Thursday, May 9, 2013

Canadian powers, activate! Form of: A Maple Leaf!


I'm a leaf on the wind. Watch how I...

Wait. That didn't turn out so well for Wash, did it? For those of you not in the know, Wash was the unfortunate pilot from the wonderous geek flick, "Serenity". The moral of this is that you should never guide a spacecraft into a rough landing and chant "I'm a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar", since it's more than likely you'll find yourself soaring right into a jet engine, or window fan, or just getting shredded. Leaves on the wind rarely wind up in pristine condition. Remember that.

So I'm Canadian. Not entirely Canadian- but I think it was my grandfather who I never met that was, if I remember correctly. It'd be kind of kick ass if that entitled me to dual citizenship (So I could just run around flashing this cool card and say 'Hey, man, I'm a citizen of Canadaus. Or Unitada. Whatever's easier for you to pronounce). But of course it doesn't, because my mom had to go and have me in the United States, leaving me to just be one of millions who can say 'Hey, I was born in the good ol' US of A!'. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it isn't nearly as cool or exotic as saying you can legally live in one of two countries without taking some crazy test with questions NO ONE WILL EVER NEED TO KNOW AGAIN. I mean, I certainly can't tell you the opening lines of the Constitution, but that immigrant who wants legal status better be able to (I don't know if that's true or not- them needing to know. But I hear it could be?).

Anyway. So now that I've been reminded that I'm part Canadian, here are several reasons why Canada is awesome and that I'm awesome by extension of being part Canadian (for future references, lets just say 'half-Can').

Stana Katic:

Now, she's not the most well known of actresses. More so in recent years because of "Castle", and the third (I think) Librarian movie, but still. I say her name and people don't immediately gasp in recognition as they would with, say, Jennifer Garner. Who isn't Canadian. But Stana Katic is Canadian, and while her origins may or may not be a contributing factor in her acting skill...well, it gives Canada some cred. Because she's beautiful, and sweet, and kind, and so on.

Nathan Fillion:

The geek icon himself is Canadian. And if you notice I've given you two general references to Firefly, what with my mention of "Serenity" and Nathan Fillion. You can thank me later. He's the essential geek god, a title bestowed upon him by Entertainment Weekly, and is also (or so I read) a nice, kind, generous person. Were it within his power, he'd bring "Firefly" back to life. As it is not, however, he plays 'Captain Hammer' in "Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog" and brings great joy to us all by singing things like 'A Man's Gotta Do'. I mean. Please. Yes, a man's gotta sing in a tight t-shirt while looking all dorky and dashing. A Canadian man.

Yes.

Becky

You may not know Becky, but I know Becky. She's one of my closest friends and favorite people, her family is adorable and wonderful...and she's Canadian. And she's not a celebrity, so I can safely say that I've given you a realistic and practical reason why Canada is good. Because they gave us Becky, too! Becky doesn't run around screaming 'eh', and 'aboot' (the only examples I can think of. I know.), but she can speak Canadian french without sounding like she's mangling it bloody, and she can just stand on the border and hop back and forth if she wants to, because she has that cool little card (or Canadian superpower...I'm not sure. Like the power Superman gets from the sun?) that lets her do that. Whenever she wants.

So there. I've only given you three examples, and two are from "Castle", but you don't have to take my word for it (That's a lovely "Reading Rainbow" callout- but I don't think LeVar Burton is Canadian...so it's not really relevant).

Eh?

Monday, April 22, 2013

"Hear you go!" "Hey, over they're!"

Honestly, I'm not a grammar fiend. I'm not the one who will here (see what I did there?) another person say "I'm good!" in response to "How are you doing?" and correct them by saying "Well. You're well."

No. I'm not that person.

I'm the person who writes a completely unprofessional publication of my own creation, who fully intends for it to reflect my tone and likeness as much as possible. I often respond to inquires after my well being with "I'm good, thank you!". That's fine. I'm not publishing in a paper, or putting out a blog intending to reach the masses with current events or human interest pieces.

Today I read an article about a barista creating latte art for his customers. Pretty awesome art, and if you look at my Facebook page you'll see the link to the article. You'll also see me pointing out the misuse of the word 'hear'. Either they misspelt 'here' or misused 'hear', but whatever the reason, the wrong word was in place for that particular context. Now, if that was my blog- my simple, modest blog- I'd just shrug and dismiss it. But no...it's an ABC news blog. ABC. An actual news station that reports news to thousands of people.

That being said- I know it's not a big deal, in the grand scheme of things. Really. I mean, people are dying in the world and I'm complaining about the minor issue of spelling and grammar in the news? Well, I realize we live in the world of 'lol' and 'omg', 'hear' a 'here', 'there' a 'they're, everywhere a 'where' 'wear', but if I'm reading a professional publication I expect to see the correct usage and spelling for things.

The example being set here is unintentional, I'm sure, but when a news service (and abc isn't the only one) isn't even proofreading their own pieces, how can we expect people to know what the difference is between words that sound so similar?

Friday, April 19, 2013

Live Free Or Die!

Yes, for those of you reading...that is the motto of the state of New Hampshire. However, this post has nothing to do with the state of New Hampshire, but rather the word 'free', and how it brings out behaviors in people that mirror that of rabid dogs or hyenas faced with the promise of prey (I realize I'm stereotyping hyenas, but my vision in this case is more like the drooling, cartoonish hyenas in The Lion King).

'Free House Coffee until noon at Starbucks'. I'm seeing that everywhere today, from dealspl.us to yahoo.com. The word free churns up, I imagine, that same feeling that gambling does. A rush of some chemical something-or-other that makes the individual clamor for more. Hence questions like 'does it only have to be a small?', or 'can I just get it later?', or 'can I have more than one?'

Don't get me wrong. I love free things. I like the prospect of getting a free coffee, I like the prospect of getting a free bottle of nail polish. I will get one coffee. I will get one nail polish. I will not get up at 6am to get them, and I will not stand in line for hours on end. Because paying for things is how we support our economy, and because I've seen how obnoxious people can get when things are free.

I realize this sounds awfully judgmental. If you're one of those people who likes free things, go for it. I'm sure you're very polite and understanding, and I'm sure that's appreciated by the people who give you that free coffee or that free sandwich, or that free wi-fi. Continue to be grateful for the free things, and I'm sure you'll be the bright spot in the day of that person who gave you the free haircut.

I still find it entertaining to see the glow in people's eyes when they ask 'Is it true that you're giving away free axes today?'. Doesn't matter if its the most useless thing to them (I mean, how many people need a free nose hair trimmer? Does everyone trim their nose hair? Is it a huge problem?), or if they already have three potato peelers. If it's free...

For some people, landing the free thing is imperative. Vital to their survival, even. And I suppose that's ok...but there's a point where one should stop and say 'if it's while supplies last...maybe someone else needs it more'.

Or maybe they have fifteen. Whatever. At least you've avoided an overstuffed utensil drawer. There's always that small triumph.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

$1,000,000,000 Reward for Tips of the Brutal Killing of Miss Manners

     When I think of Miss Manners, I imagine a desiccated corpse sitting in an arm chair all prim and proper. The cobwebs spun over months of isolation reach from the carved wooden arm of the chair to the tip of her nose and the faded floral print of her dress, while her jaw remains frozen in an open mouthed grimace of dismay at the state of the world as it is.

     Why? Why the hell are manners completely extinct? Case in point: I witnessed the following exchange at a coffee shop, and the simple inflection and choice of phrasing was enough to give me a double take.

     Barista hands customer a drink with a visible inch of room at the top.

     B: "Here you go! Have a great day."
     C: "This isn't filled all the way."

     Okay. So they didn't fill it all the way. Some people feel they're being shortchanged. That's too bad- it happens. But really- just ask the barista to fill it.

     Example: B: "Oh, could you just fill that a little bit more?"
                      C: "Sure! No problem!"

   See? Not so hard, really.

    I had a discussion with a friend not too long ago, in regards to the evolution (or de-evolution) or manners, and we've come to the conclusion that they really did skip a generation. My theory is that people who were considered 'the elderly' thirty years ago (when I was a child) are now the ones who are considered the 'elderly', which may very well account for their lack of manners. Because, quite honestly, I haven't met an elderly person in my countless years of retail who has been at all polite when I have been polite TO THEM. I mean, I get being a complete jerk to some upstart brat who talks to you like you're an idiot, but I don't get how you can respond to a smile and a 'have a nice day' with anything other than a 'You too'.

    People my age seem to still have manners- to a degree. The argument can be made that there are still quite a few bad apples who can't display a decent grasp on the concept of manners, but still, there are a fair amount of us who are nice and decent and don't treat those who came before us like they're unworthy of respect. That same argument can be made for any generation, I'm sure- because not everyone can be awesome.

     But.

     Honestly. If manners could just come back. 'Please', 'thank you', and 'may I', seem to have gone the way of the dinosaur, and if meteors were the explanation I'd be able to accept it. I'd like to believe that a flaming bit of rock took out all brain cells in select people that controlled the ability to be polite, but until scientifically proven wrong I shall have to hold on to that theory.

     So my plea to the world is this: Be nice. Say nice things. If someone doesn't make your drink right, or gives you an inch of space in the top of your iced coffee...don't assume they're a jerk. Assume that maybe they think you want space for cream, since you didn't specify. Ask them to fill it, because I imagine it's no more of an imposition to ask that than it is to WAIT for the drink to be filled all the way, as you're going to wait either way.

   Say Please. Thank someone. Ask 'May I borrow your stapler?'. Practice one nice thing every day, and I'm sure the response will eventually be a positive one, even if at first you get those crooked looks of confusion from those unfamiliar with...any of those words.

   Please.

   Thank you.
    

Monday, April 8, 2013

Pick a brand, any brand...

So...friends don't let friends drink Starbucks, hm? In recent years Dunkin Donuts has launched what they and thousands of Americans seem to find a rather amusing marketing ploy against Starbucks Coffee. Ridiculous t-shirts that claim 'friends don't let friends drink Starbucks'. T-Shirts, commercials (I'd imagine, though I haven't seen any commercials of any sort in quite some time) and so on.

 I don't know about you, but while that may seem entertaining to people who see Starbucks as a hoity-toity coffee joint, I see it as an incredibly lame attempt to steer people toward a product that, if it was good enough, could stand on its own without bashing the competition. This marketing angle seems to be nothing more than the Dunkin insecurities rearing their ugly heads and lashing out at whomever they see as a threat to their brand.

Whatever. So Dunkin Donuts may or may not feel threatened by what is likely their biggest competitor coffee wise, although I haven't researched any statistics to prove this, so I can't say that it's a certainty. Maybe McDonalds and their McCafe drinks are the biggest threat. Maybe Seattle's Best (which is, amusingly enough, owned by Starbucks). The bottom line is that taking the road Dunkin has taken doesn't particularly show great sportsmanship on their part. I feel that, once upon a time, I was told that the tactic of attacking another company in any way, shape or form was more or less unprofessional. I mean, if I wanted to say that I thought I could make an incredible Easter ham, and that my friend Bob made a really awful Easter ham...well. You'd think I was a bit of a twit, wouldn't you? Who's to say that Bob's ham is worse than mine? Am I really an authority on that? If I was trying to get more people to come to my house for Easter dinner and started saying how my food was SO much better...wouldn't that give the impression that I was insecure in my ability to cook?

Maybe. Maybe not. But today, as I was sitting in a beautiful downtown cafe that wasn't at all part of a giant chain, I thought about this as I discussed Dunkin Donuts marketing with a friend of mine. I do love drinking coffee- all sorts of coffee- and I can't say that I love everything Dunkin has. I can't say that I love everything Starbucks has. But I can say that as a consumer I think that Dunkin Donuts was taking a rather ridiculous route to prove their point. Don't just sit there and put out shirts that imply letting your friends drink something else is wrong. Stand behind your product. Prove your point with quality, customer service, and price. Make your stand in a way that not only shows you're correct, but continue to do so.

And before you can say anything, I realize that this sort of thing does happen everywhere. You look at a generic cereal box and you'll see words like 'compare to Rice Krispies' in small print on the corner. It's the reality of the world. But you don't look at that same generic cereal box and see 'friends don't let friends eat Rice Krispies', right?

There you go. So drink Starbucks if you want. Drink Dunkin if you want. Let your friends drink whatever they want, and respect them regardless of their choice. Because friends don't let friends drink antifreeze, but friends let friends drink whatever consumable product they want.

Really. Don't let your friends drink antifreeze.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

"Isn't it fun, isn't it? Nowadays..."

"You can like the life you're living,
you can live the life you like.
You can even marry Harry,
or mess around with Ike..."

Oh, relationships. So awful, so wonderful, such very excellent fodder from which a person can write a song that may or may not reach the top of the Country Billboard charts. Who can blame a person, though, for writing about heartache and/or anger when it's bankable and will be likely to help you build a lovely little nest egg. I'd write about it myself, if even thinking about any of my past relationships didn't put me into a homicidal rage that causes me to not only lose all creativity but to think of all the things I'd like to do to the person who so unceremoniously ripped me to shreds.

See what I did there? If I were able to retain an objective thought, I'd have taken that very emotion and turned it into a wonderful, head-banging song about men in nice clothing who are really cowards and jerks. 

Anyway. When I was a child, I remember friends mocking the country music genre because they claimed that the artists were only ever singing about losing a truck, a dog, or a wife. Maybe they were, back when I was younger, but now they also sing about shoes ("Red High Heels", by Kellie Pickler), or solo cups ("Red Solo Cup", by Toby Keith), or being young ("22", by Taylor Swift). Maybe they do still sing about getting married on the fly ("Last Name", by Carrie Underwood), but they also sing about hope ("Something Worth Leaving Behind", by Lee Ann Womack) and family ("Home To Me", by   Sarah Darling). The very thing I like about country is probably what a lot of people like about their favored genre- that it speaks to them in some way or another and they can find a connection that they need. 

I'm not going to say how silly I think it is that there's a song on the charts right now called "Thrift Shop" (It's not country...but I don't even really know what it's under), because once upon a time some artist in the country world wrote "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" (Really...ugh), and I definitely won't say how stupid I think it is that there's a song that essentially has 'ass' as seventy-five percent of the lyrics, because there's a country song called "Kiss This" (I also think that's incredibly...ugh.). 

Oh, wait. You noticed that I said I wasn't going to say how stupid I thought it was...yet I still did? Caught that, did you? Well. Ha. I'm sure there are plenty of people who think that my taste in music is absolutely dreadful, because I like Taylor Swift. She writes about what she knows, whether anyone dares to think she has no idea what love is...or if they think she's too vindictive by saying what she does. If I had the resources, I'm sure I'd sing from the rooftops about the jerk who broke my heart and couldn't face me himself...especially if I could make money. It'd be like fighting back.

And with the amount of things I'd really like to say to some people, well...I'll take whatever form I can get.


A Single Fangirl in a Fandom World.

Who here is familiar with the term 'fandom'? Good- raise your hands in the Vulcan salute. Now put them down, because I can't see you anyway, so it's no big deal. You may not have even put them up. I don't mind- you don't have to do that for me.

Anyway- a fandom is a group of people who are absolutely head-over-heels in love with a specific show/book series or something like. The Harry Potter fandom is one example, with Potterheads flying flags in all Hogwarts House colors. And the Gleeks, Glee fans who dance in their living rooms and croon the songs sung every week by...whatever that school is (can you tell I'm not really a Glee person?).

Fandoms are everywhere. They're big, they're small (the fandoms of more obscure shows, for example. I can't think of any, but if you go to fanfiction.net you'll see listings for shows with only a few stories written.), but they're always ful if people who are absolutely passionate for their favored show/book.

And the fanfiction. Oh, the glorious fanfiction that comes from the people who belong to these fandoms. Not familiar with fanfiction? That's ok- by the time you're done reading this, you will be. You'll know of several stories, several very good authors, and will wonder how on earth you ever survived without reading stories about Tony Stark's accidental engagement to Pepper Potts.

Ok. Maybe you won't wonder how you ever went without that. But this may lead you down a path that will provide many, many hours of entertainment.

My fandom participation began long ago with Star Trek: Voyager, a show that I've been a fan of ever since the premiere over ten years ago. Such a fan was I that my best friends parents got me a picture of Kate Mulgrew's trailer as a gift (Captain Janeway). And I framed it. I also wrote fanfiction.

You're probably (okay, I know you are) rolling your eyes at this. Fanfiction? Silly, right? Wrong. So wrong. Did you know that Fifty-Shades-Of-This-Is-Just-Awful was a fanfiction? Did you know Mercedes Lackey used to write fanfiction? Well, she did- and now she's famous. Fanfiction has been around forever, and it honestly is one of the best ways I've found to kill time between seasons, or to find new ways to look at characters you enjoy watching.

There's a great website (which I already mentioned), fanfiction.net. There you shall find a crazy assortment of fanfiction ranging from absolutely tame to burning corneas mature. The downside to fanfiction is that anyone can write it, so you'll come across quite a few that are just awful- grammar, spelling, you make it. There will be many that fall under PWP (Plot, what plot?), and countless pieces that are under 1,000 words. One of my favorite fanfics is well over 50,000 words. The range is insane, but fanfiction.net has a great filter system that allows anything for pairings (think you're the only one who imagined Fargo and Dr Blake hooking up on "Eureka"? You're probably not.) to ratings.

The fandom world may appear obsessive to many, but I can tell you this- it can be the most accepting community you'll ever hope to meet. The people I spoke with, beta'd for (to beta is to edit and/or read a fic for someone.) and wrote with were the people who didn't judge me for doing what I did, and the people who challenged me to write scenarios I'd have never thought up on my own.

Fandoms are everywhere, and they're just going to keep getting bigger. So allons-y, my fellow Whovians, and Live Long and Prosper, Trekkies. Because while life can take a lot from us, it can never take the sky from me.


Thursday, April 4, 2013

"It's love, in point of fact."

I feel that my topic was best expressed by the bounty hunter in the movie "Serenity", who described the emotion in Simon Tam's face upon rescuing his sister as the subject line above.

"It's love, in point of fact."

Having just watched one of my favorite romantic comedies, "Laws of Attraction", I feel like posting a little bit about my view of romantic comedies, love, and the way a person can fall into it so fast it may seem a bit unrealistic. I'm one of those people, unfortunately, although I sometimes wonder if it isn't due to some deep psychological issue that I have yet to uncover without years of in depth therapy. Alas, I don't have hundreds of dollars to fork over so that some ivy league shrink can delve into my deepest insecurities like some sort of Freudian Indiana Jones...so that leaves me to strike out on my own and hope for the best.

What is love? ("Baby, don't hurt me...don't hurt me...no more..." Come on. I know you were thinking it.). Well, someone might say love is an emotion, while another may say it's a chemical reaction, blah-de-blah-blah. I know it's caring, and compassion, and the desire to take into consideration the well being of someone other than yourself. I know that it's an emotion and not just a physical need to be with someone. I know that it can come and go, it can hit you like a ton of bricks, and it can throw you off guard like nothing you've ever experienced. Every. Single. Time. It can be different and exactly the same, but it's wonderful. Everybody should have it. Everybody deserves it.

What brings this on is the occasional thought that maybe I'll never have it again. That each time I experience it could be the last time. Because there may be no more chances that I'll look at someone and my heart will leap, or that I'll feel an instant attraction akin to an adrenaline high. Maybe that last time was it, and two times was the unfortunate charm, rather than three.

I know, I know- this is sad. And some will say untrue. But the truth of the matter is that no one can really say whether or not there's someone for everyone, or whether or not one person can keep finding love. I'm not giving up, not at all, but desperately trying to hold on to the thought that I may not find someone to be with for the rest of my life. Just because I may not doesn't mean I won't be happy...and it doesn't mean I'm sabotaging my future by going into it with even a glimmer of this in the back of my mind.

It just means I'm choosing to look at it from a point of view that isn't inside the lines. Anyone who knows me can say I'm not an 'inside the lines' kind of girl, so understand when I say that this opinion will probably never change. I'm not saying I won't fall in love again...I'm just saying that there may not be any one person.

And that, my friends, is okay. Even if people don't always believe it.

"So the final question is...why do people want to fall in love?"
"Because when it does last...it feels fucking great."
-Barbra Streisand as Rose Morgan, "The Mirror Has Two Faces".

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Meet my husband, David Tennant.

"Have you met my husband? Yes, that's him. The tall, gangly fellow over by the punchbowl. Yes, he's wearing Converse with his suit. And yes...that's a trenchcoat. What does he do? Well...he's The Doctor. That's right. The Doctor. Of Fucking Gallifrey. And you know what? His TARDIS is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside."

That's how it would have gone, if I brought my husband to my high school reunion. Or if I had a husband. Or if my husband was The Doctor, which David Tennant is not. Nor is David Tennant my husband.

Celebrity crushes. We all have them, and lets not insult each other by pretending that we don't. You might be a realistic person, but so help me, if you ever deny that you may have dreamt of walking down the beach hand in hand with Tom Cruise (or Danny DeVito or whatever type floats your boat), well...you're a liar. Shut up and go away. Mine, for a while, was David Duchovny. And even now, if I were to meet him on the street and he were to ask for my phone number...I'd give it to him. Although my husband David Tennant might object- that's okay. Because neither possibility exists, and that's okay.

Patrick Stewart is going to get married to his longtime girlfriend, Wendy Something-Or-Other-Doesn't-Matter-Because-She-Isn't-Me. Ian McKellan is marrying them, which is sweet, and hopefully he'll turn out to not have the proper credentials so that Patrick Stewart is free to marry...ok. Fine. Yes, I know he's old enough to be my grandfather, but he's Captain Picard, and that is the only thing that matters ever at all. Period. When I read this, I admit that I silently mourned for a second, because yet another of the celebrity crushes is off the market. Bummer.

Hm. Who else? Gwyneth Paltrow is on the list, because she's beautiful, and hey- Pepper Potts. Red hair. Come on. I happen to think she's a lovely person. Even if her website suggests a lot of things normal people like myself can't afford...well, that's okay. Her heart is in the right place to even suggest it and share with the world, and that's the point. In the light of recent celeb babies I can't even say I object to the names of her kids anymore, because...come on. Blue Ivy. Enough said.

And then there's Dean Cain. I remember when Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman was on, and Dean Cain and his everything was there...and...yeah. I was a young girl, and suddenly I could be Lois Lane to his Clark Kent in my vivid imagination. I'd have been more than happy to Daily his Planet or whatever any day at all, because he had a look that just made you want to leap over tall buildings in a single bound. And even still...well, he's pretty darned handsome even now.

This could go on for a while, so I'm going to just close up by saying that if you have a celebrity crush you probably possess a decent collection of their movies or CD's, and a stack of magazines featuring this person. You probably wish you could plaster your bedroom walls with their pictures but don't, fearing someone may mistake you for a stalker. But loving them from afar is all in good fun, and as long as you're not sending them fingernail clippings or cuttings of your hair...well, I'd say you're all right. Go watch Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and swoon over Mariska Hargitay like I do...and don't feel any shame in doing so (I mean, who would? She's amazing, that woman.).


Monday, March 18, 2013

Sloth and Baby Ruth: A Love Story

We all remember that movie, right? The Goonies, released in 1985, with the adorable Sean Astin (Samwise Gamgee, ladies and gentlemen! Cutest roly-poly Hobbit the world will ever know) starring as an inhaler toting youth hell bent on finding hidden treasure. I loved that movie, and will forever remember how Sloth absolutely adored Baby Ruth's, and the look on poor Chunk's face when he discovered the freezer full of Ben & Jerry's only to have the dead body tumble down on top of him (I don't know about you, but that would pretty much put me off ice cream forever).

Well, Sloth loved those candy bars. Chunk loved...all food. And me? Well, in the last week or two I've been trying ('trying' being the operative word, as I tend to 'try' my way into a bag of chips or a candy bar pretty easily) to eat better, and in doing so have thought back on the junk food I once could devour without even blinking an eye. Remember those days, when no one gave a shit about calories and the fact that everything contained high fructose corn syrup meant pretty much nothing?

Yeah, so do I. And in remembering those days, I reflect upon the candy I once loved, and the things I will no longer eat because adulthood has robbed me of that joy.

Butterfingers:

"Nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger". Bart Simpson loved them, and were he a real person you'd be able to imagine him kicking a man in the jewels to take back his beloved candy bar. I probably wouldn't have resorted to violence, but I certainly went straight for the orange wrapper every time I was given the chance to get candy at the convenience store in the little town I grew up in.

These days I can't stand them. Sure, the taste is still wonderful, and they still melt on my tongue like they did when I was younger, but the buttery, flaky innards get stuck in my teeth and make me feel as if I could sprain my tongue trying to work them out. Floss rarely helps, and toothpicks are never around unless you're at the cash register in a Chinese restaurant. So the option, as much as I hate to say so, is to simply avoid them as often as possible. There are, of course, the times when I just can't say no...and those are the days when I'm found working the candy out of my teeth with a grimace.

Sugar Daddys (or Sugar Babies)

Ouch. Seriously, they were so good to eat, once upon a time. So chewy and delicious, and a lovely bit of buttery caramel you could work around in your mouth until it melted into oblivion. They were sweet and wonderful, and pretty much available anywhere in their lovely yellow wrappers. You'd be happy to just eat them for hours (if you could manage to make it last that long), and they were always everything you hoped they would be.

Now? Well, again, it's a 'stuck in your teeth' situation. I'm pretty sure my teeth hurt now, just because I'm thinking about them. There's a term for that, I'm sure- phantom pain, or tactile memory, or some such thing- but ultimately the memory is enough to steer me away from them. It's another thing that sucks about being an adult, but when you're paying your own dental bills it's really good to listen to that instinct.

Pixie Sticks

There's not much to say here. But pouring straight sugar down your throat? Yeah. That's really a no brainer when you're reaching the age where you should really watch that shit or risk diabetes due to overindulgence. Not to say, of course, that kids should be indulging...but adults really shouldn't. We've got beer, and that's bad enough. So stick to the beer (not that I'm encouraging alcoholism. I'm not. So if you have a problem with that...you should avoid it. There you go).

"The candy man can, 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good...." - 'Candy Man', from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Driving Miss Awesome

Had the pleasure of using a car today. For those not in the know, I do not currently possess a car, and this is a fact that haunts me daily. Living in a city like mine and not having a car is absolutely miserable...albeit a great way to stay in shape ( "Family Guy" reference. Catch that? Yeah.) But cars cost money, and working in the salt mines as I do, one really has no money- just a deep seeded hatred of salt (kidding on that. I love salt. In fact, we're getting married in August. Registering at Hannaford.).

So today I drove. Drove to get coffee, drove the long way to the other side of town to get groceries, then back to coffee. Perfect day for the windows to be down and music to be as loud as possible. I think I may have shuffled through the same CD several times, with Rhianna, Taylor Swift, and Christina Perri as my co-pilots in this incredibly aimless jaunt all over town.

I love driving. People say, as people do, that one will only really love driving as long as one doesn't do it all the time. I swear by my pretty floral bonnet ("Firefly". They have spaceships- not cars, so this really has no point.) that I always will, because there's nothing better than driving on a nice day and just enjoying the scenery. Sure, a person can walk, run or jog...but it just isn't the same (and I don't know about anyone else, but I hate running, walking or jogging in public. It's just not comfortable). However...you can also drive in your pajamas, whereas walking in them makes you appear as if you're going to Walmart (*ba-dum-dum.).

So...I drove. Not anyone crazy, not up the wall...but a car. It was fantastic, it was invigorating, and it was freedom. It was brilliant- and to have someone trust you with their vehicle just adds a joy to it that only enhances the great fun.

"When I'm driving the highway by myself is when I write best."
- Willie Nelson

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

A Geek In Chic Clothing

I'm a geek ("What?" You say, "You? No! You don't look like a geek.."). Well, long gone are the days where geeks are assumed to only be those in Star Wars t-shirts who never shower or have a single comic book out of place (I'm well aware that not all geeky folk avoid showers. Please be aware, my dear friends, that I mean no offense!). These days geeky folk are just as likely to be tucked neatly into suits and ties, with elegant hairstyles and neatly applied makeup.

Look to your left. If you're at a stoplight, the guy in the next car may look like an engineer or an architect, but he may have a desperate love of Star Wars and have a Maine Coon Cat named Chewbacca. You never know.

Now, while I've managed to use the typical geek stereotype in this post, I do so with the intent of making a point: while geeks once upon a time were mocked and teased, being a geek now is an entirely different story. It's 'cool', or moreso than when I was in school years ago. The geek culture lurks beneath the surface of many a man, woman and child, and the opportunity to nurture the budding is everywhere. Some may be Star Wars fans, while others may be Star Trek fans (I'm in that camp, and proud of it!). Some may have a closet full of TeeFury.com shirts (Seriously, check it out. It's a ten dollar t-shirt a day, and some are fantastic. Not all are geeky.), while others may sleep with a giant stuffed Adipose (It's a Doctor Who reference, so if you're not familiar...check out the tenth Doctor, and watch. WATCH.).

Last summer I had the privilege of attending PortCon, a shiny four days ("Firefly" reference. If not familiar with Firefly...you're missing out.) of anime and comic goodness. FOUR days of so much geek that I came away from those four days feeling more accepted in my Doctor Who/Star Trek loving nature than I ever have. There were costumes (the BEST Link and Zelda EVER, Chell from Portal, even Richard Castle himself in his writers vest), panels on subjects ranging from "The Costuming Of Doctor Who" to "It Came From Not America" (A panel on...you guessed it...bits of Geek Culture that didn't come from America. Great shows that did not originate on these shores). Days were spent pouring over the schedule and agonizing about whether we should attend the Joss Whedon panel ("Buffy", "Firefly", "Dollhouse") or go to the Geek Jeopardy tournament. I'm telling you- there's not much that will get me out of bed at eight in the morning, but the Joss Whedon panel definitely won that honor. I love that man, and if he ever, EVER cooperates with Fox again, I will personally beat him until he's dizzy. They don't do him any favors.

But I digress.

There was a director that debuted (as far as I know- he may have shown it elsewhere) his new film, "Lloyd the Conqueror", which took a pretty high spot in the list of admired films my roommate no doubt keeps in his movie-happy brain. I didn't see it, but I heard SO much about how amazing it was...so I feel like I was there. I think I'd chosen to hang out in the video game room and play some classic Mario 3 with one of the PortCon staff members, and I know THAT was a throwback for me. Nothing like Mario.

Being a Geek means  you have to deal with a lot of assumptions. If I wrote fanfiction (yes, I did. I do. I still do.), I faced questions like "Don't you have anything better to do? You must have a lot of time on your hands." I often feel, when I get that sort of question, that I should fire back with "Oh, you watch cars running around and around a track? Don't you have anything better to do?" (Sorry, NASCAR fans. Really. I don't get that, and you don't get why I like to watch fictional characters on a fictional starship. That's okay).  But you know, just because I play video games to unwind instead of throwing back a few beers and watching a football game doesn't mean that I have nothing better to do. It means that my method of unwinding is to escape, albeit temporarily, into a world that isn't my own. It's a lot of fun, really, once you give it a chance. And growing up, I never let myself admit to people that I liked Star Trek (I did sometimes, but a lot of the time I hid my Star Trek books in a book cover and wrote fanfiction with the sheet of paper under something boring). Because I couldn't handle the way people would make fun of it. And there was no shame- there never has been. What's the shame in being a geek?

So today I urge you to embrace a geek (not literally. I'm not kidding- some really don't shower. Go to a gaming store sometime. You'll find I'm right.), and don't laugh. Don't roll your eyes, don't look at their Doctor Who t-shirt and sigh when they say they play Magic: The Gathering (Trust me, after my experience I still want to roll my eyes at that, but I don't judge. Because to each his own. And at least they aren't murderers.). Just think of the fact that it's no worse than a NASCAR fan, or even a reality TV fan. They love it, so who are any of us to judge anyone?

After all...some day the Geek shall inherit the Earth. Right? :)

"When I was a kid, it was a huge insult to be a geek. Now it's a point of pride, in a weird way." 
                                                                                                   -J.J. Abrams

Saturday, March 2, 2013

It's Cooking Time: Julia Childs Style!


    "Hellooooooooooo!"

     Admit it- you just read this in Julia Childs' voice, didn't you? Admit it!

     All right. It's okay if you didn't. In fact, it's okay if you don't even know who Julia Childs' is (No, actually, that's not really okay. Go find a cookbook. She was pretty rad.). The fact of the matter is, this post is NOT about Julia Childs. It is, however, about cooking. I do a lot of random experiments with cooking, as on a normal day you may find a thousand ingredients in my kitchen, none of which go together. When that happens the only logical step is to find a recipe online and cobble it together with some other recipe to make exactly what you wanted, or a rough approximation of.

     In my case, it's chicken and mushrooms today. I'm feeling as run down as a person with a cold should, so while I'm taking it easy for the most part I'm also aware of the mushrooms that will be going bad soon and the chicken I pulled out to thaw yesterday. A single chicken breast does not a huge meal make, but for a single person it's just enough (#SingleLife, for those who will get it. Hahaha.). And mushrooms can be used for quite a lot, but my absolute favorite use for them is stuffed mushrooms. Which are awesome.

    What to do? All of the stuffed mushroom recipes called for things I don't have, but having made them before and eaten them often, I was able to piece together what I think is a decent idea of a recipe. And they can be cooked with the piece of chicken in the same pan, so...bonus. I removed the stems and shredded them with a Hello Kitty fork (Not necessarily, of course, but exactly the right size for the cute little bowl I used). I added a pretty generous amount of minced garlic, and disassembled a leftover veggie artisan breakfast sandwich for use of the Monterey Jack cheese. The ingredients were minced further with the Hello Kitty fork, and then stuffed into the happy little mushroom caps.

    Considerable amount left over, as those mushroom caps really can't hold much (Doesn't that bring to mind Toadstool, from Super Mario? How much do you think HIS little head could keep inside it? I can't imagine he was the most useful. Unless he was of Portabello Mushroom ancestry.). So what to do with that? Well, as the chicken breast was already fairly flat, I basically just cut slits in it and stuffed the rest of the mushroom/monterey/garlic concoction inside.

   From the smell, I may have used a hint too much garlic. But they say garlic is good for...everything. Right? So I feel that it may be okay. Only time will tell, so in another, oh...eighteen minutes, we should know if my makeshift dinner winds up a wash, or not.

"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all."
                                                                     `Harriet Van Horne 

 

Friday, March 1, 2013

There's an App for that! And that...and that...

In the days of Smartphones and Tablets, there's always someone sitting somewhere whose fingers are merrily tapping away at the screen of their smartphone, as I am now. Some days there are people taking the extra mile and juggling a smartphone, tablet, AND a laptop. I remember the day I got my new kindle in the mail. I sat at the kitchen table with my iPhone, my kindle, and my laptop, and my roommates took a picture.

And then I'm at a Starbucks one day, sitting at a table with a friend of mine. We're both on our iPhones (4s. Siri. Love my girl Siri.), and some random person stops to ask if we're texting each other. No, sir, we are not- but we ARE each using a different app for our own personal amusement. She, I believe, was using Snapchat (Take a picture, send it to someone else, and they have a designated amount of seconds to look at it, depending on you. I choose six seconds, typically because I figure that's fair enough.). I, on the other hand, was checking in on Foursquare (Check in at a location, leave pictures and/or comments about this location. For example: I check in at Selah Tea Cafe. I take a picture of my awesome Valentines Day cupcake. Now anyone who has Foursquare not only can stalk me at Selah Tea Cafe, but can also tell how awesome their baked goods are.).

There really IS an app for everything. Not that I believe this to be news to any of you, because you may be checking this blog RIGHT NOW from a Smartphone or a Tablet via an app of some kind. I update it frequently through the Blogger app, which is why you may see many, many spelling errors. iPhone 4s, while lovely, doesn't often catch all of the mistakes when typing in Blogger.

And then we come to Instagram!!! Adorable way to share pictures, allowing you to also add filters and frames. Makes them even cooler looking. Maybe there's no productive point, but it's definitely a fun way to play 'amateur photographer' among your peers.

Today I downloaded the Shaws app. Because I'm becoming a crazy bargain hunting lunatic (present company accepted), and the idea of constructively cruising for coupons and deals is more appealing than cruising Pinterest for ideas that, while fun and creative, are things I will likely never do. So I spent a small amount of time shopping the app for ideas on what I may get on my next excursion into the wilds of the grocery jungle.

My god. The list can go on...and on...and on. Evernote is another good app- allows you to keep track of things, add photos, etc. Like a happy little day planner...and made even more fun if you add Skitch, which allows you to doodle in the margins (although only really effective on a tablet).

I'm thinking I'll probably update now and again as I find useful apps (Like the Shaws Supermarket app!), but needless to say...

...if ever you're in need...there's probably an app for that.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

The Pursuits of Triva, Or Trivial Pursuits.

   
    "Trivia Night! Come one, come all, for the most relevant trivia in all the land! Learn only things that you need to know, and absolutely nothing that you don't! Everyone will know, and everyone will win."

     Not a terribly enticing advertisment for a trivia night, hm? That's because it really isn't. The point, I feel, of a trivia night, is to not only see how much you know, but how much you don't. A lot of people are thirsty for knowledge, and school isn't the only place you can pick up things like "As of 1990, what was the recorded population of China?" (1,143.3, according to http://www.chinability.com/Population.htm) or "What was Captain Kathryn Janeway's first name prior to Kate Mulgrew taking on the role?" (Nicole. This is not only something I knew, but according to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Kathryn_Janeway). See? Some of you may not have known that. Refreshing, isn't it, to learn something new?

     I bring this up because I work in a place where we offer up a trivia question every day, with a prize so minor that it really isn't necessarily worth researching. It's nice to know, sure, because you get that ten cents off or whatnot, but it's not really such a worthy prize that people should leave the place frustrated. You'd be surprised, however, at the amount of people who get severely aggrivated at the things they don't know, or who become incredibly defensive at their own lack of knowledge ("Seriously? Why on earth would I know the statute of limitations of medical malpractice in the state of Maine?" (3 years) "Well...maybe you've had bad surgery and may not know you can still sue your doctor."). It's amazing to see the reactions over ten cents off ("That's barely anything!"), and wonder why on earth they even feel the need to try answering if they're downplaying the reward so much.

   So many pubs and bars have trivia. I've never been to any trivia nights, nor do I plan to, but the competive sides much be amplified tenfold when people are in large groups and/or completely schnockered (that's right. Schnockered. You get it.). I mean, put people in groups and they become the most irrational idiots possible, and if you add alcohol to the mix they just forget how to be anything at all except the noisiest of fools. No offense intended, of course, to those who do partake. I myself have been known to, although I like to think I just get silly. But I'm never participating in anything like a trivia night or whatever. I'd like to imagine, however, that people at those trivia nights don't exclaim, "Hey! Why the hell do I need to know what the capital of New Hampshire is?" (I won't even suggest that anyone wouldn't know that, although I'm sure...ok. There are people who don't. There are people who don't know the capital of Maine. Or what an ampersand is. But I'm getting away from myself.). I'd like to think that the people at those trivia nights take the trivia as exactly what it is- good, old fashioned fun.

   Whatever happened to that? Good, old fashioned fun? Did it go the way of the Game Boy? No longer are we satisfied to simply play with a wooden hoop and a stick? No longer are we satisfied with a trivia question unless it comes complete with a reference? Is this world becoming a 'cite your source' kind of world, when most people can't even write a source page for a term paper without the assistance of some sort of program? Maybe we don't need to know what Agent Dana Scully named her only child, fathered by Fox Mulder (William), but it sure makes it fun to try and guess!

 Loosen up. Go to Mainely Brews on a Thursday night (I think between 7-9) and have a blast! Have a burger. Enjoy! And don't get frustrated at yourself if you can't guess the actress who voiced Meg Griffin in season one of 'Family Guy' (Lacey Chabert).

**As you probably noticed, I didn't cite sources for the last few items in parenthesis. The reason for that is...well, I was lazy. I usually take the informaton from wikipedia.com, or my own mind. Google it if you like.**

"Why is it trivia? People call it trivia because they know nothing and they are embarrassed about it."
                                                                                                                         -Robbie Coltrane
 

Adventure Time: Coupon Edition

     Couponing is an art passed down through generations, originating with the ancient Egyptians, who would often utilize couponing to obtain additional concubines in a buy one get one free offer. Granted, they didn't have actual money, but even a shiny pebble saved is a shiny pebble earned, so the more saved the better! Of course, we all know this is crap. Couponing originated some time long after, and I couldn't begin to tell you when- although it's probably not as cool as the origin story I made up, right?

     Well, then. Couponing. Once in a while, years ago, I would see a coupon in my perusal of the Sunday paper (I was looking for the comics. Always.) so I would clip this coupon, and find a fair amount of glee in saving fifty cents (ooooh!) on a package of my favorite string cheese.  I mean, my sister's basement looks like Sam's Club Jr, so obviously the world of couponing is one that takes a sharp and savvy mind capable of crunching numbers like nobody's business. My freezer, on the other hand, possesses an amount of meat capable of rendering a man unconscious (seriously- a pork loin over the head? Goodbye, classic baseball bat, hello natural weapon.). But my finds were the products of good deals- not really coupon clipping.

The couponing I speak of, the kind that makes your basement look like a price club and your cupboards ready for attack by the Legion of Doom? That's the price crunching kind, the mathematician-meets-Indiana Jones-type Bargain Hunter kind. These are the people who have the minds for deals, who can see a stack of paper towels on sale for a dollar and say 'Hm. If those are a dollar each and I have a fifty cent off coupon, but the coupons are doubled- and wait! It's another twenty cents off because it's National Paper Towel day!' Those are the people who can tell you how many paper towels you can get for free.

I had a way better example than that...but I'll save that one for "Adventure Time: Extreme Couponing Edition" (Not to say that's much different than this. In fact, it may be exactly the same. In fact...it is.).

Oh- and that original example? I read it to a friend of mine, and she did it out in her head. Which is pretty awesome.

"Oh! I have a coupon for that!" -My Sister.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Social Media: Extra! Extra!

Hey! What's this? It's social media, this blog. It's media intended to reach out to you, my peeps, and tell you what's up in my world, or what I think of the world, or what have you. Pretty decent, really- it's kind my own newspaper, but without the smell of fresh ink or the sweat and blood involved in putting out a publication of that caliber.

So many people go through phases where they want a break from the social media circus, as it were, and I once upon a time found myself asking why. Why suddenly take a break from Facebook? It's such a lovely way to keep in touch with friends and family. A great way to find people you may have never found. A way to have your voice heard.

Also a great place to be a bully, an insensitive jackass, or to pretend that four years of being a jerk to someone else never happened. "Let's be friends, person I was never friends with in high school!" Sure. I really want to remind myself of the agony you think is no big deal but left me crying in the bathroom during study hall.

The point is: I don't think it's the social media that's the problem. I don't. I think it's the people who use it as a passive aggressive way to simply carry out their agendas, whatever they may currently be. I don't know about anyone else, but when I use Facebook I don't use it to directly attack anyone else. Yes, I've been known to be passive aggressive too- but that's done. I'm done with using my Facebook for anything other than sharing, caring, and funny pictures of cats.

I'd be a hypocrite to say I'm not guilty of abusing Facebook in exactly the way I've mentioned. I'm sure I have more than I think. But Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, and Livejournal are also social media, and I love to use those for sharing pictures and stories of what I love in life.

I'm sure this isn't news. People are always the problem, irrational as they may be. You tell people not to panic: they panic. You tell them they can have it their way: they want it their way in the MOST obnoxious way possible. It's what people do.

You say something on social media for everyone to see: they probably see it. And other people see it. And their other people see it. It's a shame, really- but sometimes a break is necessary, even if you enjoy it. Because one rock can send a ripple through the whole pond, and it can be seen for a while, depending on the size of the rock.

"On Twitter we get excited if someone follows us. In real life we get really scared and run away." ~Unknown via @mozusa

Monday, February 25, 2013

Musty, Dusty and Old: A Trip through Nostalgia Land

   

      Isn't it lucky, really, that a passport isn't required to take a trip down memory lane? And that there's no toll, like in The Phantom Tollbooth? Otherwise we'd all be paying out the nose to take a walk down the aisles of Goodwill, where some of the dishes resemble things my grandmother had in her kitchen cupboard, or on the table masquerading as a candy dish. You know, those cut glass things that have the fun bumps and come in colors like clear (is that really technically a color?), pink and blue? Green, sometimes. I went to Goodwill tonight, and in addition to finding a lovely, sealed copy of Casablanca on VHS (probably worth nothing, but totally awesome), I found Batman on VHS (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na...awesome!), and SO MUCH STAR TREK on VHS (I didn't buy it, as it was 1.99 a tape and I already have at least one series on DVD). The VHS section was like my childhood threw up in there, and I do not regret a second of my squealing like a little girl.

     As I was checking out at the register, the guy in front of me turned to see the box I placed on the counter, containing a VCR (it wasn't really a VCR, but from the same time period...or even prior), and said: "What is that?". Now, I realize that there are countless internet memes showing cassette tapes, #2 pencils, and VHS tapes, all saying 'Like if you remember this', but COME ON. Really. My own niece (thank you, kid) knows what a VCR is. And I'm pretty sure she knows what a cassette tape is. Thankfully so, else I'd have to write her out of the will for not being cool for her age (kidding. In my will all she'd be getting is VHS tapes and DVD's of science fiction shows, so she really isn't missing out).

   I know, I know. Everyone gets to that point where they can't believe the things of their youth are so 'retro now', and are flabbergasted when someone younger doesn't know what "Three's Company" is, or "The Electric Company" or "Square One". Years ago I asked someone if they knew who Vanilla Ice was, and they said no. I suppose that the things of ones youth don't nearly seem as out of date until seen through a younger generation's eyes, so it's just so damn difficult to understand why someone might not realize that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ARE NOT ALIENS, Michael Bay.

   I love nostalgia, though. Love it. I have a piece of fabric printed with the old Ninja Turtles logo from the 90's, I have the DVD set of the first season of JAG, and I have Return to Oz on DVD that I've watched a thousand times. I mean, it's all special because I loved it once and it all got me through some point in my life at one time or another. My DVD set of Star Trek:Voyager got me through my parents divorce, and now every time I watch it I feel like I'm okay for a little while. It's all meaningful in one way or another, and that's what makes it so nice to revisit.

    "Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."
                                                                                     -Albert Camus 

 
 

Sunday, February 24, 2013

All the Pretty Ladies...

So I was watching The Oscars tonight (who wasn't? And side note: anyone read the article on yahoo that talked about removing 'The Blah-Blah Annual' from the Academy Awards this year and slimming it down to simply 'The Oscars'? Yeah.). I was watching, and I won't lie- I primarily watch for the dresses. The colors, Duke! The colors! In my recent decade of life I have become enamored of all things fashion, and it doesn't at all hurt that many of the ladies who wear these dresses are the source of many a fierce girl crush for me.

Lets start with my favorite: Gwyneth Paltrow. Say what you will: I think she's gorgeous. I don't care what you say about her taste, her website, her children's names. I'm talking about how pretty I think she is. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I rather enjoyed her dress she wore to the 2012 Academy Awards (I think). The white one with the cape? I mean, nothing can EVER be as bad as Bjork's swan dress from whenever ago, and there was so much noise about GP's cape that I'd have thought it too had a beak and feathers. Seriously.

I'm going to toss in an observation that has nothing to do with clothes, while I think of it. Mark Ruffalo! WHERE DID YOUR HAIR GO!? He had the most adorably tousled hair in The Avengers. I'd like that back, please.

Ok. Hm. Charlize Theron. I love the woman. Bad memories of Monster (I realize it was accurate, but aaahhh!), but her hair tonight, with that dress? Hi. Marry me, darling. Oy.

Jennifer Lawrence was adorbs, as always. She has that kind of face and sweet young glow that just makes you believe she's still in that stage of acting where it really IS awesome to be recognized still, and not expected. Her dress was sweet, and during the 'boob' song she was so fucking cute when her name came up. It killed me. I'd die for her hair, too- if I wasn't already dead from that pretty, pretty face.

I didn't see many others, as I know myself and how I have to go to bed NOW or I'll stay up until it's over...but I can safely say that there was a lot of pretty. Except Halle Berry's dress...which reminded me of The Night Circus, and made her boobs look really, really pointy.

I look forward to tomorrow and the rash of Oscar red carpet photos on Tumblr. I, of course, will be looking for GP, and possibly Sandra Bullock or Glenn Close.

"It's funny that it all becomes about clothes. It's bizarre. You work your butt off and then you win an award and it's all about your dress. You can't get away from it."
-Reese Witherspoon


Saturday, February 23, 2013

"Who, What, Where, When, Why?"

(This one's for you, Alli. Now it's stuck. You're welcome).

I've been told, once or twice in my life, that I should write songs. Now, that sort of thing seems a bit difficult to me, as writing a song isn't at all as simple as writing a poem or a short story. You can't simply take a string of words and put them with music, expecting them to knock out an incredibly awesome musical number. Can you? Hm? Well, as I was recently introduced to a lovely tune by the name of "Malcom McGillikitty", I find that my thoughts on songwriting may indeed prove correct when trying for, say, a song to be sung by Kanye West, but completely incorrect when used to write music for children.

Let's give it a shot, shall we? (Pretend there's a tune. If I could write music, you'd get that too).

"I really wish I drank that brown stuff
Mama loves.
Mama loves.
She seems to need that pretty brown stuff,
Mama does.
Mama does.
It smells like what she cleans the floor with,
and looks like my pee.
But I really wish I drank that brown stuff,
It's called Whiskey!"

"People like to tell me
I'm pretty.
People like to tell me
I'm nice.
My daddy said I was made of sugar,
he said I was made of spice,
but teacher taught us the birds and the bees,
and I now I think that daddy lies."

"Kitty, please come back to me,
I want to pull your tail!
I love you, kitty,
play with me!
I'll put you in my pail.
I love you kitty,
LOVE YOU SO,
I want to squeeze you tight!
I love you, kitty,
LOVE YOU, KITTY!
Every single night!"

      I'm thinking that if there was a market for it, I could write satirical kids music for adults. However...well, there are books like that, but I really don't see the market. It's more fun to just stumble across things like this on the internet and have a snicker or two. Right?

"You must pass your days in song. Let your whole life be a song."
                                                                                                  -Sai Baba 




Thursday, February 21, 2013

Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and...what?

I've always wondered as to the origins of that saying (how does one spell 'bakey' when using the word bacon? Bac-ey? Wuh?). Wakey-Wakey already makes me want to shove a plastic straw in my eye, so...well, we don't need me walking around with a straw in my eye, so I shall stop thinking about the spelling of bac...ba...whatever.

We begin our tale on a warm summer morning, the musical sound of birds trickling through my open window as the sun poured its energizing rays upon my tousled bed. The day is warm, the air is fresh, and green grass overtakes the lawn with a burst of color that cheers the soul. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Well...it was really this morning, which was overcast and grey, so the opening sentences are really just a bunch of crap. Would have been nice if it was a dream, but I didn't even dream last night, as far as I'm aware, and if you read on I'll tell you exactly why.

So last night was a relatively slow night at work, and when I was finally released from the drudgery of shoemaking (Ha. Thought I was going to give it away, didn't you? I know I'm not fooling anyone who knows me- you all know where I really work,), I went to Walmart with a friend to pick up a few odds and ends. At that point I was drinking a nice flavored milk, and thinking 'Huh. I'm not really tired' (and no, I hadn't been drinking my usual eight hundred cups of coffee). This continued for some time, and upon reaching home I was able to use that surplus of energy to wash every dirty dish, sweep the kitchen AND living room, and put away said dishes after drying.

Somewhere in there I took two Advil PM.

Now, I can just hear you (especially you, Meredith- you know how it goes when I take sleep aids) saying how that probably wasn't a good idea. TWO of them? That's like letting TWO buses hit you and not getting the number on EITHER license plate! Well, a week ago I tried taking one, and the effectiveness level was zilch, so this time I thought two might be in order. What can go wrong, right? Nothing!

Nothing did go wrong, to be fair. I woke up two hours before my shift, and was dressed and ready to go by eight a.m. Because I was drugged, unfortunately, I had arranged for a ride to work at 6:40, and suffice it to say I missed that chance.

Things worked out, as things do, and I was offered an alternate ride to work. So I made it, and everything was absolutely fine. But this did teach me a valuable lesson: if you're me, it's wise to set more than two alarms when under the influence of any sleeping aid. In fact, setting four (two for each pill) is probably wise. Hell, call a concierge service and ask for a wake up call. Set a smoke bomb under your bed with a timer for maximum effect. Maybe even pay a small child (if one is readily available) to run in and douse you with cold water at wake-up time and in five minute intervals for at least twenty minutes following. Not the most pleasant snooze, but if you consider that waking up early isn't the most pleasant thing to experience, this really makes sense.

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" - Ernest Hemingway

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

SWF seeks SWM who isn't a KPC.


    Thankfully no one has to worry about a killer psycho clown (KPC) answering their personal ad these days, but with the wide range of crazies, murderers, serial killers and sadists out there- one can never be too careful. And when you manage to not attract any of the above, you're left with several categories, many of which are possibly just as undesirable.

  Case in point: my online dating adventure. Now, my view of online dating is probably just terrible, because I feel like a person shouldn't be corralled into paying copious amounts of money to find someone to love. I mean, I'm not exactly loaded, and given the choice between spending fifty dollars a month (true.com), sixty dollars (!) a month (eharmony.com) or having a square three meals a day, I'd choose the meals. Because what good is online dating if I'm an emaciated corpse? Really. Granted, there are a few free options on all of those sites, but by 'free' they mean "We'll let you see that someone liked your profile, and we'll let you see other people, but we're holding your potential soulmate hostage until you shell out sixty dollars in non-sequentially marked bills."

   So I went with the suggestion of OkCupid.com. Part of me balks at even bothering, because I fall victim to what I feel is the same emotion a lot of people get when they have to take avenues other people don't: embarrassment. I'm embarrassed that I have to go online to look for someone, because I lack the personality, charisma, and/or desire to dress like a hooker in order to attract a person who may want to date me. I also don't go out much, because when I do it's the women/men I list above who seem to draw all of the attention, and I feel like an unattractive fish struggling up the stream while the rest of the salmon just ease their way through. Now, that part of me that said 'What the hell, why not?' went and filled out the profile with as much blatant honesty as I could muster (because you might as well just tell them straight out that you enjoy walking on hot coals as a hobby, else they may be disturbed when you suggest that on the second date).

    E-mails came! Surprisingly, to my poor battered self-esteem, and with actual words written by the individuals who also embarked upon this adventure. Several were rather attractive, and seemed undeterred by my admission that I not only liked Star Trek, but country music (I hear you. Gasp. What?). One even said that he thought I sounded pretty laid back (My profile did indeed say I could be, while I was sure to admit that I occasionally may be high strung. Again, I know what you're saying. Really? Could it be?), and he wanted to know more about me. The nice part about that was his lack of inquiry as to my phone number/e-mail/anything else that might sound as if he was trying to move along quickly.

   There was one, however, that really creeped me out, and was exactly why I avoid this process. I get that online dating requires photos, so I pulled out two from earlier months, each with a different hairstyle. My name isn't listed, nor is my place of employment, as neither really is the best idea when advertising ones singledom to a bunch of strangers. So the photos went up, the pertinent info went up, and before I knew it I was alerted that 'thismanwhowearsahat' (name changed so that we can protect the identity of this creep) gave me four out of five stars and was interested in talking. His picture was available, so I looked...only to find that he's not only a regular patron of the place I currently work, but that I already had formed the opinion that he was kind of unsettling. His profile also told me that he was exactly the opposite of who I would want to date. Man, I wish I'd thought to list in my profile that I had no interest in seeing someone who was 'married, but still looking'. Seriously, what sensible person wouldn't think of including that in their 'desirables' list? Huh.

   Now, I knew that this guy was married before I went on Okcupid, as he occasionally comes through with not only his kids, but his wife. And his disconcerting stare was....well, exactly that. So all I can do now is continue to provide the services I'm paid to do at work (dirty minds, out of the gutter please. The showers are that way), while avoiding him whenever possible. Ugh.

“You picked a lemon, throw it away lemonade is overrated. Freaks should remain at the circus, not in your apartment. You already have one asshole. You don’t need another. Make a space in your life for the glorious things you deserve. Have faith.” 
 Greg Behrendt, He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys

Monday, February 18, 2013

Hey, Everyone! I'm SO NOT PREGNANT and NEVER WILL BE.


   The concept of birthing children is one that I can only hope will forever remain entirely foreign to me. I have several friends who recently had children, one of whom experienced the typical full out 'squeeze a really fat meatball sandwich ( and I'm thinking one of those ginormous ones that you only see on tv commercials) down a canal that isn't even as big as a Pringles can'.  Seriously, in the first X-Files movie, "Fight the Future", when all of the bodies are frozen on the spaceship and the aliens are all gushing around in their transparent stomachs? Um. I think I've seen that movie too often, because all I can think of when I see a pregnant belly is huge purple veins creeping their way up until they encompass your face and a squawking, screeching alien with an elongated face bursts out of your vagina with superhuman strength.

    So we've established that I don't want children- and this is a fact well known and vetted by every single person I know. I could be a great mom, I'm sure, with my need to take care of people and deep desire to be a good person. I'd never let the kid starve, never forget to buy them clothes, and probably allow them to start their education of science early by watching countless reruns of the original Star Trek ("No, honey, we don't have biobeds or transporters yet, but if you want to invent them for Mommy, I'd be happy to milk the benefits of your hard work and transport myself to Maui every time you took a nap/went to school/once you were able to be left alone at home.").

   But my views on children as an entity? Well. I love them (you guys, you know that), but as a single person I like to think I have a view that my friends who are parents don't, and I can dredge up these entertaining observations (all entirely satirical, I swear. I could go to Walmart and observe enough there, so I would never use my friends as fodder). But dear god, depending entirely on the direction their parents take them...well, some grow up to be like so many of the men I've dated, and trust me when I say that someone really, really needs to go back in time with a therapist and fix that all now.

   I also realize that I was a child, once upon a time. I know I didn't just pop into existence magically, nor did I come from a stork, a bubble, or a flower pot (Seriously, Anne Geddes? Flowers?). I probably put my mother through a pretty grotesque torture, but I don't feel in any way guilty about that as she had my sister five years before that and she knew pretty damn well what she was getting into with the second one (that being me, of course). So I appreciate that the process is pretty selfless, and gosh, fucking painful (as far as I'm told), so any child should be incredibly grateful to exist after that.  If not, there should be some sort of pill that a person takes to simulate the pain of labor (including the squeezing of the fifty-pound inmate down a narrow escape tunnel) so that anyone who isn't gets to see why they bloody well should be.

     I spent the afternoon with a lovely friend of mine and her little baby, Soylent Green (name was changed to protect the identity of the cute little devil). It was, as always, incredibly enjoyable, because we did things that people my age (I'd say 'our age' but she's younger than I) do, like drinking coffee and clipping coupons. Grocery shopping with her is like an adventure since we use coupons, and I'm always very happy to tag along to stock my cupboards with copious amounts of meat.

    Baby Soylent (Yes, he IS made out of people!) was pretty quiet the entire time, which is fantastic. My friend Shirl (I'm just grabbing the names out of the movie Soylent Green, folks. Watch it.) was able to feed him on the go, pacify him with the shiny new Nuk, and continue to find wonderful bargains at every place we went to. Not every child is like that, so I feel that she (and I by association, as I'm pretty much attached to her hip most days) is very lucky. It's pretty awesome, as her other child is two, and while adorable, can reach decibles that even Ozzy Osborne never could. On those occasions (and Shirl, I love you. You know I love you and little Olga dearly) I feel that surge of gratitude that not only did I not have to squeeze anything out of any canal anywhere, but I also don't have to live day after day wondering when my child will at last scream loud enough to break the sound barrier and bring down a plane passing overhead.

      And as much as I talk, we know my offspring would probably become politicians (*rimshot*), so there's that favor I'm possibly doing for the world. How's that, world?

    They say men can never experience the pain of childbirth. They can...if you hit them in the goolies with a cricketbat for fourteen hours. 
                                                            ~ Jo Brand

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Drive Thru my parlor, said no spider ever.


     I'd like to start off by saying that I work for a living. I say this only because I'm sure someone out there is thinking 'this person has an awful lot to say rather frequently for someone who has a job. What can they possibly do?' Well, I do work, and while I won't say what it is I do, I can assure you that it's a fairly normal job. That involves a drive thru window, which could put it in any number of businesses, and you may eventually narrow it down if you don't already know- but I'm not going to give you any obvious hints.

    The drive thru window was first pioneered in the U.S. in the 1930's (see wikipedia.com under drive-thru), meant to provide customers with a way to avoid leaving their vehicles (or dismounting their bicycles, or leaving their horse-drawn carriages) in order to procure food and beverage. While wikipedia provided a lovely page of information educating me as to the creation and history of the drive thru service, wikihow was the place I discovered the best source of drive-thru etiquette (http://www.wikihow.com/Practice-Drive-Thru-Etiquette). Pay close attention to number 9. This is the one item that possibly infuriates me the most (although the others on the list are ALL VERY VALID and should be followed as best as possible), and is the experience that most soured my morning today.

    But that's not what this blog is for. Thou shalt not complain bitterly about inconsiderate dopes who shall grace thy drive thru. Thou shalt instead wish them a very unpleasant experience where their beverage/fries/cup of hot lava splashes their lap and requires them to spend their day in stained and/or moist pants for their miserable behavior. Karma is a bitch, folks, and Karma is possibly the hard working fast-food minion who handed you that beverage. Learn some manners.

   The drive thru is a lovely convenience. Don't get me wrong- I do love them. I can spend an entire day in my car and never have to get out other than to pee, and if I could pee in the car I probably would (no, I really wouldn't), but darn it I have to instead stop at the shady rest area on the highway and hope I'm not mugged for the five dollars in my Hello Kitty wallet and the really fun chapstick holder I got in my Christmas stocking. So I do appreciate the value and ease that a drive thru presents to me.

   I just don't understand how people don't understand the actual point of it. It's somewhat like an express line at the grocery store. Ten/fourteen/fifteen items or less (although I honestly wonder where they plucked a number like fourteen from. Was there some study showing that ten out of fifteen people see the number fourteen as lucky and will be more apt to check out there?), and I'm cruising out of the store while Dennis the Menace reigns supreme two aisles over and his hapless parent wrangles him through the normal checkout with eight two liters of soda, assorted canned goods, and several bulk boxes of cereal. So it stands to reason that you would utilize the drive thru if you wanted to go quickly, and be on your merry way listening to NPR while you enjoy a fresh donut.
But to order six sandwiches and six drinks and six cups of tap water is to tell the person serving you that all you really are is lazy because you can't get out of your car to go inside and place this obnoxious order, preferring instead to hold up a line of other people who may only want a donut and/or coffee and/or a lovely blueberry muffin.

  While it's normal these days to encounter a majority of people to whom consideration is a foreign concept, the lack of such is still incredibly frustrating and just a little bit sad. Convenience is supposed to be for everyone, but so often is experienced by very few due to the incredible rudeness of others.

   "I took a ladies order one time I'll never forget this I go "Mam, that'll be three seventy five, drive around". And there's like this long pause and she goes... "Where do I go?". Where do you go? You follow the one fucking road you're on to me! Where do you... OK "Mam, you're gonna go to the Texaco station and take a right, go five an a half miles south east and you're gonna see a guy in a yellow Poncho, his name is Hank he'll take you to the Whopper later... That's where you go!" And you've got ten minutes to get there or we take your food!" 
 -Dane Cook

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Music: Those Embarrassing Choices That You Still Love

Everyone has /that/ song. You know- that one song that you absolutely love more than anything, that you'll sing at the top of your lungs while driving at excessive speeds down the highway, praying that you won't be caught by the ONLY cop who has a deep hatred for Taylor Swift. Or Lionel Ritchie. Or Bon Jovi.

My point is: everyone has a song they just fucking love, or a certain type of music they love but will only admit to under extreme duress. Here, for your amusement (or shame, or horror) are some of MY favorite songs that I scream at the top of my lungs (while safely driving the speed limit at ALL times, mom. Honest.).

-"Everything Has Changed"- Taylor Swift
("All I know is pouring rain..and everything has changed. All I know is a newfound grace, all my days I'll know your face...").
Really, these aren't super cheesy lyrics, and they're sweet. However the mention of Taylor Swift tends to send people into fits of extreme judgement, so I tend to avoid telling anyone but my friends and family that I enjoy it. Now the cat is out of the bag, because as a good friend says, "Why be ashamed of what you listen to of you like it?"

Next Up: "Goodbye", by Miley Cyrus herself. Maybe it's a nostalgic touch because her dad had music that was popular in my childhood (and he isn't ugly), but I first stumbled across the song when perusing fan videos on YouTube (some are amazingly well done), and it went so well with the images that I fell hard for it. But I'm 30 years old, and that coupled with the admission of Miley Cyrus on my iPod seems to garner a fair amount of eye rolling.

"The Heart Won't Lie"- Reba McEntire. This song is old (old is a relative term, sure, but this was, if I recall, in the currier hair Reba days. Reba pretty much has a hair timeline on her album covers).

"Land of a Million Drums"- Outkast. Yes, my friends, Outkast. This song was used when I was in dance class, a million years ago, and was the most FUN MUSIC ever. Also featured in the live action Scooby Doo movie. Seriously the most fun to drive to, and not really something I'm ashamed of, but something that still manages to get one or two giggles, because to most people now it's retro.

I have what I like to think of as a diverse taste in music, with a little bit of everything (you can find opera, classical, and electronic) on my iPod. My tactic is usually to utilize iTunes Genius setting frequently, because it has a fair idea of what I can and cannot tolerate.

All right- off to work! Thankfully, the playlist we have right now actually contains things like "Fast Cars" by Tracy Chapman, and makes me happy.

"One good thing about music. When it hits you, you feel no pain." -Bob Marley

Friday, February 15, 2013

Microwave Madness: What should and Should Not Be Microwaved

I'm relying on my memories of 20+ years ago, so bear with me (as opposed to 'bare' with me, which would imply I wish to cavort naked with others. I do not. Unless they're David Tennant.).

Once upon a time a dear friend of mine was tasked with the science experiment of microwaving a potato chip. This was done in the teachers lounge of my elementary school, and I believe there was either a small explosion or fire. Either way, we determined that microwaving potato chips was not to be done.

Today I microwaved pizza rolls. This act was not well received by some, and they were unceremoniously yanked from my grasp to be taken to parts unknown. I am
currently in negotiations for the return of my pizza rolls, and we shall see if they are returned forthwith (update: they are in the same room with me and finally back in my grasp, although a few are missing).

Pizza rolls, as the moral goes, should not be microwaved.

Popcorn, as some may know, can be microwaved. I'm not talking the pop secret crap, but good old kernels. In paper bags. With nothing added. Tis yummy, and will not blow up unless you overfill the bag. So don't do that. Really. Don't.

And microwaving tinfoil. We all know how that goes. Don't do it.

Brownies are very good microwaved.

Microwaving your shoes to dry them is not a good idea (I never have, but I was woken up one night by drunken men asking my roommate for a hair dryer to dry their clothes, so I can only imagine someone has tried this once).

There is a very lovely Pampered Chef chip maker that utilizes the microwave, avoiding use of grease and whatnot. It's very healthy, and I would like one.

And in closing, I leave you with this wisdom:

"He looks about as happy as a penguin in a microwave."- Sid Waddell

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

What To Expect When I'm Not Sleeping

So. Sleep. Some people do it, some people /try/ to do it, and some people do a lot of it. I remember an episode of The X-Files where there were some soldiers who had surgery which prevented them from sleeping. As a result they were crazy, and chain smokers, and one of them went on a killing spree. This is not, however, my point. So don't worry: I'm not going on a killing spree when I go through bouts of insomnia.

I do, however, busy myself in a wide variety of ways, none of which involve cutting lines or smoking copious amounts of grass; although many proponents of medical marijuana say that it can help wit quite a few things that may ail you. And I wholeheartedly support doing whatever a person needs to do to cure what ails them...but that's a discussion for another day (unless hitting someone over the head with a blunt object ails stupidity. That's easily discussed as 'go right ahead and do it).

Anyway. So I couldn't sleep Monday night. We're talking full out 'I'm not yawning or feeling remotely tired'. I went to lay in bed around midnight, finally, and the kitten settled in beside me. This idyllic setting did nothing to help me tire, and I eventually plugged in my iPhone to watch only my favorite part in every movie contained on the hard drive.

We start with: "Iron Man", and the dance between Tony and Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow- love, love, love). Don't judge- I fucking love that dress, and that hair. And the dialogue ("Oh, no...no. I always forget to wear deodorant and dance with my boss in front of everyone that I work with in a dress with no back."). She's snarky, and despite the nerves more than ready to hit back as Tony claims to be perfectly capable of making it a week without her services. And the near kiss on the rooftop hits my poor, sappy single-person heart right where it's soft. Bam, said the writers.

Next up? The semi-ending scene to the 'Castle' season 4 finale, "Always". I won't go too into detail on this, to respect those who may be behind...but the score that plays in that scene, titled "I Just Want You" is gorgeous, as are the variations used in season five. Honestly, look it up on YouTube. I melt, and I think it's in my list of favorite scores (music from"Kate and Leopold" is also on that list).

Neeeeext up: "The Goodbye Girl". Not the Richard Dreyfuss one, admittedly, but Patricia Heaton and Jeff Bridges. The rooftop, as Elliot requests Paula meet him there for dinner ("I said it was formal, kid."). This scene isn't terribly long, but inevitably leaves me warm and fuzzy with a touch of wishful thinking that someone will someday be that sweet and spontaneous with me but not turn around months later and tell me I'm delusional and imply that I'm psycho.

But I digress. We also get a lovely song of the same title, "The Goodbye Girl" by Hootie and the Blowfish. This also makes me happy and warm while stabbing at my heart with little ice picks.

There were more, of course. "Iron Man 2" ("You've taken such good care of me.."), and "The Avengers" ("I thought we were having a moment." "I was having twelve percent of a moment."). I don't care how much I've seen it, when Pepper is on the plane and the phone... Well. Again, I'm a hopeless romantic, and "Sarah, Plain and Tall" makes me stupid with sappiness, so you can imagine how I can find even a spark of it in a SUPERHERO ACTION FILM. A building explodes, and I'm all "Oh my god! Poor Pepper must be a wreck about Tony being in the thick of it."

But I also enjoy the exploding buildings. Amazing how romance and destruction goes hand in hand, isn't it?

Now I'm going to sleep. But only because I took drugs.




Monday, February 11, 2013

"Will she bake for you a pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?"

Man- way back in the time of "Sarah, Plain and Tall", you couldn't really shower every day. I think, honestly, I'd die. Watching the movie now, I think about that as Sarah comes out in the morning and tells Jacob that she'll get up earlier to make the coffee- and is essentially dressed in five minutes.

All I could think was, "Well, she couldn't shower. And that made me think of how they couldn't bathe every day, but has bath nights once a week; filling a great big tub with hot water and dumping it before refilling it again for the next person. No indoor plumbing. Bleh.

Man. Back then. I love the songs ("Will she bake for you a pie, she's the apple of my eye. She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother."), and the cat carrier Sarah brings Seal in when she comes to Kansas from Maine.

And the fact that back then it wasn't so freaky to have a woman answer an ad to be your potential wife. The prairie-days Craigslist, where you place an ad for a wife and wind up with someone who could conceivably murder all of you in your sleep (Come on. Glenn Close played Cruella DeVille. We all know what she's capable of).

And that brings me to Jacob. Christopher Walken. Played the Headless Horseman in "Sleepy Hollow". At the end of "Sarah, Plain and Tall" he kisses Sarah, and I'm always fairly sure he's going to eat her face with teeth that will suddenly erupt out of nowhere.

But I suppose that the Headless Horeseman couldn't shower either, being dead and all- so they had that similarity. Jacob COULD be a killer.

There we go. Lack of bathing is probably what makes you a killer on the prairie. So bathe. Daily.