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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) ptocheia | |
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So, for various reasons, I am currently debating getting a laptop, primarily for web development purposes. I've got a vague idea of what I need: a decent screen size (at least 15 inches, I'm thinking), don't care if it's light or heavy, decent amount of RAM (at least 3 gigs, I'm thinking), enough processor speed to handle Photoshop plus gobs of browser tabs plus gobs of Vim windows. Beyond this, though I find myself overwhelmed by choice. Plus, add to this my quandries on that whole Windows 7 thing. I know it supposed to be significantly better then Vista, but when doing some brief research into laptops, they all came with 64-bit Windows 7. Now, I don't know a significant amount about 64-bit, but according to my brief research, it will not run some older programs. I haven't found anything saying *how* old of programs it won't run. Like, will I be able to run Civ 3 still? Or, what about MS Gif Animator and Hex Code Helper (two rather antiquated programs which haven't been updated since probably the late 90's, but are quite good at what they do, so I still use them). Anyhow, I'm hesitant to jump on the 64-bit bandwagon right now. I could make the jump and get something with Linux (Ubuntu, perchance). It's going good on my netbook, and I feel like if I'm going to be in any way a decent programmer, working in a Linux environment would simplify my life. Just too used to Windows at this point. I could figure out some sort of virtualization program to use (VMWare?) and install XP? Or, for that matter, I could figure out how to dual boot and have both Linux and XP? Or, maybe I can get a laptop with Windows 7, and install Linux to dual boot with it. It's also really hard to even find laptops sold with Linux on them (well, that's not a netbook, at least). So anyhow, this is what my brain has been mashing around lately. Tags: hello computer?
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ksej | |
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The last couple of weeks, I've been rereading Harry Potter all the way through, to pave the way for welcoming Deathly Hallows onto my shelves. From Order of the Phoenix, this bit keeps sticking in my mind. "[If you cannot empty yourself of emotion] you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!" said Snape savagely. "Fools who wear their hearts on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!" This is completely in character for someone who would rather be thought of as a Death Eater than have it be generally known that he used to love a girl, but it makes my heart ache. Emotions can be singularly unhelpful things - I think I may have said this before - but the idea that they can be controlled is a short cut to frustration. Admitting to having emotions doesn't make a person weak. Repressing and denying emotions, crushing legitimate grief and anger down until it finds a way out as spite directed at a third party, and dismissing other possibilities out of hand - at the very least, that makes life more difficult than it needs to be. Poor Snape. It almost makes me want to write fic about him...
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cretaceousrick | |
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I want to see every inch of the world. In a single lifetime I know I couldn't even come close -- I misspent most of my youth roaming backward parts of the country (often under cover of darkness), and even then I haven't seen more than a tiny fraction of this one nation. I haven't been to most of our national parks: no Mesa Verde or Acadia, no Voyageurs or Bryce Canyon, no Olympic or Big Bend. I've probably seen every inch of paved road in western Kansas, and I know most of the Black Hills like the back of my hand, but there's still so much I've yet to see. This summer Jen and I went to Ireland, and made a tiny mark on the vast uncharted terrain of international travel. We saw a fair fraction of the country, considering we were there for barely more than a week, but of course we missed out on so much more. I feel drawn back to cover the place more thoroughly. Yet dozens of countries beckon on the map -- Iceland, Spain, Mauritius, Australia, New Zealand, pretty much all of Central Asia. If I want to get cracking on the big ticket items on my "list," I can't afford to dawdle about, returning to places I've been. Mortality sucks. Yet the fact that I covered so much ground as a kid makes it hard to plan all-new adventures. Just like with Ireland, there's endless stretches of this continent that I want to return to or explore in more depth. Living in a car with a schizophrenic father isn't exactly the best way to see America. I've been to a lot of cool places, but only if you count whizzing by in a jalopy as "being there." I have a growing list of places I want to "do better," places to actually get out of the car and hike through, as well as places I just want to see again, to compare them to my memories. And zooming around on Google Earth serves only to whet my appetites. Around 1997, my father's paranoia had gotten to the point that he decided "our" only course was to escape the country, and he happened to not have any illegal gun paraphernalia in the car at the time, so we could actually cross the border into Canada sometime that April. After perhaps three weeks of aimless cruising, Eric freaked out over the name of Wawa, Ontario. Evidently in that month's version of Eric's ever-changing cosmology, ANY doubled syllable or word was somehow an indication that the region was under the control of the Freemasons or something. (That might surprise the Ojibwe, who were under the impression that "Wawa" came from their word for wild goose.) So Eric turned the car around there on the outskirts of town, even though it was past midnight and the car was almost out of gas and the last town was probably a good 100 km behind us. He stopped for the "night" around 2 a.m. at a Lake Superior overlook. It was cold as hell -- the lake was still frozen solid enough for snowmobiles -- and the sky was utterly clear and free of artificial light. Comet Hale-Bopp arced across a good quarter of the sky. It was possibly the most amazing night sky I've yet seen, surpassing even the Perseid showers I saw in the Utah desert a couple years back. In good company, with people who weren't batfuck insane, perhaps with a tent to sleep in instead of a battered 1986 Dodge Aries station wagon, it would have been a memory to cherish for the rest of my life. One big reason I feel drawn back to the region is to make such a memory. This particular "return" has a lot of potential for legitimate new experiences. My friend Steve, for instance, went on a camping trip to an island in a lake up in that general direction, and had the opportunity to get devoured by a bear. (He did not capitalize on that opportunity.) I could see having a lot of fun getting some friends together and doing something similar one of these years, perhaps when we have tender children for the bears to pursue. But back to 1997. The next day Eric had us up around dawn, and by midday we were in the Northern Peninsula of Michigan, speeding aimlessly away from Canada and its evil, evil doubled syllables. We inadvertently wound up sleeping in cemeteries the next couple of nights, which of course Eric blamed on some vast conspiracy, and before long we found ourselves in North Dakota. It was around there that Eric decided to beeline for Mexico. We spent exactly six nights in Mexico, though I couldn't tell you where we spent them. I have a vague sense of our general route: Down from Juárez to Gomez Palacio, across to Durango, across the wildery spine of the Sierra Madre Occidental to Mazatlán, up the coast to Hermosillo, back across the Madre to Chihuahua, down to Gomez Palacio again, then east to the vicinity of Monterrey. We never entered Monterrey, but I remember seeing the dome of its smog on the horizon. After an adventure involving car trouble, Eric drove us back across the border at Del Rio, and that was it. But I have a hard time pinning down exactly what happened during that absurd cavalcade through Mexico. I remember Eric giving up on finding a place to park for the night, and pulling off onto some flat dirt road; at dawn villagers walked by, leading burros, eying us as they passed, dusty mountains towering beyond them. In particular, the drive between Durango and Mazatlán seems unreal. The road seemed to cling like a vein of ore to the tops of cliffs, hairpinning as if its geology had been warped by brutal tectonics. The world seemed cavernous beneath the road, as if valleys had been gnawed out on some impossible scale. Google Earth scarcely conveys the idea. I would love to travel that road again with a decent car and a better camera. But to what purpose? I'm sure I've seen more spectacular mountains since then. I'm sure I could find better vistas as well as hiking opportunities elsewhere in the Sierra, provided the current narcotic trafficking instability calms down sooner or later. And the views probably wouldn't live up to my memories. There's really nothing to be gained by repeating that roadtrip. But I still want to put that on my list, right up there with new experiences like Croatia. I'd shove it all aside for a tremendous trip to Central Asia, though, so let's focus on priorities here: Shishhid Gol, MongoliaAk-Alakha River, AltaiSome other place, AltaiArgut River, AltaiSome other place, AltaiPoltakov, KhakassiaSome place in IrkutskMore places I linked to beforeI know Central Asia is rife with ecological catastrophe and bad politics I don't want to get mixed up in, but the region as a whole seems like the most beautiful place I've never been. I don't know what it is, exactly, but I'm in love with it. Tags: childhood, musing, my father, travel
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ksej | |
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Despairing on two fronts, I put Geese aside with only 200 of the goal-demanded 2k done. It must be the first time in three years that I've abandoned a goal of my own volition, but since a full eight goals no longer prevents us from losing, I decided my sleep needed priority for once.
My dad was entertaining his Foxes-supporting friend Peter, so we varied the usual routine with a meal at Frankie&Benny's. I went for the claretblack and blue burger, just as I did for the franchise play-off game: even if it made us draw as it did that night, it would be more than we'd seen in the last four games.
We stopped on our way into the ground to talk to Suz and Kerry; Andrea decided she wanted to stay there for the duration, despite my patient explanation that she would see nothing of the game from there. My final compromise was that she could stay there, but we would move at the first goal Scunthorpe conceded. A minute later, with the terrace filling fast, she agreed that she couldn't see anything, and we moved to our new usual spot.
Virtually from the kick-off, a shortage of correctly-inflated balls made the game faintly ridiculous. "It's a time-wasting ploy," I suggested. "They're holding out for a 0-0 draw."
If this was, in fact, the plan, it failed after just three minutes. A Leicester forward broke through our defence and found himself with only Murphy to beat. Murphy blocked his way rather smartly; unfortunately, he didn't do the same for the ball, which trickled gently into the net.
This was the signal for the floodgates to open. Leicester could have put the game completely beyond us in the next few minutes, but somehow we managed to hold them at bay. Murphy showed why he is occasionally invited to sit on the bench for his country with one magnificent save, pushing the ball away with the palm of his hand, at full stretch, when a second goal seemed inevitable.
We managed a few attacks of our own, which never looked likely to come to anything. At one point, someone headed cleanly into the Leicester net after the ball had bounced around the penalty area, but I saw the flag go up and didn't even bother cheering.
The latest scores from elsewhere started to come through: all eyes were on Plymouth, who could condemn us to the bottom three with a win. When the scoreboard told us they'd scored one, we groaned; when it added that they'd conceded two, we sighed with relief.
Andrea demanded a toilet trip just before half time, so I didn't see the players leave the field. While we were waiting for Karen in the Grove Wharf corner, further good news arrived from Plymouth: the home side were now 4-1 down. We were safe, at least for the moment, from the bottom three.
The second half was no more cheering than the first. It wasn't that we were poor, just that we were completely failing to put the ball into the net. I remembered gloomily how many opposing managers praised us as "too good to go down" the last time we went down; more of that is not a prospect I relish.
Remembering superstitions that have fallen out of favour lately, I tucked my shirt over my nose. Adkins put Martyn Woolford on, and once again he sparked a distinct improvement in our play. We were still failing to create anything that looked much like a shot, but the ball was at least spending time at the right end of the pitch.
The last time I saw us play Leicester, we fell a goal behind and spent the rest of the match heroically restricting them to the one. I held out hope, right up until the final whistle, that we would somehow sneak an equaliser, but there was little realistic chance of that. This time, at least we were attacking.
It looked as if it wasn't going to be our day. Someone had the ball, and was preparing to shoot, but the referee stopped play and awarded Leicester a free kick for some offence I didn't see. The fans around me were furious, but I was too depressed to care. What difference did it make, when we would most likely have squandered the chance anyway?
Joe Murphy took both MotM awards, for some brilliant saves that kept hope just alive. Three minutes of stoppage time - "Time for at least one more good attack," I whispered, but the attack was far from good. We won a corner: Murphy gambled on coming up for it, but it fell to a blue shirt. I was afraid for a second that they would try to break while Murphy was getting back, but they weren't about to risk giving possession back to us. By the time the keeper decided to kick the ball out, Murphy was easily back in position.
One more chance. The ball bobbled around the edge of the penalty area. Leicester fans whistled, and I thought of all the times we'd been on the receiving end of a cruel late goal. There was no particular reason why we couldn't dish it out ourselves. The ball went in, was half cleared, but fell to Woolford on the edge of the box. He took a couple of steps and shot - and once again, I relied on the fans behind the goal to tell me where it went.
The referee was signalling a goal. I danced on the spot, whooping and screaming, not quite believing we'd done it but determined to celebrate anyway. The ball returned to the centre circle, Leicester kicked off and lumped the ball desperately towards our goal, and the referee blew for full time.
In the Iron Bar, it took several attempts to convince Andrea that we hadn't actually won the game. As far as she was concerned, the ecstatic nature of the celebrations couldn't possibly mean anything less than three points. We've stopped the rot, and even improved our league position; spirits were low enough going into the game that this does indeed feel like a victory.
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cretaceousrick | |
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Elaborating on this post, I've been thinking a bit on the subject of futurology. "But Rick," you might exclaim as a tired expository device, "you're a science fiction writer! Futurology is your trade! Of course you've been thinking on it." Well, I've got bad news for you. This has been a busy semester, so I haven't found the motivation or energy to write much other than my senior honors thesis and inane blog entries. Further, even when I'm on my game, I don't write the sort of sci-fi that's grounded in learned extrapolation of plausible futures. I write about dinosaurs and space wizards and picking up the pieces after the future crumbles around us. What could actually await us in our future is something I traditionally leave to the faces on TV that grow enthusiastic whenever December approaches. However, with my renewed appreciation for the futurologist chic of my childhood, I've started to wonder who, if anyone, got the ensuing 25 years "right." The impressions I'm left with from my early childhood in the 1980s -- what little I could glean from public television and 1981 World Book supplements scavenged from thrift stores -- was that The Year 2000 would gleam with tarted-up brutalist architecture and skies cleansed of pollution. We would all live in self-contained residence blocks, ordering our food from dumbwaiters hooked to computer screens. When business or pleasure drew us outside -- perhaps to a rousing bout of laser tag -- we would ride in staRRcars and share a laugh at the barbarity of internal combustion. Vacationing on the moon would be a lark within the means of college students on holiday. It would seem early 1980s futurologists envisioned sweeping changes in two areas: how we lived, and how we traveled. The single family home would be as atavistic in The Year 2000 as the cave; the private car would go the way of the horse and buggy. Perhaps some far-thinking souls predicted that MTV and the like would be projected onto ever-larger screens in the rooms of the young and idle, and that console games would become a fixture of every household, but those households would surely dwell in towering penthouses. Instead, over the last 25 years, our everyday lives have remained static except in one field: personal entertainment electronics. "Game" is a verb; everyone carries 30,000 songs in something the size of an old casette tape; books, not cars, are vanishing from the popular imagination. Some people, perhaps still clinging to the old dot-com bubble mindset, might call all this "infotainment," but anyone who's spent a few hours on the internet knows just how little information is involved in a YouTube clip or 140-character updates on Twilight openings and diet group meetings. And synchronized with this flash and noise, inseparable from the atrophy of creative and critical thought, has been the steady perfection of the dark art of selling. Kids have always wanted the coolest and latest thing, but now that thing is $300 and is brand new every week. Books like Twilight become juggernauts of popularity for no other reason than they are popular, spawning that most damned of mixed metaphors, an ouroboros juggernaut. So who predicted this? Who smoothed his mustache in front of a hot video camera in 1979 and said The Future would be the final victory of consumerism and advertising, that people would equate smaller and faster entertainment products with "progress"? Who said that the utopian dreams of feeding the world, saving the earth, and seeding the stars would be shoved aside by demands for LOLcats and "failblogs"? Which leads me to my current interest in our future. It's almost December 2009, so inevitably people are jumping the gun by a full year and compiling lists of "the decade's" best this and that. I'm thinking ahead, wondering what the next decade will bring (starting in 2011, of course), and the decade after that. And honestly, I can't see our lives changing that much:
- The economy will go up and down, but inevitably get worse over time. Why shouldn't it? There are only so many resources, so the central premise of "free capitalism" is inevitably flawed -- we can't go on making unlimited profits forever. Things will get worse for the poor first, of course. We're already witnessing that. But no one will have the gumption, the vision, or the political capital to make the big changes, and so the toys will just go winding down. Perhaps "Mad Max syndrome" will spread out from Somalia and snag a few more countries.
- Personal entertainment electronics will get flashier and more powerful. They will get bigger or smaller according to fashion; personally, I'm guessing we're about due for a clunky, chunky fad after two decades of the "micro" trend, but I could just as easily picture the continued diminution of everything. Tech implants will finally become a big thing sooner or later; little Aiden Ryan and Jaedan Ryenn and Caidin Ri'an will tell their moms to wait outside while they get the Nokia NuroX for their 13th birthdays.
- Orbital tourism, such as it is, will grow in fits and starts. Perhaps by the time I'm ready to retire, our kids will be able to afford a coach class vacation deal to low Earth orbit.
- At some point, some religious conservative fuckwad will have enough political clout to essentially ruin the conservation movement in this country. Bush Jr. gave it a good go, but Palin (or whoever the next conservative rebound is) will basically screw the rest of us over for good.
- Speaking of which, I have no idea how this whole climate change thing will turn out. It's obvious that our pollutants have an effect on climate -- pumping out that much carbon dioxide can't result in anything but a major effect, it's basic chemistry -- but climate is a complex system with tremendous potential for both feedback loops and compensation. The Arctic icesheet is melting even as global temperatures don't change much -- not a good sign. There will likely be a return to record warmth and apocalyptic storms over the next decade, together with continued or accelerating sea level change.
- But hey, America needs to buy shit! We'll keep cutting down forests, probably start dicking around with seafloor methane, and continue to develop our own land beyond sustainable levels. No one wants to renew urban slums to build gardens and neo-brutalist utopias, so we'll just go ahead and build ever-expanding suburbs and exurbs and goodness knows what. Fuel crunch? That's okay, we'll complain about "socialism" while we knuckle down and buy slightly smaller trucks.
- Also, those self-indulgent yuppies who brought us homeopathy and the anti-vaccine movement will come up with something new and entertaining to throw their money at. Perhaps they'll get anti-vaccine legislation going somewhere, and create even more resurgent epidemics for the rest of us to deal with.
In short, the future looks to me a lot like this past decade. Unfortunately, the future doesn't have a 2008 to look forward to, and no Dubya Bush to unite us in the hope for something better. The years to come will just be a long grind deeper into the consumerist dystopia. But it's okay, I already got the perfect playlist for it on my iPod. Tags: future, musing
Auditory Hallucination: Emerson, Lake & Palmer, "Karn Evil 9: 1st Impression, Pt. 1"
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ptocheia | |
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So, about a year ago, I did Nanowrimo (aka National Novel Writing Month). I wrote a Choose Your Own Adventure style book, primarily as a means to test out the Storypath system I'd recently built on Writaur.com. Anyhow, I liked what I wrote, and have spent chunks of the last year editing it and finessing it and all that good stuff. Well, it's finally done, and is available for the low low price of $10 at multiple fine internet establishments, namely Createspace and Amazon. Quest for the Fountain of Life can also be read online for free! This way, people can preview the book first, and hopefully share the link with their friends. I'm still trying to figure out how to market this thing, so I appreciate any suggestions on that, as well as any feedback on the book itself. Thanks! Tags: creations, projects
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elainegrey | |
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Wedding preparations and rehearsal dinner tonight. And then a late errand run to the grocery store where -- Pecan Divinity! We brought it back and the southerners swooned and the yankees asked what it was. Christine continues to tune the play list. We forgot to get Nina Simone's "Marriage Is For Old Folks" off the media computer so we bought it again. I'm visiting myself to death, but it's good to see family and meet my sister in law's friends and new extended family. *Her* sister in law to be is a new york dress designer and has made for her a cranberry suede eyelet dress with a suede ruffly long jacket. It's lovely. My crocheted Mohops worked! Will photograph tomorrow. Must close computer & go to sleep so i can get up early and go visit with my dad. Tags: log
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ptocheia | |
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So my car needed an oil change. We picked up the oil and filter, and, as the wrench I've been using was Carolyn's, I looked for a new wrench. All they seemed to have at Advance Auto were these weird belt wrenches, which I'd never used before. As Drew needed help figuring out stuff for his car, there was some guy helping us (who couldn't have been a day over 20). I asked him about the wrenches, and he said he didn't recommend the belt wrenches, and that you can remove your oil filter easily by whacking a screwdriver into it and twisting it off that way. I was wary of this method, as it sounded both messy and potentially difficult to achieve given the angle I had to position myself into in order to reach my oil filter, but I thought I'd give it a whirl as he seemed to adamant that this was the way to go. Well, it was both messy and awkward. I'd hoped I could just twist the filter off with my hands, as I had a Fram filter on and they have a really good gripping surface. No go. Tried it with one of those kitchen rubber lid twisty things, still no go. Tried whacking a screwdriver into the filter using a hammer. Got it in, and found it impossible to turn, so I had to whack said screwdriver in further. By this point, residual oil is dripping down the screwdriver, onto my hand, down my arm, and onto the hammer. I kept having to rest my arms, as there were all of these car parts in the way and I needed to hold both arms at angles not comfortable to hold for long periods of time. Got the screwdriver in enough, and twisted. It turned, just a little bit, until the lever that the screwdriver made ran into other car parts. Still couldn't get the filter off with my hands, even with the loosening. So, made another hole. Everything is doused with oil at this point. Hole took entirely too long to make, as I was sore and pooped. It worked, eventually, and I got the filter off. Had to throw my poor blue hoodie away, though, it was unsalvageable. Didn't do Drew's car yet, no way in Hell are we undertaking that method for his car. Don't even know where the parts are gonna be on his, as he's never changed his own oil before. So we went to Lowes and Home Depot, neither of them carried oil filter pliers, the bastards! I've located a pair, though, at Checkers Auto, so I'll have to stop by there tomorrow or whenever next is convenient. Incidentally, there is an infinite amount of schlock carried at Lowes and Home Despot now, what with their tupperware bins and home accents and stuff. It's like everyone wants to compete with Walmart. Soon you'll be able to buy underwear and bananas at Lowes/Home Depot, too. In other news, I just got a lb. of ceviche from the grocery store for a little over a buck a pound. It's got a kick to it, too. Put Xmas lights up, along with our wee little purple tree. Once Xmas is over this year, I look forward to scarfing up reject lights and decorations off of Craigslist so next year will be fabulous. Tags: foodstuffs, misc
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) weretheyhot
marthappants | |
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 Self-portrait at age 25. Ingres (1780 – 1867) was a French Neoclassical painter. Although he considered himself to be a painter of history in the tradition of Nicolas Poussin and Jacques-Louis David, by the end of his life it was Ingres's portraits, both painted and drawn, that were recognized as his greatest legacy. A man profoundly respectful of the past, he assumed the role of a guardian of academic orthodoxy against the ascendant Romantic style represented by his nemesis Eugène Delacroix. His exemplars, he once explained, were "the great masters which flourished in that century of glorious memory when Raphael set the eternal and incontestable bounds of the sublime in art ... I am thus a conservator of good doctrine, and not an innovator." Nevertheless, modern opinion has tended to regard Ingres and the other Neoclassicists of his era as embodying the Romantic spirit of his time, while his expressive distortions of form and space make him an important precursor of modern art. ...and I think, quite a toothsome fellow. (some of the pieces of art are somewhat NSFW)( Read and see more... )
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xydexx | |
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So rigelkitty and I met up with Renfield yesterday and explored Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. Plenty of abandoned buildings and stuff out his way. Our first stop was the abandoned Paw Paw railroad station.  The abandoned Paw Paw railroad station Then we went across the Potomac to check out Paw Paw Tunnel on the C&O Canal. Someone's cows has escaped from a nearby farm and were wandering around in the parking lot. We went to the dark and scary Paw Paw tunnel, but had left the flashlights in the car so we couldn't go too far in. Then I went to check out the abandoned railroad bridge and tripped over some barbed wire. Ouch.  Someone's cows escaped and were wandering around the C&O Canal We took a break for lunch at Grandma's County Kitchen and Inn (103 Winchester Street, Paw Paw, WV 25434). The food was quite good and reasonable priced, fed the three of us for about $20. After lunch, we attempted to drive down the abandoned railroad grade to our next destination, but had to turn around after the NO TRESPASSING signs and Rigel's advice that it wasn't exactly suitable terrain for a Prius. Instead, we took a long, winding, single-lane road called "Detour" that led us to our next stop, Magnolia, WV. Magnolia was quite a bustling town back in the day. We stopped just north of Magnolia and wandered down an abandoned railroad grade to an old bridge over the Potomac. Renfield found a broken insulator that said "HEMI" on it, so he was happy.  Abandoned railroad bridge, one of many We made a brief stop at Cherry Orchard Cemetery. I couldn't find a lot of information on it on the internets, other than Elijah Shambaugh was buried there. We found his grave, as well as a really old handcarved one nearby that read "MARGRET ATHY DIE MAY THE 10TH THE YER OF 1859." Our next stop was going to be Jerome. I had read on Wikipedia that Jerome was an uninhabited community and there was an abandoned train order office leftover from when the Western Maryland Railway was abandoned. Eventually the road we were on ended, so I started cautiously driving down the abandoned right-of-way over ballast stones. As we reached our destination, Rigel expressed concerns we might actually be on someone's driveway. It looked like the path ended up ahead, so I figured it might be a good time to turn around. I started backing up to a little side path, but apparently we had attracted the attention of whoever lived at the end of the driveway. They started yelling at us. Not a good sign... bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!" They're shooting at us!" said Rigel, and we made a hasty retreat back down the driveway as fast as my Prius could safely go on railroad ballast. So that was our excitement for the day. We stopped again in Magnolia and consulted maps. I wanted to go to another abandoned railroad bridge further out, but we gave up on it and turned around about halfway there. Instead, we unexpectedly found yet another abandoned house right on the side of the road. While I was taking pictures, a guy in a pickup truck pulled up alongside. "Ya thinking of renting it?" he asked. "It is cheap?" I replied. He told me it was his buddy's place and there were deer in the backyard in case I wanted pictures, but after our previous encounter with the locals I thought it best to stay on the road.  Another abandoned house... We made it back to the main road and then off onto another winding dirt road up a hill. Sitting in the middle of absolutely nowhah was an old abandoned church, with a little graveyard behind it.  An abandoned church in the middle of nowhah... We dropped off Renfield and played a bit with his dog, Hemi, and then headed out, stopping for more pictures of some of the abandoned buildings we say on the way in. All in all, it was a pretty full day and the best part was we made it back alive! -:)  So many abandoned houses...  Renfield says this was an old general store Mood of the Moment:  busy
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merle_ | |
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Dubai, Dubai.. I just have to point my finger and cry out "ha, ha!". You wanted to be the luxury banking centre and ultimate resort area, so you borrowed $60B? The wannabe nouveau riche are always funny. (yes, they had a lot of money before, but the analogy fits)
What does surprise me is the reaction the markets had. Europe was down 4% yesterday, then Asia down 5%, and it looks like the US will be down 2% today (yesterday the markets were closed, and everyone is still standing in line outside Walmart so can't be bothered to do stock trading). That isn't the part of it that surprises me: of course it would cause a huge panicked reaction. It would be like Bill Gates announcing that all his properties were in foreclosure and he was going to sleep in a cot in his office at Microsoft: there's going to be a huge ripple, even if it should just be a drop in the bucket.
The part that surprises me is that I heard the story about Dubai talking about maybe needing to default on Tuesday. Sure, the formal announcement was not until the next day -- but even when it was announced, trading was still open in the US. Have investment firms learned nothing from the last two years? Some dude comes up to you and asks "yeah, well, things are tight, could I maybe get an interest-free extension with no payments for a while?" and it doesn't send up a red flag immediately? Mood of the Moment: quizzical
Auditory Hallucination: In Flames, "Everything Counts"
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cretaceousrick | |
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I'm old enough to remember the tail end of what I'll call "1980s futurism." I'm sure it has a better name -- labeling it "1980s" doesn't quite fit, as the earth-tone Future of wall-mounted computers, automated home grooming devices, lunar vacations, and commuting via monorail dates back at least to the 1950s. But I grew up with it in the 1980s, and that seems evocative enough for many people. And while it's probably just childhood nostalgia, I miss that aesthetic. Living in our own dystopian tomorrow of Apple stores and Juicy Couture, I can't help but feel it would be 10,000 times more amazing to live in one of these than in the grandest of McMansions. There's something comforting, on a generational level, in the thought of a sunken living room with rubberized orange walls and a giant picture window looking out over Mare Tranquillitatis. That's the sort of future I demand, not this consumerist worldline in which opiatic entertainment technologies dominated the last twenty years of development. Don't get me wrong, I love a lot of the technologies we've gotten out of the entertainment boom. I find my iPod indispensable, and the internet consumes more of my time than I'd rather admit to. But come on, who would take an iPod over these totally sweet outfits? I wish I were an artist or an animator or a movie producer with access to the best set design and CGI money could buy. If I can't live in such a future, I would like to be able to crank out the imagery. There's an entire subgenre of sci-fi for those in love with the alternative futures described by Verne and Wells. There's been a quiet resurgence of Buck Rogers and Edgar Rice Burroughs as well. But the only revivals of the 1970s/1980s futurist aesthetic that I've seen have been in album covers or satirical internet videos. The Venture Bros. features the look, but only in the context of the remains of the bombastic futurists' failure. I guess one could argue that the Star Wars prequels represent a more polished version of the aesthetic, but the charm isn't quite there. The charm is in the lack of polish, the pointless blinking lights and knobs, the decadent fabric of the lunar love den. Tags: future, musing, nostalgia
Auditory Hallucination: Air, "How does it make you feel"
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splodgenoodles | |
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Last night, at about 3AM, I gave myself a needle-stick injury. I'd given the cat her fluids, I coudn't find the doohicky to cap the needle, so I could not removed it safely. So I tried to remove it unsafely, as evidenced by the fact that shortly after I started doing so, I had to pull the needle out of my right forefinger. I must have hit a major vessel. There was very little blood, but within moments my right forefinger was bluish and slightly swollen. Also rather painful. It still is bluish and swollen, and the bruise has now spread into the palm of my hand. I tried to bleed it a bit, because I once saw someone on telly do that when they got a needle stick injury courtesy of a drug addict, and then I gave it a wash with dettol because that's what my parents would have done. Then, thinking of snakebite treatment and the action of the lymphatic system, I decided to wrap my hand and forearm in the one bandage we own, so that I not move things too much, thus delaying the process of spreading cat venom lymphatic fluid throughout my own system. No reason to hasten my own death. Then I went to bed, having decided the one really stupid thing to do would be to see what Dr. Google had to say about this sort of thing (and I still haven't looked, and have no intention of doing so for at least a week). Some things should simply not be done at 3AM. Today I spoke to one of the other GPs at my GPs practice (she's not in today), and I'm already feeling much better thankyou. This is probably a safer injury than a cat bite. The cat mouth is full of bacteria, but the cat itself, not so much. Tetanus is a risk with dirt, there is no dirt inside the cat and the needle was, in that respect, probably quite clean. But it's not entirely certain. She did say that if things go red and infected in the next day it might be time for antibiotics. There is a problem here: crap immune system because of the drugs for Crohn's Disease means I'll have more trouble if I do get something, but Crohn's Disease makes taking antibiotics a huge problem because so many of them do so much damage to the Crohn's Disease affected gut. But it doesn't seem that likely. I have also rung the vet, they haven't called back yet. That was 10B's idea, he was surprised I didn't ring them first because of course, they'd be the ones to have experience of this sort of thing and the ones that probably know all about it. So that was my night. Today I'm feeling a little cranky and hard done by. And annoyed at myself for being so monumentally stupid. Oh, and the needle is still attached to the line, also quite annoying. I did find the doohicky and recapped it, but it's well and truly jammed. Tags: cat, grrr...aarghh, health, needle-stick injury, pachelbel
Mood of the Moment:  grumpy
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keryx | |
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Please take a pen and a sheet of paper. Go to the foot of a tree or to your writing desk, and make a list of all the things that can make you happy right now: the clouds in the sky, the flowers in the garden the children playing, the fact that you have met the practice of mindfulness, your beloved ones sitting in the next room, your two eyes in good condition. The list is endless. You have enough already to be happy now. You have enough to no longer be agitated by fear or anger.
Thich Nhat Hanh in Taming the Tiger Within: Meditations on Transforming Difficult Emotions, as quoted by this email practice I get every couple of days. On my list (which is, indeed, endless) at the moment: - Mid-atlantic seasons. I like feeling both hot and cold. - The present-moment-ness of the animals around me - My wacky parents, who are always a couple of steps ahead of me at understanding this whole life thing. I suspect this is how the whole generation thing is supposed to work. - Those other family, the ones who choose each other. With a special shout-out to Tara, who gives good love note. - The people who make art with me. People who make art not with me are also pretty cool. Thanks for doing that, y'all. - Technology that enables human connections. Whether it's creating and keeping relationships or funny pictures of cats or fundamentally changing the way people think aout other people or playing games with my parents and people I knew in high school or people getting to talk way too much about werewolves and vampires. I love it ALL. - Human connections that create technology. And, you know, other stuff. - Color. Man, colors make me happy. - So, technically my eyes are not in good condition, but the ungoodness of one has led to lots of interesting information gathering, and reminded me how much I love learning. - Financially having enough. Maybe too much, certainly by global standards. - Breathing. Not in a snarky way! Breathing is awesome, of course, but awareness of it is also a fantastic tool for perspective. - My fully-functioning body. - Cooking without recipes. - ZOMG EVERYTHING SERIOUSLY MY LIFE IS AWESOME. How about you? Tags: insight
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spookyhandle | |
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This was the plan: Drink heavily, purchase tickets to see New Moon, and spend the entire length of the movie mocking it. We even snuck in some spiked sodas to prevent anything disasterous like sobering up partway through. Someone suggested that we play a drinking game, in which you take a drink every time someone makes an inappropriate facial expression or no facial expression at all. This is a fine idea if you want to go to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. I'm reasonably certain this movie would have been unwatchable if I wasn't at least a little bit tipsy, so, if you'd like to follow our wise example, I present to you a drinking game which will NOT land you in the hospital. The New Moon Drinking GameDrink every time...
- Robert Pattinson or Taylor Lautner appear shirtless (if you really want to get drunk, include the rest of the wolf pack).
- There's a Shatnerian pause.
- A vampire fucking glitters.
In the books (which, yes, I'm ashamed to say I've read most of) the stories get more and more ridiculous and the characters get less and less likable. So taking into consideration that the source material for this movie was even worse than for the first, I think it may have been a slightly better movie*. Of course, I suffered through the first movie entirely sober, so my judgment may be a little skewed. Kristen Stewart still has the emotional range of a plank of wood, and Robert Pattinson still makes constipation face too often (not that he's in this movie much), but Taylor Lautner was reasonably convincing, given what he had to work with. The kids playing Bella's school friends, Mike and Jessica weren't in the movie terribly much, but really owned the scenes they were in, and far outshone Stewart. There were even a few moments when I laughed, and I'm pretty sure that was the director's intention! Visually, there was improvement as well. For starters, they ditched the blue tint they put on every shot in the first movie. And then there's the glitter. The whole reason the Cullens live in overcast Forks is that they'd be immediately exposed as non-human by the brilliant glitter of their skin on a bright, sunny day. So Edward finally reveals this to Bella halfway through the first movie, and everyone in the audience thinks, "Um... I think you got a little glitter on you, Robert. You should talk to the make-up department." The whole glittering vampires thing is still absurd, but at least in this movie they really did stand out when the sun hit them. Although, speaking of make-up--and I don't recall if it was like this in the first movie or not--but I would have expected make-up professionals to do better. It was like all the vampires were wearing white masks. I'm not asking a lot here. Just a little bit of neck coverage with the white face, is all. In fact, I'm taking back my visual improvement statement. The special effects were awful. The first time you see one of the werewolves clearly, it's a big, black beast and my first thought was, "It's The Nothing!" followed quickly by, "Wait. No. The Nothing was way more convincing." Seriously, if you're going to go see this movie, do yourself a favor: If you're not up for smuggling alcohol in, at the very least have a few drinks before you go. * Please note that "better than really awful" is still "really fucking bad."Tags: food & drink, movies, nostalgia, public, reviews, sexy celebrities
Mood of the Moment:  blah
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givemethegun | |
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Tomorrow I embark on my very first Thanksgiving dinner, proper. We had a trial run when the Aussies (Xian, Schmy and Alex - plus honorary Australian, Mars) were here in July, which was actually rather wonderful. But tomorrow the family will be here, and I'm wanting to go all out for mah very first offering of Thanks, sans syphilis. Don't look too deeply into the history of Thanksgiving, or it'll put you off your food.
I'll be serving;
* Turkey - seriously, amazing. I brine that fucker in a big pot until it's weak at the giblets and gobbling for merrrrcy. Sir Alton, your turkey is magic and delicious, and I will never cook another turkey behind your back, never ever.
* Green bean casserole - my favourite part of the Thanksgiving feast, I fancy it up by making everything from scratch (again, thanks Alton), and even include morels if I can get my paws on them. Mushrooms of the Gods, and (I believe) native to America. Mmm, best friend fungi. Sadly, I has none *kicks dirt*.
* Stuffing - I could make this from scratch, but I got Trader Joe's sausage and sage stuffing this time around, because it's good and I have too many other things to make. It surprised me at first that the stuffing typically isn't cooked inside the bird, but I think it's got something to do with the fact that nearly all Americans are utterly terrified of salmonella and they fucking hate it and freak the fuck out when I defrost meat on the counter or doodle about with raw eggs, so I'm gonna let them have this one - this time.
* Sweet potatoes, or yams - Americans like to mash this shit up, add fuckloads of brown sugar and butter, cover the top with marshmallows and pecans, then bake it. We tried this at the trial run, and nobody was overly impressed (although it was an audience of mostly Australians, and so was a bias reception). Anyways, it's kinda stupid. So I'm making sweet potato fries.
* Mashed taters - seriously, what meal doesn't have mashed potatoes? And I just so happen to make the best mashed potatoes in the world (although Mars did a bang-up job at the trial Thanksgiving, the potatoes being one of the highlights of the meal).
* Pumpkin pie. Mum's making this (her pumpkin pie is classic and goooood). But I am also making this because I simply can't not; shhhh, don't tell.
* Cranberry sauce and turkey gravy (lol) - from a can and a box! Am also making fresh cranberry sauce, for shits and giggles, but it's kinda like mint jelly with your lamb roast - you can make it from scratch, but it's somehow better from a jar.
* Corn casserole - new to the party, thought I'd give it a shot. And Paula Dean recently got hit in the face with some ham, so this is for you, Paula.
* Left off the list: brussell sprouts, corn bread, herpes.
There'll also be mulled apple cider, and little buns you heat in the oven. Buns, oven. Gosh that's a lot of food. But, leftovers, friends, and that's the whole point of Thanksgiving. I expect to take lots of photos, and Wade will carve the superturkey, an enormous organic beastie from Trader Joes.
(Also, if you haven't been to www.smittenkitchen.com, you should go, daily. It's pretty much the best food blog, ever.)
Whether American, Australian, from the U.K. or the Philippines, have an incredible Thanksgiving and give thanks for cholesterol, pending New Years' resolutions of a major fuck off diet, and napping at noon.
Wish me luck!
xxx
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