get more chicken fingers from the grocery store (folks, this is where your local sports bar food comes from, FYI) despite him being suuuuuper high and driving my car with highly visible state judge license plates, but thankfully he came back safe and sound and so did the car. He gave me his pager number before I went back to college and said, "Baby girl, you call me if you ever need anything." And I always thought that meant, like, if I needed drugs or mozzarella sticks.



Feb 20, 2013

A New Nose Coming Out Party?

Really, RHOBH? You are one in-home vaginal rejuvenation party away from losing me as a viewer.

"Me being polite was not me being fair to myself." ~Beyonce

Now, I've never had to separate business from family and fire my dad as my manager or anything, which I think is what she's actually referring to here, but this quote pretty much sums up a large portion of my behavior for most of my life. Doing stuff to be nice and/or avoid confrontation/judgement which resulted in me creating a ton of years of resentment for not feeling like I could be confident and true to who I am.

I've been mostly a pleaser and a perfectionist and afraid of failure and criticism. And it's sad but probably most of my friends don't know 100% of who I am because I've never enjoyed confrontation and have struggled most of my life with getting the courage to stand up for myself and letting my individual (freak?) flag fly, even and especially if it means I feel like I will be pissing other people off or letting them down. But this Beyonce quote really puts it all together.

I realize when I blog on here that my posts with all the cussing and anger and run on sentences are usually a reflection of me letting out built up anger and steam. Which is okay because this is the place to be able to do it. I don't think of myself as an angry or frustrated person until I re-read things here and I'm like, dang, woman! I think a therapist would probably tell me that 35 years of built up self-consciousness and worry about how everyone is judging me is what is driving all of this. And this therapist would probably tell me that nobody is thinking about me and nobody cares about what I think or do and I am not important in the big scheme of things (probably a bad therapist would say that to my face but that would be my dream therapist) so just let it all go already because that anger is letting itself out in a bunch of weird areas that don't really have anything to do with the origination of that anger like for instance when an older woman gives you advice and you completely fly off the handle and take as a criticism or an attack when it is in fact harmless and well-meaning. That will be $575 dollars, please.

Now, I'm only 5 years into my 30's but I've changed a lot in terms of being able to stand up for myself and feel comfortable with who I am and what I like and what I don't like, and I've loved being 30 and can't wait to see what happens when I'm even more comfortable in my own skin and closer to 40. And I know there were some years in there where I was tired of being nice to everyone all the time and occasionally blew up and was a huge dick to people I thought were mean or oppressive or who I felt bullied or threatened by in some way. And now I feel sad about that because I realize that everything is perception and my ego was only reacting to someone else's ego that was probably also in pain and acting out. Just a bad cycle all around. I don't know that I have any real point to this other than to say, growth: it's a real hard thing.

And a super large part of my growth is finally sharing my blog and other creative writing with people I know after over 10 years of keeping it private from those people. And I feel great about being able to be true to myself and show people what I really enjoy and am interested in and what I do not enjoy and what upsets me. And yeah, I'd like to think that I'm doing it all with a sense of freedom and zero cringe moments and am not secretly wondering how people are judging me, but this growth is a hard thing. I'm still a pleaser and am trying to not get defensive and remember that nobody thinks about me as much as I think about me. NOBODY CARES. JUST WRITE. JUST LIKE WHAT YOU LIKE AND DISLIKE WHAT YOU DON'T AND PEOPLE ARE PROBABLY NOT EVEN GIVING IT A SECOND THOUGHT BECAUSE THEY HAVE LIVES OUTSIDE OF THINKING ABOUT YOU 100% OF THE DAY. AND PLEASE DON'T WRITE ANGRILY IN ANTICIPATION OF WHAT THEY MIGHT BE THINKING BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT THINKING ABOUT YOU, YOU BIG DUMMY!

And, in addition to worrying about what other people think and having that be one of the largest obstacles to feeling like anything I may take pride in privately will be of any value publicly, my own self-doubt and criticism is also thrown in there. But I loved what Wil Wheaton wrote today:


If I’ve learned anything in my shaky life as an artist, it’s that you must stop talking and spinning and whining and start making your thing today. Pick up a camera. Pick up an easel. Open your laptop and turn off your Internet connection while you write. Find a starting point. Ignore the voices. Ignore the critics. Reward yourself for having ideas by valuing them enough to believe in them.
Failure does not exist.

After 41 years, I’ve finally begun to realize that you have to start. You have to begin to make something before you can worry about how it’s going to end up. If you don’t start, you have nothing.

...I know that, even if I fail in some way, I’ll succeed at taking the risk, and learn something that’ll be helpful and useful for the next thing, or maybe the thing after that.

In short, folks, just grow a pair and get to work. I don't care what you do or what you enjoy (unless you are a mass murderer or a total pervert, please do not do any of that stuff). For everyone else, just start doing whatever it is that you want to do. Take pride in having the courage to do what you want to do and value your choices and yourself. Viva la Revolucion! Right? No? I'm still very self-conscious. Growth is hard.

Feb 19, 2013

Is there nothing that Internet pervs will not ruin?

Got home late from a wonderful dinner with very old childhood chums and Googled the origin of "Make new friends but keep the old" and found this response in a Yahoo answers chat:

Have you ever put your penis in a Slinky? 

Which obviously did not provide the answer I was seeking; however, this user did have a profile with several other answers, 80% of which were not serious in nature and 20% of which were actually very serious in nature and involved the game Monday Night Combat.

Feb 18, 2013

INCOMING!

WOPR'S HIGH-TECH MILITARY COMPUTER GRAPHICS ARE IMPLYING THAT SHIT IS FUCKING SERIOUS.
On one hand, I am glad that people are no longer consumed with the daily dread of being vaporized in a Russian nuclear attack while eating breakfast and imitating Max Headroom. On the other hand, I realize this also makes half the films from the past 5 or so decades highly unrelatable to a younger generation (for instance War Games, one of the greatest, scariest, coolest films you will ever see as a six year old). Unfortunately, this newer generation lives with an entirely new dread of being poisoned by grocery produce or a tainted water supply or getting blown up in a plane (dear God I hope the key words in this blog post don't put me on a special list somewhere) so I guess same fear, different enemies now, and the world is still horrifyingly unstable and human beings can't get their acts together and just chill the fuck out.

Gleemonex has my favorite post of the day today (complete with phenomenal literary links- Ray Bradbury, hooray!) about Cold War fear and irrational meteor fear (like, seriously, can you really wrap your mind around that Russian meteor event yet? It's called meteorophobia- fear of meteors.) and I suggest you hightail it over there and go READ IT RIGHT NOW.

Also, NORAD. You know who went inside Cheyenne Mountain one time? My dad. Sometimes he does random shit for no apparent reason other than he got a letter inviting him. And I guess because he's fairly reserved or is tuning you out to focus on Laurel & Hardy, he just doesn't bring it up unless you ask him like, "Hey, remember that time you visited NORAD?" And then he's all casual like he's just now remembering where he ate lunch three days ago like, "Oh yeah, that was really cool."  Really? That's it? I would talk about that to everyone all the time like the checkout people at Target and the lady at the Taco Cabana drive through window. And I would point to the t-shirt I was wearing that said, "I went to NORAD. Ask me how cool it was and let's talk for a long time!"

Feb 17, 2013

Enough with the babies, The Walking Dead!

Hearing a baby cry sends my anxiety up from an 8 to a 12 with this show.  It's not real AND I KNOW THIS. And half the time lately I'm fast-forwarding to get through the slow parts anyway but geez, no more babies. Baby Judith needs to go quietly in her sleep or something very sad but not traumatic because I can't handle her on the show any further. I was already traumatized in the first season (I think it was the first) when they showed that close-up of the empty carseat in the abandoned car. Just no more kids. Let's pretend they all ate too much ice cream and fell asleep peacefully forever the night before only the adults woke up and the world went to shit. And this business with the eyepatch Governor has reached corny overload. I guess it's another way to keep things light, similar to the ridiculous zombie acting, but he's about to Michelle Tanner "How rude!" this show (because I took Full House very seriously until that whole thing started up).  No more dramatic faces, eyepatch Governor! This is not Days Of Our Lives, and it is distracting. This is why I enjoy American Horror Story 1,000 times better. And also they have Jessica Lange who is perfect in everything. And Zachary Quinto. Who I've never actually seen in anything else but who I could stare at for days. (And yes I know he's in Star Trek and Star Trek Who Turned Out The Lights or whatever but I had my first nightmare about Kahn at age 5 and then was later forced to watch the sequel with the whales for four straight years at my orthodontist's office along with Short Circuit 2 and therefore am not so into that franchise.) And I know you can't really compare TWD and AHS, but in terms of horror and suspense, AHS never goes cornball. It may go a little whaaat thaaa fuuuuuck???? overboard but it never goes full cornball. And can we talk about all the tall grass in rural apocalyptic Georgia and how Lyme disease is somehow the only problem these people don't have? Besides running out of feminine hygiene products, of course, because nobody is complaining about that problem either (which you know has to be a problem if they're already running out of canned beans in a men's prison).

Well, one of my nightmares came true today.

My son removed his socks and shoes inside one of those horrible human-gerbil tunnel contraptions at a McDonald's and refused to retrieve them, thereby forcing me to cram my 5 foot 8 inch frame inside that claustrophobic, static electricity filled hell hole to hunt them down. Once inside, he was insolent enough to continue not only his refusal to tell me where he hid them but to taunt me by saying, "I going to make bad choices!" as well. Meanwhile, my even younger daughter was also lost somewhere inside this horrible tunnel system, also removing a shoe that later required a special trip from a very sweet, random 4 year old to retrieve it for me. It was this same random 4 year old (his name was actually Basil- perhaps his parents named him after The Great Mouse Detective) who helped me navigate to my son's shoes which my son kept saying he had "left in the hallway" like an asshole. I thought the worst part was all the gerbil-ing my body through the tunnel system but no, it got much, much worse when I had to cram myself inside one of those enclosed twisty slides that is only made more horrible when it is filled with rushing, urine-filled reclaimed liquid at a water park. At least at a water park it is not filled with static electricity which will spark near your eyes. I'm getting PTSD just thinking about it all. I'm not a fan of tunnels. And I am really, truly terrified of getting shocked. I can barely visit friends if I have to enter a gate code to a neighborhood, no joke. So being stuck inside a tunnel filled with static electricity where the only way out was to continue to birth myself from the worst uterus and bacteria filled canal of all time while white sparks leapt at me from all directions nearly did me in.  But unfortunately because it was not even 10:30am at this point and I am an idiot, I made the poorer choice of taking the kids to the park where all I wanted to do was tie them up in the dog corral and take a nap on a bench (but I didn't because I love them and so I pumped them full of snacks to keep the whining to a minimum and made them play until the last battle about not being able to take home a tree branch only lasted half the ride home and they both went down willingly for naps).

Feb 15, 2013

Just like Melancholia except not a planet and also, mercifully, less Dunst-y.



Seeing this is like my dream and my nightmare, all rolled into one. (Not the believing you are witnessing a nuclear attack, of course, but the giant meteor part.)

For about two weeks, I got really into this book Ghosts of Vesuvius: A New Look at the Last Days of Pompeii, How Towers Fall, and Other Strange Connections about the physics behind major volcanic disasters in different eras on Earth (Thera, Vesuvius, Krakatoa, Mt. Saint Helens, etc.). And then the book compared their eruptive forces and effects such as surge clouds, shock cocoons and collapse columns to similar effects when the towers tumbled down on 9/11 and how some folks miraculously survived despite the odds. There's a bunch of history and anthropology and geology and physics all rolled into this book and it also includes a pretty fascinating discussion about how natural disasters can have majorly dramatic effects on not only the physical landscape but the course of civilization as well.

One of many things I should not do late at night before bed but that I do with regularity is imagine all the horrible freak things that could befall me and my family (like giant meteors or enormous volcanic explosions or mega viruses). And I think about what it was like for people to have actually have lived through some of those things either before they were incinerated in less than one one-thousandth of a second (Is that a possible measurement? I don't know.) or after they amazingly survived inside of one of those shock cocoons that seemingly protected them against all logic because they stood in place and did not move 1.5 inches to the right where they would've been crushed/suffocated/burned.

Below are some interesting comparisons from the book (I hope scanning books is allowed? Am I going to jail? I don't know the rules!). Please note that as completely terrible as the effects were from the combined force of the two collapse columns of the World Trade Center (1.6 kilotons), that was only one-tenth of the force of Hiroshima (10-24 kilotons). Pompeii was 1,000 times stronger than Hiroshima. And Thera, the mother of them all, was equal to 1,000 Pompeiis. What is even creeper (I think the paragraph in my scan below got cut off), is that the impact of an asteroid the size of Manhattan Island that hit near Mexico (the effects of which basically caused the extinction of your favorite dinos in the Cretaceous period), was about 56,000 Theras.



Also, the book has lots of fascinating, stomach-churning details of a person's last few minutes before being suffocated in ash or vaporizing completely or being carried atop a high-speed cloud of dust and air before crashing into a wall. Just regular people, going about their day. Maybe they've ignored the warnings to get the hell out of town (which really didn't matter in a lot of cases because the magnitude of the eruptions was such that you died no matter how early you left or which direction you chose to run). Maybe they were sharing a meal with their family or were out walking the dog or getting drunk in a pub or getting a blowjob in a bathhouse. One second they were just doing whatever and the next they just... POOF. Which makes it all the more terrible when I think about John Hersey's Hiroshima and all the horrific effects of atomic bombs which can be compared to these natural volcanic disaster effects except mankind has deliberately inflicted these on its brethren (I am a preacher standing on a tiny box of Irish Spring now, I hope you like it!) and that is mind boggling.

Also, watch live feed from NASA here (it may have already happened though, so, sorry if this is bunk now) to track asteroid DA14 flying by Earth (about 17,000 miles away) today. FYI, it's going to pass briefly inside the satellite ring which is at about 22,000 miles, so basically coming closer than our man-made satellites are orbiting.  PS: We are not going to die.

Feb 13, 2013

You don't know what she needs. I think I know what she needs in a way you never will.

I die everytime. The soundtrack. The Big Gulps. "Welcome to the maxi pad." The gas card. The brooding guy in the band. U2 during an emotional crescendo. PFLAG. Evan Dando. The Gap. Matte makeup and floral dresses. Greasy hair. I saw this movie when I was 17 with my friend Sarah and it made me wish I was 20-ish when I saw it and living in Austin (not Houston like the movie because gross) and wearing Winona Ryder's clothes and out drinking with friends while crushing on some dirty mean male roommate in a meh-ish band. I mean, all that happens to all girls when they are 20-ish in some way, and maybe the clothes are different and the city is different, but the crush on the awful guy you think is some tortured soul probably happened at some point. And being irrationally worried about AIDS and using your parents' gas card for groceries probably happened too.

I wanted to grow into that movie so badly. Just like how I thought high school would have a Simple Minds song playing in the background with posters of the Union Jack on the walls and people making dramatic sighs and wearing asymmetrical hairdos and hot blondes trying to sabotage you when they learned you pined after a sensitive, floppy-haired senior. I wanted a gay friend and a friend who wore only vintage and I wanted to smoke a lot and have a very dramatic love/hate relationship with a guy friend who was probably a huge jerk but since I was the only one who "got" him it would be totally okay when we eventually hooked up and then spent all our time smoking together and laying around while he played acoustic guitar and I talked to a phone psychic.

I mean, none of that really happened, of course. But I just watched this movie (for the 257th time) and as corny as it is, it sucks me in every single time. And I tear up at the end with the old brown suit and the payphone and the music. But yeah, Ethan Hawke. Gross. This movie is one of the best examples to show a young girl and be like, "I know you think this person is cool because he is mean and stares dramatically at other people but IF YOU DATE SOMEONE LIKE THIS I WILL NOT ONLY REVOKE YOUR GAS CARD I WILL TAKE BACK YOUR USED BMW AND FORCE YOU INTO AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE WITH CIRCA 1994 BEN STILLER, SO HELP ME GOD."


Also, don't gross out even though I secretly (not so secretly?) still love this song.

If only I could transfer the energy I have for blogging today to mopping pudding off the kitchen floor.

Videogum never, ever fails to amuse me. Not only are the clips hilarious, but the writing is even more hilarious than that. And you bet your ass I'm going to do this with the kids tonight.


"This year's SI Swimsuit issue is the best in years!" she said as she ate another taquito.

I mean, HELLO. The woman was 42 here. WERK.
I have loved the swimsuit issue since I was a little girl. Probably because the models all looked so glamorous and sexy and the shots were so dramatic with them balancing topless on lily pads and smiling at a native fisherman in a canoe passing by. Which is probably something being dissected in a women's studies class right now but whatevs, that issue is beautiful. I look forward to it way more each year than the Vogue September issue.  Elle Macpherson remains my all-time favorite.  There are a lot more nipples this year, which I could do without (seen 'em, got 'em), but what I think they really need to cut is the body painting. Is that still a novelty? Like, it was cool the first time you ever saw how detailed something like that is but is it really necessary all these years later? And I know I'm not the target audience for this issue, but maybe just do profile shots and no full-frontals if you insist on still doing body painting?

Ugh, Kathy Ireland. I don't even know where to start with you.

Also, BACON ROSES.


How about you just cut up a bunch of pig rectums and give those to your true love instead?

Feb 12, 2013

Carnival Triumph is just like The Amityville Horror:

I don't want to be there when the walls begin to bleed poop!

At least there are lots of peppy Jazzercise instructors on board.

Here's what I need to see, The Walking Dead:

Have a new mysterious virus come in that kills off all the adults. Reanimate them as zombies, if you will. And then have Carl have to round up all the preteens a la The Girl Who Owned A City only it will be Carl Grimes Who Owned A City and he can battle all the little preteen gangs with hammers and makeshift Molotov cocktails and be in charge of unifying them all and moving them into a high school fortress.  Because this would be 100% better than what is happening on the show. Michonne and Daryl can stay.

Feb 11, 2013

Guess what you guys?

I heard on NPR that Mary Ingalls did not, in fact, go blind from scarlet fever. A researcher has discovered it was actually from masturbation.

(Not really. It was probably some form of meningitis.)

Sound Advice

"Mommy, you have to push your penis down when you're going potty."

Feb 8, 2013

XYZZY EVERYONE!

Apparently, there's a text-based adventure game hiding within every copy of OS-X. Who knew? Click here to read more, or just follow this:

Launch Terminal (in /Applications: Utilities) and type (or copy and paste!) this, followed by the Return key:
emacs -batch -l dunnet
That’s right; dunnet is sort of hiding inside of the emacs text editor.
This Macworld post also links to the free Adventure download I found yesterday. Which I am also incredibly terrible at. I keep getting killed by dwarves or trolls or whatever and getting reincarnated and sent back to the building with no food or lamp and argh, you guys, I am not even good at something I had mastery of when I was 8. So add that to the list that already has on it correctly identifying the 6 types of simple machines, ability to do back-walkovers, and staying up past 11pm. 

Feb 7, 2013

If I don't give my brain the answer it is probably going to self destruct scattering very smooth stupid gray matter all over these stained pajama pants that I would be embarrassed to be found wearing.

BLURGHHH, YOU GUYS. Obviously, judging from the simplicity of my blog template, I am not a computer wizard. But I did go to computer camp when I was 5 and 13 and played way too much Super Boulder Dash and Lemonade Stand and Carmen Sandiego. And I spend a lot of free time trying to remember the names of these bizarre games we played in our gifted and talented class in the early 80's on the Commodore 64 and PET computers at school. We learned BASIC and Logo programming where we would do things like build a rocketship out of the letters U S A and make it blast off or make our names scroll a thousand times or tell the "turtle" which direction to crawl on the screen or whatever Logo was good for. But we also played those early adventure games where it was just text. And the one I can't place (because I can't date it) took place in a cave with trolls and crystal rooms and you would pick up things like swords and treasures for some sort of end goal annnnndddd... that's where my memory stops. But I would dream about it at night, I was that obsessed with it back in the day. And there were other ones that were something like train tracks with a moving square (to represent the train, I presume), and I think you directed the "train" which direction to go on the tracks. And as you moved up levels, the "train" moved faster. But these sentences are not real easy to Google.  And when I ask old friends who were in my class, all they remember are Tangrams and this game where you assign people jobs and then vote them off a boat.  To the five people that read this blog: have you any idea what I am talking about? Do you want to talk about Tangrams then?