Trader Joe's spares the ducks. Go Joe!
January 2003 Archives
What does this say about me? I'm very tired, but I can't sleep, so I am organizing my metric ton of fonts into alphabetical folders. Is there a cure for this?
I was just laughing so loudly that I started to worry what the neighbors would think.
Courtesy of Neil Gaiman:
Tuesday, January 28, 2003 I know that at this time of international tension, it's completely inappropriate for me to see the headline on Excite news:Bush to Argue Saddam 'Is Not Disarming' and find an imaginary conversation going through my head along the lines of:"But George, you were dancing with Saddam all night. You must think he is the most disarming man on the planet."
"I do not. That man is not disarming. I was only dancing with him to please papa."
"George Bush, I do declare that you have started to blush! Mary Lou said Saddam Hussein was the most charming man at the party."
"I am not blushing. He is not disarming, and he is not charming, and he, he's a terrible dancer. Now leave me alone, or I shall tell papa!"
Good night.
posted by Neil Gaiman 8:09 PMNow that, my friends, is damn funny.
A couple random notes before bedtime:
*Choir rehersal resumed tonight. I think it is going to be a great semester. (Happy Birthday, Mozart!)
*The Not in Our Name rally is tomorrow night at the Orhpeum, 7-9 PM.
People are really not made to go it alone. Friends, family, community—we need thses things. As much as we all may want to be independent, we can't entirely. As the song says, "We all need somebody to lean on."
And with that not-really-a-revelation, I'm going to bed.
And the down the road at Little Red Boat (which had me laughing to the point of hiccups) I was introduced to Google-fighting.
Ya know, I think this inter-web thing has promise.
While reading not.so.soft today, I was led to take this quiz on the difference between the Helvetica and Arial fonts. As I did quite poorly, and as I renounce Microsoft and all (well, most of) it's works I must now go and read up on the differences, so that I may spot the little imposter whereever it lurks.
(That said, while working on the redesign, I noticed that Arial had been set as the #1 default font. I never noticed, because my computer displays it in Helvetica anyway. Expect a change.)
It is deceptively sunny out right now.
Temperature 7 °F / -14 °C Windchill -7 °F / -22 °C
Brrrrrrr. I really wanted to go iceskating this weekend. Those temps and a bruise on the ball of my right foot are conspiring against me. The ultimate skating weather is sunny and around 30°F. At that point it is cold enough to stay frozen, but not so cold as to pose a serious frostbite risk. Maybe next week?
(The one consolation to the current low temps is that the ice is getting a good, solid freeze—nice and thick.
I have never had an eating disorder, but I have known people with them. Actually, I've probably known more people with eating disorders than I realize. In high school I was friends with wrestlers and distance runners, all people who were very conscious about what they ate. The wrestlers were especially aware at all times of their weight. Besides the athletes there were the girls who wanted to be "perfect".
When I was a freshman, I fainted. I stood up too quickly after kneeling for awhile, and the blood rushed away. However, since I was a girl they assumed I wasn't eating, and sent me to the (untrained) counselor, whose attitude was that I was bad for not eating, bad for denying that I wasn't eating, and that I should get over it and start eating. After that, he never ever checked up on me (for which I was glad, stupid twit that he was). It gave me a glimpse at what people with actual eating disorders experience from other people: You are bad, get over it.
Of course, now that eating disorders have been in the new and afterschool specials, everyone is aware of them. Super skinny people are criticized (and praised). Fiona Apple and Callista Flockhart come to mind. If someone does have an eating disorder, how will talking it up in the tabloids help? (Answer: It won't but it will sell more papers. Even better if they are hospitalized or die.) I actually know a girl who has an extremely high metabolism (possibly a thyroid problem). She is super tall and skinny. She was put on a special diet to keep her weight up, but can never say "diet" because people assume that she is dieting to lose weight and start to yell at her. She has problems, to be sure, but an eating disorder isn't one of them.
What intregues me the most is the perception so many people have that anorexicx, bulemics, and compulsive overeaters just need to get over it and be normal. They don't take time to consider the underlying problems that have led to the condition. With that in mind, it was interesting to read this article from the POV of an anorexic and her mother.
Something terribly funny that I heard today:
A prick doesn't hold the elevator for you.
A tool pushs the button so the door closes faster so you can't make it.
Coming soon: review of Chicago.
Yes, the Dubya and the monkey faces images have been around since the campaign, I believe. While the "ha ha, doesn't the silly, dumb guy look like the monkey?" bit is amusing, what amazes me is just the similarity between a person (any person) and a primate.
There is a Pat McCurdy song, " I Don't Come From No Monkey", which really captures the attitudes of many of the people I went to church and school with as a child. They were very firm about the fact that the world was 6,000 years old and no more. Evolution was completely out of the question. It Happened Exactly As It Was Written.
Now, I don't have a personal stand on the theory of evolution. It irks me just as much when someone tries to claim evolution as a proven fact as it does when a creationist starts thumping the Irrefutable Word. I definitely believe in a Designer, as the world...the universe...is too complex and wonderful for it to be accidental. I also believe that the Bible was written by men, over many many many years (never mind the possible translation errors) and makes a better spiritual guide than a scientific textbook.
And on that note, I'm off to bed.
G'night.
Wildfeeding. Nope, it isn't putting up a bird feeder or even deer-baiting. It is an interesting phenomenon. I think it puts the "public" back into "public airwaves". (That is, the public that can afford a huge satellite dish and the time to search the skies.)
One more note about Angel. I love the fact that Cordelia has grown so much as a person over the past seven seasons. However she is still Cordelia and needs to act like it, for cry-ai! I dug the Cordy-becomes-a-demon thing, but that "higher being" thing is a load of crap. Pair it with the lost memories bit, and Cordy as we know her seems to have gotten lost. Argh.
As much as I love Buffy, I am ready for the show to be over. I think it did "jump the shark" and the time was season five: Dracula and the insta-sister. (Heck, both showed up in the first first episode.) I didn't see it right away, but ever since then, all of the things that made the show so fun to watch were starting to drain away. Now we are in season seven, and Buffy is getting on my nerves. For on thing, the character of Buffy has changed from a happy-go-lucky kid with Big Responsiblities to a whiny, bitter woman with a major chip on her shoulder. The set-up used to involve having a new adventure every week and facing the horrors of high school (and then college), with Big Plot showing up in small parcels over the season, with a big climax at the end. Now the huge potential cast of classmate characters has diminished, and the main characters are actually the people in charge. There are no parents, teachers, principals, or even Watchers to keep them in line. Every episode is Big Plot, with only minor variations on how the Big Plot is presented.
There are still moments, but the endearing humor isn't quite so endearing, and the pathos isn't quite so pathetic...well, actually it is pathetic, but in a bad way. On exception to that was the closing scene of this week's episode, "Potential", wherein Xander reaches out to Dawn with some very wistful words of wisdom. That actually moved me, because it felt real and right. (However, every time Buffy opened her mouth, I wanted to throw something at the screen.)
Don't get me wrong, I will watch the show till the bitter end, but I hope there is no season eight. Angel is still working for me, but I feel that it might also be slipping in the direction of too much Big Plot. (We may look back and see pregnant Darla, and the insta-aged Connor to have been the shark jumping.) I really feel that the currently star-crossed Firefly is the best that Joss has going right now, with all the things that drew me in to B&A in the first place, plus a little more. I am desperately hoping that Joss and Tim really will pull through on this one.
Only time will tell.
I'm now a little more than a third of the way through HTML: A Beginner's Guide. I've got a little test page going, though it is extremely rough. Mostly I am using it primarily for trying each thing as I learn it, without any overarching design theme. Once I have the "how-to" part down, Irving Place itself is going to have some major remodeling. (Though, in the spirit of the original, physical Irving Place, I should make the remodeling into a 15 year project, but never quite finish it. ;p)
The Man in Black covers that other guy in black. The result, Hurt, is far more poignant and harrowing than the original recording ever was. Though I could have done without the Jesus imagery at the end, the video is a strong complement to the song.
The lyrics, which sound so narcissistic in the youthful nihilism of Trent Reznor, take on new meaning as the much older Cash sings them. Just seeing him, compared to the images of Cash as a young man, it hit me as to just how old he is getting. There is no doubt that Cash is aware of that fact, and the song (and the imagery paired with it) really bring this home.
<Happy dance>
Dar Williams has a new album coming out and she's coming to the Barrymore in April. Woohoo!
Clarification: Apparently Handyman doesn't *quite* have a Grammy nomination. However, being in the competition was enough of an honor for Westside Andy and Mel Ford. Congrats, just the same.
Ya know that Jeep I just bought? The driver side door it broken. Something with the handle/latch mechanism.
Fuck.
I can't really afford to repair it just now, so it looks like I'm going to be climbing in through the passenger side...right over the gear shifts. Doesn't that just say "winter fun"?
I think I am going to watch Goldfinger to cheer myself up. James Bond's car always works.
Want vs. need vs. reality. Which will win?
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I know you've all been waiting with baited breath: Women’s Fashion: Part IV, Accessories by Margaret Berry.
Planned Parenthood's Online Rally for Choice. Somehow, it reminds me of Schoolhouse Rock with a serious twist to it. I'm never sure of how much good, if any, online petitions can do. However, that didn't stop me from signing this one. If you have a moment, you can, too.
Well, goodness gracious. My Blogiversary passed by before I even noticed. I ditched my first, pointless blog on Blogspot and replaced it with Irving Place on January 8, 2002. So much has happened since then, so much has changed.
And so much is yet to change. Who can sat what the next year of blogging will bring?
Happy (Belated) Birthday, Irving Place.
My main online pursuits are, at the moment (and will be for a while), testing out thins I am learning whilst reading HTML: A Beginner's Guide by Wendy Willard and becoming very addicted to the cool little games and things at Orisinal. (Is it wrong to be that fond of Snowbowling?)
Now here's a far more interesting search result:
Here is something for those of you who prefer your entertainment reduced. Abridged Buffy. I laughed until I cried.
Wow, I think I am turning into a fuddy-duddy. My big plan last night was to go to the Pat McCurdy show at the Club Tavern at 9:30. I was feeling worn to the bone from work when I got home, so I decided to take a nap first, to refresh myself. The lesson learned here is to set an alarm whe doing that, because I woke up at about 11. Oy! No show for me, but I did get gobs and gobs of sleep.
Ack! Smoothly! Does no one remember the adjective/adverb thing anymore? Argh!!
Went to the library yesterday and checked out a bunch of books on HTML. I'm learning a lot off the net, but I like things written on paper. Expect possible changes to Irving Place soon. Maybe a new gallery or two.
Excellent write-up on Firefly. (Network execs, take note.)
Happy Twelfth Night! Yes, it is Epiphany and I am taking down my tree. Funny thing, here it is, the twelfth day of Christmas and I can't remember where I put the 12 drummers, 22 pipers, 30 lords, 36 ladies, 40 maids, 42 swans, 42 geese, 40 golden rings, 36 birds, 30 French hens, 22 turtle doves, and 12 partridges in pear trees. You'd think I'd notice them laying about?
By the way, I think this year will be the last for my paper chain and popcorn strings. Both are looking pretty worse for wear. Time to toss them and make new ones next Christmas.
Currently listening to Mozart's Mass in C Minor, which Choral Union will be starting a a couple weeks. Beautiful stuff. I think I'm going to have even more fun than Elijah.
So, what are these strange and vivid dreams? Well, the nice ones tend to be unique, and very difficult to describe. The not-so-nice ones tend to follow fairly standard tropes:
* bad things happening to my teeth
* being attacked by rodents
* driving in extremely unsafe conditions
* friends and loved ones getting angry and leaving
* extreme heights
Etc. Isn't it funny how even fairly mundane dreams can be disturbing? The happy flipside to that is that fairly ordinary dreams can also be extremely uplifting. And why not? It is all in our heads, chemicals and electrical impulses acting off of our memories, hopes, and fears. In that context, it doesn't have to be Big to be Significant.
On that note, guess who is going to bed soon.
Giggling with amusement at this:
Great conversations of our time, with Maddy age 8. Today -- Swearing, in Songs.
She was wandering around singing the Future Bible Heroes "Vampire" song this evening. Then she stopped, mid-line and said, "You know, there's swearing in that song. Is it okay for me to sing it?"
I blinked. "There's swearing in it?"
"Yes. It goes... (whispers) 'swear', I am what I am what I am, and I am impossibly glam..."
"Er. 'Swear'?"
"Yes....(half-whispers, confidentially) 'Damn'."
"Oh. Damn. Right. I wouldn't worry about it."
"And it also has (half whispers) bitch in it too. I am the bitch-goddess from beyond your grave."
"Again, I wouldn't worry about it, and I don't think bitch in that context is swearing anyway. I mean the word means female dog."
"Like the shitzu in 'Fido your leash is too long' which kind of sounds like 'shit'?"
"Er. Right. Sort of like that. Anyway, it's nice to hear you singing, and I'm absolutely not worried about the swearing in Stephin Merritt songs."
"Oh good. Then I'm not either. (sings, lustily) How fucking romantic, all the stars are out..."
Another night of strange and vivid dreams. Could it be "an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato"?
In other news, I am terribly sleepy. I keep heading off to bed, only to be awakened by really funky dreams. On the upside, serial napping is a good way to pass the time on a cold, snowy evening. (I miss my last two fireplaces.)
(On the downside, I think it is making me cranky.)
Well, the nominations aren't being announced until January 7th, but according to local sources, The Westside Andy/Mel Ford Band have been nominated for a Grammy in the catagory of Best Contemporary Blues Album, for Handyman. Way to go, guys!
On the upside, the out door skating is finally open.
On the downside, I fell asleep within a half hour of getting home, and just woke up now. I never even realized I'd been so tired.
(That having been said, have you ever sent an email, only to re-read it later and discover that you must have been on crack when you wrote it, because you can't understand a thing you said?)
Oh, story time:
To ring in the New Year, I set my oven on fire.
More specifically, I had a grease fire while trying to broil salmon steak without a proper broiler pan. (Memo: baking rack and cookies sheet just will not cut it.) The fire was quickly doused with the ever handy baking soda, but the smoke made for a teary dinner.
(I'm still working on getting the fish smell out of the air.)
Ticket stubs. I have a whole box of these. I've saved the ticket stub from pretty much every ticketed event I've been to for years. Makes for great historical recreation. ("Now when *did* I go see that?")
