Do not get in mud fights with pigs. Do not get in mud fights with pigs. Do not get in mud fights with pigs.
*sigh*
Maybe someday it will sink in and I will have learned.
Some days some of the more illogical Pro-Life people make me want to stab a fork in my eye.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Psychopharmacuticals, I love you!
I'm currently trying out a new combination of medicine to help me combat my depression. Yes, at the behest of my doctor. Yes, under the supervision and advice of a professional psychotherapist person. So far, I LOVE the newest ingredient in my "sanity cocktail"! I have felt so focused, so determined, so confident ALL DAY LONG. My thoughts have not been this clear since I-don't-know-when. I am superwoman. I am Maniac-Brainiac McGee. I am on the ball, on top of the tallest tree in the forest, balancing serenely. Got any shit, world? Just throw it at me, and watch me cope with it in an efficient and competent manner!
Don't worry, I will only use my newfound superpowers for good. I will leap tall trees, write coherent and intelligent papers, save puppies from drowning and dance my booty off in the privacy of my living room every night from now until the end of time.
(I am totally going to regret this public jubulation, aren't I?)
If you could be the patron saint of something, or of some group of people, what would you be? For example, St. Jude is the patron saint of Lost Causes, but there are also specific patron saints for blacksmiths, sailors, actors, and television.
For example, I coud be St. Regina, patron saint of Tone-Deaf People Who Sing Kareoke, or St. Regina, patron saint of Thrift-Store Shoppers.... or, or, or... The possibilities are endless and endlessly amusing. So, what or whom would you be patron saint of? Choose carefully, because this is something that could totally make or break your resume!
Don't worry, I will only use my newfound superpowers for good. I will leap tall trees, write coherent and intelligent papers, save puppies from drowning and dance my booty off in the privacy of my living room every night from now until the end of time.
(I am totally going to regret this public jubulation, aren't I?)
If you could be the patron saint of something, or of some group of people, what would you be? For example, St. Jude is the patron saint of Lost Causes, but there are also specific patron saints for blacksmiths, sailors, actors, and television.
For example, I coud be St. Regina, patron saint of Tone-Deaf People Who Sing Kareoke, or St. Regina, patron saint of Thrift-Store Shoppers.... or, or, or... The possibilities are endless and endlessly amusing. So, what or whom would you be patron saint of? Choose carefully, because this is something that could totally make or break your resume!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Stuff Going On In My Life...
1) We went camping again last weekend up on the Door County Peninsula - the little strip of land that separates Green Bay from Lake Michigan. It was so amazing to look out across water so big that I could not see the other side, and to feel wind in my hair, and to hear the rhythmic crash and roll of the waves. At the same time, however, it reminded me of how much I miss the ocean, which I have not seen in 3 years. I am so excited to go home in August and smell the salt water and go tide-pool exploring.
1.5) There are pictures from camping, but as of yet, I have been too lazy to get them developed/post them on the Interweb. This should not surprise you.
2) I wish I had a dog. There is a beautiful collie waiting outside the coffee shop where I am typing and I really want to pet its soft fur and get some puppy kisses on my hands. Too bad I live in The World's Smallest 2-Bedroom Apartment and thus would need to get a miniaturized dog, were I to get a dog at all. There are never any "good" kinds of miniaturized dogs at the local animal shelter (I am not really a terrier kind of person). Wah wah wah wah, etc.
3) The CSA has blessed us with an over-abundance of jerusalem artichokes lately, and so we are having a fancy-restaruant-style Artichoke Festival at my house tonight. 3 courses, 3 different preparations of sunchokes. If I am feeling ambitious (or perhaps just stupid) I may even try to make an artichoke-based dessert. This sound gross, but my brain has been popping with possibilities- what about shredded artichoke in the coating of a Fried Ice Cream? What about timbales of sweetened artichoke puree, flavored with warm spices and served with plum sauce?It's gonna be a full-out night of Iron Chef at chez moi!
1.5) There are pictures from camping, but as of yet, I have been too lazy to get them developed/post them on the Interweb. This should not surprise you.
2) I wish I had a dog. There is a beautiful collie waiting outside the coffee shop where I am typing and I really want to pet its soft fur and get some puppy kisses on my hands. Too bad I live in The World's Smallest 2-Bedroom Apartment and thus would need to get a miniaturized dog, were I to get a dog at all. There are never any "good" kinds of miniaturized dogs at the local animal shelter (I am not really a terrier kind of person). Wah wah wah wah, etc.
3) The CSA has blessed us with an over-abundance of jerusalem artichokes lately, and so we are having a fancy-restaruant-style Artichoke Festival at my house tonight. 3 courses, 3 different preparations of sunchokes. If I am feeling ambitious (or perhaps just stupid) I may even try to make an artichoke-based dessert. This sound gross, but my brain has been popping with possibilities- what about shredded artichoke in the coating of a Fried Ice Cream? What about timbales of sweetened artichoke puree, flavored with warm spices and served with plum sauce?It's gonna be a full-out night of Iron Chef at chez moi!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Affirmations:
Ideas Come From Writing. The More You Write The More They Will Flow.
Write First, Edit Later.
Get The Content Out Of Your Head And Onto The Page.
This Is Possible And I Am Capable.
I Am Doing This For Me.
...wash, rinse, repeat as needed...
Write First, Edit Later.
Get The Content Out Of Your Head And Onto The Page.
This Is Possible And I Am Capable.
I Am Doing This For Me.
...wash, rinse, repeat as needed...
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
On the celluloid screen...
So, after the marathon, J and I watched a lot of movies. He was exhausted, and I was sunburned, and it was Memorial Day weekend. What better way to remember our dear beloved departed than by sitting on the couch, drinking cold beers and letting the tv rot our brains? In fact, our brains were so rotted by the end of the mini film fest that I decided to move furniature, re-organize the house and swamp out the storage space. Hahahahaha, what was I thinking? Stupid tv, tricking me in to doing actual housework! Bah!
Anyway, here is a rundown of what we saw:
Angels and Demons:
We always see a particularly stupid movie right after the race. This fit the bill. I think the popcorn and the diet pepsi were more memorable than the movie. Blah blah blah, conspiracy theory mystery, blah blah blah, I guessed the villian half way through the movie, blah blah, beautiful renaissance artwork, lame riddles, ewan macgregor, blah blah.
Season One of Showtime's The Tudors:
I love fancy costumes and period pieces; I dislike gratuitous sex scenes, flat characters, and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers cast in a completely unsympathetic role. This is bad TV, yet it is strangely intriguing at the same time. It paints Catherine of Aragon in a very positive light, and it goes on beyond the 'Anne Years' to tell the stories of the other 4 wives, which is interesting and kind of unusual (in the US, we love to love QE 1, thus we love to love Anne Boylen). However, my mind rebells at the portrayal of Henry VIII as vain, insane and completely played by his courtiers. The historical Henry VIII couldn't possibly have been that stupid!
Marley and Me:
The puppy is naughty and cute; the people love him; the end is sad. You're supposed to cry a little, and I did. The main character is a non-alpha-personality, who doesn't go out on a limb, sort of envies the success of his friends, and surprises himself by finding happiness and success in a different way than he had once dreamed of. This movie was sweet, charming, and probably only rates a B-, but it was very, very thought-provoking in tandem with The Wrestler. If watched in tandem with The Wrestler, it probably gets an A-.
The Wrestler:
a man must choose between practing his art and dying (in glory) or abandoning his art and existing as an outsider in a world that does not value him. It just so happens that his art is professional wrestling. This film is unique, well-executed and has an honest vibe. The wrestling scenes are a little... um... grotesque (think staple guns), and if you are not really into huge displays of violence (like me), you may not find this film visually appealing, but you will fall in love with Randy 'The Ram', and your heart will break (in a very cool, sophisticated and ironic way) as he and his love interest Cassidy fail to navigate the frail division between reality and spectacular realm of fantasy.
Anyway, here is a rundown of what we saw:
Angels and Demons:
We always see a particularly stupid movie right after the race. This fit the bill. I think the popcorn and the diet pepsi were more memorable than the movie. Blah blah blah, conspiracy theory mystery, blah blah blah, I guessed the villian half way through the movie, blah blah, beautiful renaissance artwork, lame riddles, ewan macgregor, blah blah.
Season One of Showtime's The Tudors:
I love fancy costumes and period pieces; I dislike gratuitous sex scenes, flat characters, and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers cast in a completely unsympathetic role. This is bad TV, yet it is strangely intriguing at the same time. It paints Catherine of Aragon in a very positive light, and it goes on beyond the 'Anne Years' to tell the stories of the other 4 wives, which is interesting and kind of unusual (in the US, we love to love QE 1, thus we love to love Anne Boylen). However, my mind rebells at the portrayal of Henry VIII as vain, insane and completely played by his courtiers. The historical Henry VIII couldn't possibly have been that stupid!
Marley and Me:
The puppy is naughty and cute; the people love him; the end is sad. You're supposed to cry a little, and I did. The main character is a non-alpha-personality, who doesn't go out on a limb, sort of envies the success of his friends, and surprises himself by finding happiness and success in a different way than he had once dreamed of. This movie was sweet, charming, and probably only rates a B-, but it was very, very thought-provoking in tandem with The Wrestler. If watched in tandem with The Wrestler, it probably gets an A-.
The Wrestler:
a man must choose between practing his art and dying (in glory) or abandoning his art and existing as an outsider in a world that does not value him. It just so happens that his art is professional wrestling. This film is unique, well-executed and has an honest vibe. The wrestling scenes are a little... um... grotesque (think staple guns), and if you are not really into huge displays of violence (like me), you may not find this film visually appealing, but you will fall in love with Randy 'The Ram', and your heart will break (in a very cool, sophisticated and ironic way) as he and his love interest Cassidy fail to navigate the frail division between reality and spectacular realm of fantasy.
We Gotta Get Outta Cape Cod Tonight, and other random thoughts.
Vampire Weekend is so stuck in my head right now. They are sound like what the love child of Death Cab For Cutie and a steel drum calypso band would be, if said love child were to be cherished and loved and dressed in handmade clothes and given balloons, instead of being made to sleep in the fire grate and scrub the stairs. I love them.
J ran the marathon on Sunday. I followed him on my bike for a good part of the route. It was such a feeling of joyful anarchy to ride my bike on streets that are normally not bike-safe against the 'regular' flow of traffic. The marathon people provide water and gatorade at regular intervals, but we were unsure how hot the weather was going to get, so I had a couple of otter pops in a soft-sided cooler in my backpack to offer J in case he got overheated. He did not, but we certainly enjoyed the otter pops after the race. Friends met us at the finish line to congratulate J and make the requisite post-marathon visit to The World's Largest Brat Fest.
I enjoyed Brat Fest less well this year than I have in previous years. Now they have one of those transportable carnival midways set up, which makes things a lot more crowded and noisy. I hate carnivals. This probably makes me un-american and thus ineligible to be featured on a postage stamp some day, but I do not care. I hate them. Carnies are creepy, the games are always rigged, the prizes are made in sweat-shops in poor Asian countries, and I do not like rides. Rides at Disneyland and permanent amusement parks are ok, but I am always afraid of the traveling carnival rides. For one thing, you can see the rust. For another thing, who is to say that the carney who bolted it togeter this time wasn't drunk or high? At Disneyland, the rides stay in one piece the whole time, so you know that none of the bolts are poorly fastened. And they have safety inspectors. And if you die, you actually know the name of the actual company to sue in order to pay for your funeral.
Damn, I'm either a total chicken or a conservative grown-up.
J ran the marathon on Sunday. I followed him on my bike for a good part of the route. It was such a feeling of joyful anarchy to ride my bike on streets that are normally not bike-safe against the 'regular' flow of traffic. The marathon people provide water and gatorade at regular intervals, but we were unsure how hot the weather was going to get, so I had a couple of otter pops in a soft-sided cooler in my backpack to offer J in case he got overheated. He did not, but we certainly enjoyed the otter pops after the race. Friends met us at the finish line to congratulate J and make the requisite post-marathon visit to The World's Largest Brat Fest.
I enjoyed Brat Fest less well this year than I have in previous years. Now they have one of those transportable carnival midways set up, which makes things a lot more crowded and noisy. I hate carnivals. This probably makes me un-american and thus ineligible to be featured on a postage stamp some day, but I do not care. I hate them. Carnies are creepy, the games are always rigged, the prizes are made in sweat-shops in poor Asian countries, and I do not like rides. Rides at Disneyland and permanent amusement parks are ok, but I am always afraid of the traveling carnival rides. For one thing, you can see the rust. For another thing, who is to say that the carney who bolted it togeter this time wasn't drunk or high? At Disneyland, the rides stay in one piece the whole time, so you know that none of the bolts are poorly fastened. And they have safety inspectors. And if you die, you actually know the name of the actual company to sue in order to pay for your funeral.
Damn, I'm either a total chicken or a conservative grown-up.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
There and back again
County roads through the Wisconsin Driftless Area are windy and make me nauseous.
Our campsite was isolated and overlooked a lake. Raccoons visited nightly and each time I was terrifically torn between the emotional desire to snorggle their cuteness and the knowledge that Wild Animals Are Not For Petting And Probably Have Rabies. (Raccoons are less scary than Possums.)
I couldn't find the sunscreen the first day, despite knowing that I'd packed it. My burn will fade to a tan, and that pleases me. When I think of myself in my mind-mirror, I am tan, and I like it. It's good when the mirror me and the me-mirror match. My shoulders feel a bit leathery and every time I get a new freckle-mole, I think thoughts about skin cancer. Much aloe vera is in order. Next time I'll pack my straw hat.
If it were not so cliche and hyperbolic, I'd say I have a sore gut muscle from laughing so hard. Instead I'll say the truth, which is that I laughed a lot, but that my sore gut muscle is probably from eating so much delicious food cooked over a fire.
I know I'm the overly emotive, touchy-feely one of the bunch, so please don't laugh when I say that I wish we had ended the long weekend with a group hug. I will try to convince myself that our round of beers at the Grumpy Troll was an equivalent in the parlance of the collective.
My apartment still seems oddly eerie and foreign. What is this thing called a ceiling, and why do I hear exhaust fans and not birdsong? My bed, however, is divine.
My coffee this morning was acrid and strong. I tempered it with cream leftover from the adventure. I'll probably cry a little when that bottle is empty.
Let's go camping again, and soon!
Our campsite was isolated and overlooked a lake. Raccoons visited nightly and each time I was terrifically torn between the emotional desire to snorggle their cuteness and the knowledge that Wild Animals Are Not For Petting And Probably Have Rabies. (Raccoons are less scary than Possums.)
I couldn't find the sunscreen the first day, despite knowing that I'd packed it. My burn will fade to a tan, and that pleases me. When I think of myself in my mind-mirror, I am tan, and I like it. It's good when the mirror me and the me-mirror match. My shoulders feel a bit leathery and every time I get a new freckle-mole, I think thoughts about skin cancer. Much aloe vera is in order. Next time I'll pack my straw hat.
If it were not so cliche and hyperbolic, I'd say I have a sore gut muscle from laughing so hard. Instead I'll say the truth, which is that I laughed a lot, but that my sore gut muscle is probably from eating so much delicious food cooked over a fire.
I know I'm the overly emotive, touchy-feely one of the bunch, so please don't laugh when I say that I wish we had ended the long weekend with a group hug. I will try to convince myself that our round of beers at the Grumpy Troll was an equivalent in the parlance of the collective.
My apartment still seems oddly eerie and foreign. What is this thing called a ceiling, and why do I hear exhaust fans and not birdsong? My bed, however, is divine.
My coffee this morning was acrid and strong. I tempered it with cream leftover from the adventure. I'll probably cry a little when that bottle is empty.
Let's go camping again, and soon!
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