Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Foot Network!

From the "Kinda Wish This One Existed" file: Giada De Laurentiis apparently has a show on Foot Network!
click to enlargeFoot Network!I always hear complaints about her creepy smile; maybe someone close to Giada let the networks know they were focusing on the wrong end of the woman. Either way, I hope Everyday Italian's move to a new network is a happy one for cast, crew, and fetish viewers.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Phrase of the Moment: 22 Sept. 2008

Here is your Phrase of the Moment for 22 Sept 2008:
I'll take "Beautiful Tits" for two handfuls, Alex!
Try to use the phrase in your conversations over the next few days, or until the next Phrase of the Moment!

Rights to this and all Phrase of the Moment entries reserved under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works license.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Life Gets In The Way.

Ah, Ike. How you have disrupted Houston's blogging community, uprooting trees and breaking windows like the lovable scamp you were. None of us are sad that you're gone, for your memory stays with us.

I don't want you to think I disappeared. As Sinistar would tell you, "I. LIVE!" My time was spent reading Neal Stephenson's Anathem (which is a wonderful book, and one you should all read), cleaning house, riding my new yard-sale bikes around the neighborhood, and cooking for the people at the HoD. I met (or possibly re-met) the wonderful Priscilla of Foodielicious and spent an enjoyable evening hanging with her and others. I reaffirmed my belief that people can be good to each other, now and then, if the circumstances are right. I faced and beat my apprehension of major streets to ride a bike to not one, but two places to which I wouldn't walk.

Things were pretty good.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Disaster.

I wish the world was a bit more dangerous. If there were more small disasters that affected communities, there'd be more community action. More people would randomly help their fellow man, and they would be far less full of themselves. It's hard to feel full of yourself or separated from your neighbor when you're both waiting in line for water and ice. It's easy to feel like part of a community when you go outside to move a downed tree and find others already out there, happy to have the help. People drive by and offer up the things they had to wait to receive.

It makes me sad that in a week or two, everyone will largely go back to their isolated homes. It won't be quite as neighborly as it is now. I may have to organize a block party in October to combat the detachment that will resume.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Rhymes!

E. rhymes really well these days.  She listens to conversations, takes one or two words, and changes the starting sounds to make new words (real and fake).

A recent discourse here at the HoD:
R.: I wondered who you were talking to, Tim.
Me: I was talking to Chris.
E.: You were talking to piss!
She's a funny moppet. :D

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Hurricane Ike.

It was very strange.  We sat around Friday with nothing to do until the evening.  The wind started first, blowing and rattling windows, but the rain didn't follow until HOURS passed.  We had power and internet for quite a long while (with an occaisional stutter) and were strangely connected to our friends while we were simultaneously bottled inside our house.

It rattled.  It rained.  The windows sounded like they would blow out every few minutes, but they survived.  We got a little water inside the house, mainly due to someone's bad idea.  V. and I sat in our bedroom and listened to the radio by candlelight.  We slept in turns and fits, eventually waking to a morning of relative calm.

I took some photos.  They're here.

V., E., and I took refuge lately at the House ov Discord.  They have electricity, water, and internet because they're in the medical district.  The HoD also has lots of friends, so we're in good company.

We have decent water pressure at our place, but no power as of yet.  Hope it comes back soon; cross your fingers for me.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Sick.

There's a tight, twisted feeling in my stomach right now.  I hope writing this post will get it out.  I'm reluctant to do so, because it's largely about another person and I know they read this blog now and then.  To that person: I have forgiven you, and I don't think of this very often.  That said, I will probably always hate this night.

Just one night.  My woman at the time went out with some friends of hers, not an unusual thing.  I figured she'd come home around 3 or 4 and we'd snuggle ourselves to sleep.  (It's hard writing about this; my chest feels tight and I'm almost shaking.)

She didn't come home at 3.  I sent her a text to let her know I was thinking of her, see if she'd respond, basically see if she was okay.  No response, and she didn't come home at 4.  I probably sent another two texts between 3 and 4, possibly more because she hadn't responded all evening.  I started feeling sick, with worry that she was okay, with anger that I was in the uncertain situation.  I couldn't sleep.  I could barely sit still.  (I can barely sit still right now.)  I have no idea how many texts I sent between 4 and 5, but I do know that at some point I stopped texting and started calling every five minutes.  I figured the phone would wake my woman up eventually and she'd respond, tell me everything was okay, that she was coming home.  

I believe I stopped calling around 5 and just sat, consumed by worry, anger, and fear.  I know I tried to sleep, but it was a futile attempt.  I don't remember why, but I know I was in front of the computer when I got a message from my woman at 6:30.  I demanded that she call me, and when she did, I let her have every last ounce of the anger, worry, and fear that I had all night to build up.  I demanded to know why she hadn't come home, why she hadn't called or responded to any of my attempts to reach her.

Her explanation was that she and her friends weren't at the friends' place like I thought; they were out at a hotel and they had been rolling on E all night.  She'd kinda noticed the phone at some point, or someone had, but they were all too busy talking and snuggling and sucking cock and eating pussy to bother answering it.

I demanded the female half of this couple get on the phone and I let her have a piece of my mind, too.  My woman and her friend were both crying by that time.  I demanded to talk to the male friend, too, but the female wouldn't let me.  She was too scared; she had lied to him time and time again about various things, and she was worried that I would try to break her relationship up in anger.

I WAS angry, too.  I felt I'd been lied to about where my woman was, I was angry that I had been ignored.  I knew it was this woman's first time dropping E, too.  (While I didn't think about it then, it makes me angry now that this was probably her first drug experience EVER, and she was so eager to please these two that she couldn't wait to share her first drug experience with ME.)

That night was everything that has ever been wrong with any open relationship, rolled up into one night.  Fear, doubt, jealousy, anger, lies & half-truths, missed experiences that should have been shared ones.  I can't describe the anger and hurt that I felt.  It still makes me feel physically sick with anger when I think of it today.  Thinking about it makes me realize that it could never really be put right; I'll never have a chance to drop E with that girl for the very first time, to be with her the very first time she does recreational drugs.  At best, the people involved can be forgiven (which I've done with all but one of them) and we can try not to think about the event, try not to dwell on it.  

I don't think about it often; I try to gloss over it very quickly when it does enter my mind.  I know what it does to me.  This blog post is an example of what it does to me.  I had to write this in an attempt to get it out somehow, to make the angry dynamo in the back of my head slow down, to make some of the rage drain off so that I can stop feeling ill.  It's mostly worked.

To you: I'm sorry that I made you think of this and go through it again with me.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Disturbing Dream.

I looked up at the two small baby dolls of the sort that E. carries.  They both had faces that were exceedingly ugly: not inhuman or grotesque, but with odd, creepy features better suited to old people than babies.  Wrinkles, wide eyes, a tuft of wispy, white hair atop each head.  They sat on a counter, and I knew they were asleep before, but awake now.   Their mouths opened and gaped at me in dumb, toothless smiles as I came closer and picked them up.  I asked them how their naps were, then put them in a sitting position on a shelf near my shoulder.  Their mouths opened and closed with soft smacking sounds.

As I put one of the dolls down, I realized that its head came off.  I went to put the head back on the doll, its eyes watching me with a vague, dumb awareness.  Instead of being two dolls, now there was one large doll body, already sporting two large heads.  One of the heads was a large version of the one I held in my hand; the other head was the intelligent face of a crotchety old miner, watching with a careful, yet transparent air of disinterest.  He was the dangerous one; if I didn't replace the head I removed correctly, he was likely to eat it.

I had several placement options.  I went with the least obvious first, ignoring the typical socket that most rubber and plastic dolls have.  Instead, I pulled the gray rubber collar around the other two heads loose, revealing the mass of rubber bristles beneath.  The bristles, the sort one would find on a rubber basting brush but short as a fingertip, swayed and reached eagerly for the base of the severed doll head.  I closed the gray collar around all three heads now as the bristles took firm hold, only to realize that they swallowed the new head whole.

I didn't bother to pull the collar loose again as I tried to save the smaller head from the hungry doll body.  The larger doll head smacked its gob stupidly as I shoved it askew, reaching past its base and pulling the smaller head into position beside it.  All three heads now rested snugly in the body's shoulders, to the obvious dismay of the miner head.  It glared openly, and I forced its face away with a shove of my hand.

I returned to the game I was playing before the doll attracted my attention.  The pirate skeleton grinned at me with eager malice.  I looked at the cards he had produced for me previously; they were surprisingly good.  I still knew he meant me harm.  I played a card and moved my piece around the board, landing on a spot that triggered the little robotic skeleton.

He drew a card from his stack inside the game's treasure chest that turned out to be four cards, all linked by cheap chain so they would slide apart and swing like a rope ladder.  The skeleton proclaimed they were prize cards entitling me to a special card, a member of the royal family that was only in the treasure deck and not in the normal stack from which I pulled.  I saw the lie and malice on his "face", though, his grin too eager, his explanation too quick, completely without his usual verbal color.

Grabbing the cards, I read each with growing surprise.  The first allowed me to take the entire royal court from the usual deck, giving me an amazing advantage.  The second entitled me to the special Princess card, just as the skeleton said.  I puzzled through the third, reading with the difficulty of dreams as V. and the little undead pirate grew impatient.  The third card, when sent to an address on the fourth, awarded me no less than four, no more than 360 birthday cupcakes, divided as I liked over thirty years.  (It also had a description of the cupcakes and how they were shipped, how the company ensured their freshness through transit, etc.)  I tried to hurriedly scribble the address from the fourth card into a notebook, but V. pulled me away.  We had things to do.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Why?

Why do politicians tell so many easily-found, demonstrable lies these days? Some things are facts, and a couple of interns with access to news archives can prove that a candidate DID work with the other party on bipartisan legislation, that a candidate DID change most of his professed views to align them with the current President, that a candidate DID support government money for local construction projects and is, in fact, still completing half of the project that they're supposed to be against now.

History extends beyond what happened last month. I do mean "history", too, because events, votes, viewpoints, and comments are chronicled and archived and available for review. It's not every day one gets to quote Kid Rock:

"I was born at night, but not last night, baby!"

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Sarah Palin.

If you want to know about her speech last night, read this.  It's a pretty good (if poorly formatted) review.  My thoughts on the woman:

She is the Republican Party's Trophy Wife Candidate.  
  • As one person said about her speech, she came off a bit like the school valedictorian who was also a former cheerleader.  
  • She's not a spring chicken, but is still good-looking enough to make your buddies envious.  
  • She has her own hobbies, like running the PTA.  They make her feel important!
  • She has her own job as Governor of Alaska, so she can get the better parking spots, waive your traffic tickets, and pay for her own shopping trips.
  • She knows how to use the computers and put things on eBay, thereby getting them out of the garage.  We can make it a rumpus room once she clears out all that space!
Governor Sarah Palin is the completely sexist "look, we're not sexist, here's a woman" candidate.  There are other female politicians, legislators like Sen. Olympia Snowe, who have experience in Washington and have earned the respect of their peers.  Nominating Sarah Palin is the choice that only a misogynist would make.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

An Open Letter to Beer Drinkers:

(Edit: This is to the average beer drinker.  You'll know if you qualify by the end.)

Fuck off.

You're not really drinking, you know.  When you drink, the liquid you consume is more than 10% alcohol by volume.  Even most of the girliest components of the fruitiest bar drinks are at least 40 proof.  That's right: Midori has twice the alcohol content.  MIDORI has twice the alcohol content.  Midori has twice the alcohol content.

You know what you're really doing?  You're having a beer.  You're downing a glass, bottle, or can of yeast, hops, and barley.  If they put a port-a-let inside a bakery and encouraged all the breads to piss in it all day, then collected and bottled it after, someone could have themselves quite a nice little micro-brew.  I can't even finish a can of the stuff; I can choke it down for a little while, but before long all that watery bread leaves me pretty full.

One of the more frustrating things I hear about beer is that people just drink it to get drunk.  Excuse me, but YOU'RE NOT REALLY DRINKING.  And don't get onto me about "most" people enjoying the taste; I was at a Fark party a few weeks ago and mentioned that I don't drink beer because of the taste.  Half the table's response? "I don't drink it for the taste!"

I think the saddest thing about beer, though, is its pervasiveness.  States that won't let you buy tequila on Sunday will let you buy three cases of beer.  Stadiums and ballparks won't sell you a vodka cran.  I was at a four-day rock festival with acts like RATT, Warrant, Bret Michaels, Gilby Clarke, and Sammy Hagar on the bill, and I didn't get drunk ONCE all weekend.  The only drink general admission people could buy inside the festival was beer.  No glass bottles allowed at the campsite, so everyone brought a cooler or two of beer.  People stayed up until 3:30 AM most nights, laughing and carousing, and were they drinking?  No.  They were having a few beers.

Goddammit, people.  Man up.  I want you to each have a plastic bottle of something 80 proof or higher (McCormick's is a good start; Everclear is better) by the next time I post.

Update: I'm glad you actually enjoy the stuff, Mander, and fully admit that it's not worth drinking when you're trying to get drunk.  Those two simple facts mean you are not the average beer drinker and not whom I'm really upset with.  And yeah, Midori is horrible by itself, but it was also the girliest, fruitiest, greenest liquor I could imagine, then and now.