My eyes are all foggy. My contact lenses have become all cloudy and splotchy because you know why? Because MY TEARS ARE DEFECTIVE. That’s right. I am a defective crier. If I cry, I can no longer see. God is trying to provide me with an incentive to never, ever, ever (yes, I know I just split that infinitive and have made it vastly worse by inserting this long parenthetical aside) cry. Unfortunately as I grow older the world seems tragicer and tragicker (I have offered you two spellings there and you may choose which is best) so virtually everything makes me cry. Today I have cried so much that I can no longer see out of my eyes. I am typing this with as much accuracy as I would have if I had my eyes shut because I can’t read the words on the screen.
See, it turns out (I discovered the last time I went to visit my eye doctor) my tears have a weird and unpleasant oily quality that messes up my eyes. When I am at the eye doctor and she does the shiny light in my eyes thing, she has to have me blink a lot of times because my tears are so weird that it screws up all her instruments to look at my eyes when they contain my bizarrely goopy tears.
I said oily first and now I said goopy, and the actual truth is that I have no idea which one (if either) it is. Just some thing in my tears that makes it hard for my doctor to examine my eyes appropriately and also messes up my contact lenses.
Anyway in this case I cried a lot today and that makes it my own fault and here’s why. It is because I went to my taught-by-a-nice-lady but rather boring two-hour-long Symbolic Imagination class (that didn’t make me cry — but nearly. I was raised a Catholic and I can’t sit still in one place for more than an hour, or 90 minutes at the outside); and we looked at a sample exam paper, which made me realize how much this exam (and by extension all of my exams) is going to KICK MY ASS (that didn’t make me cry either); and when I got back to my dorm I kind of wanted to do something to cheer me up. And I chose to watch What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.
Do you know what happens in that movie? If not stop reading this because you don’t want to spoil it for yourself because it’s a really wonderful movie. In that movie, Johnny Depp goes through lots of misery and finally circumstances conspire against him even more and he betrays everything he believes in and is totally crushed and wretched and then his mother dies. So I totally bawled.
And now I can’t see. Damn you, Lasse Hallstrom. Damn you also for not directing Rent. I think you would have done a better job than Chris Columbus.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
I am the worst blog haver in the world because my life is boring
but here is a cute little baby elephant.
I have a very big soft spot for baby elephants, though I don’t know why this should be. There is even a little video of the dear little elephant, and it puts up its itty bitty trunk and opens its mouth and it’s SO CUTE with its little stumbly knees.
(Yes, I realize that elephants are like 250 pounds when they’re born. It is still very adorable and wee compared to its mum.)
I have a very big soft spot for baby elephants, though I don’t know why this should be. There is even a little video of the dear little elephant, and it puts up its itty bitty trunk and opens its mouth and it’s SO CUTE with its little stumbly knees.
(Yes, I realize that elephants are like 250 pounds when they’re born. It is still very adorable and wee compared to its mum.)
Monday, March 12, 2007
Reflections on the Rocky Horror Phenomenon
Steve took me to see The Rocky Horror Show in Ipswich on Saturday, and it was very great fun indeed. I am kicking myself for not seeing it when it was playing at home, and also for not taking my sister to see it while we and it were both in London. We went to Evita instead, which was good because I got to see Philip Quast who I love, but we could have done the Time Warp together in sisterly bonding fashion.
Anyway, I went on the interweb and looked up The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and I discovered a whole bunch of good things. Like that the audience participation, it really was just totally spontaneous; I don’t know how else it might have happened, but whatever, it’s nice to know that the movie was just cool enough that people randomly started yelling things back at it.
Also the guy who played Rocky in the movie was so mortified by his participation in it that he never acted or modelled again. And Tim Curry got tired of fans flinging themselves at him in a passionate frenzy so he became, and I quote, “chubby and plain” in order to deter them.
This is the best thing I learned. I was reading about the audience participation thing and how it changes over time and in different places, and apparently in Salt Lake City the callbacks include lots of references to Mormons and Brigham Young University. Let me just say right now that I can imagine no greater happiness than to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Salt Lake City where all the Mormons are. None. That is the best thing that life offers us.
Anyway, I went on the interweb and looked up The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and I discovered a whole bunch of good things. Like that the audience participation, it really was just totally spontaneous; I don’t know how else it might have happened, but whatever, it’s nice to know that the movie was just cool enough that people randomly started yelling things back at it.
Also the guy who played Rocky in the movie was so mortified by his participation in it that he never acted or modelled again. And Tim Curry got tired of fans flinging themselves at him in a passionate frenzy so he became, and I quote, “chubby and plain” in order to deter them.
This is the best thing I learned. I was reading about the audience participation thing and how it changes over time and in different places, and apparently in Salt Lake City the callbacks include lots of references to Mormons and Brigham Young University. Let me just say right now that I can imagine no greater happiness than to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Salt Lake City where all the Mormons are. None. That is the best thing that life offers us.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Babel
So yeah, I’m actually going to tell you what to think of a film that was nominated for an Oscar. Now that the Oscars are over and it doesn’t matter anymore.
The problem with Babel, I think, is that the director had these three short stories to tell, you know, and he didn’t want to make three little short films because – I don’t know – he didn’t think enough people would see them and appreciate his excellent cinematography and choice of actors and sensitive direction of the said well-chosen actors. And indeed he was probably correct, because I myself have only ever seen one short film, a nice little animated one narrated by Geoffrey Rush that featured a cute animated man who liked to hang around naked and smile.
And so the hodgey-podgey Babel was born. It’s about two young Moroccan boys who are taking pot shots while they mind their family’s goats and end up shooting at a tour bus and severely wounding Cate Blanchett, who is on a vacation with her husband (Brad Pitt) that is supposed to mend their marriage after their newest baby died (crib death) and Brad Pitt, in his soul-crushing grief, temporarily deserted the family. Her getting shot brings them together. It’s sweet. They kiss while she pees in a pan. (I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the pathos of her having these bladder problems while she’s languishing near death in a small Moroccan town and waiting for the US Embassy to get its ass in gear to come and save her. But I couldn’t help it. I snickered.) The US makes a big deal about her being shot by a terrorist and there is a lot of gritty brutality towards the Moroccan villagers, who are all entirely innocent because the whole thing was just two kids messing around with a gun.
Cate Blanchett and Brad Pitt have also two (live) children at home in California, being cared for by a devoted Mexican (turns out, illegal immigrant) housekeeper/nanny person called Amelia, and they apparently have no relatives at all because Amelia ends up being forced to take the kids with her to her son’s wedding in Mexico.
Meanwhile, over in Tokyo (I know, right?), a lonely deaf-mute teenager called Chieko (Rinko Kikuchi) struggles to come to terms with her mother’s suicide.
It’s not that I’m complaining about any one aspect of the film, although I really did not appreciate watching Cate Blanchett writhe in agony while a local doctor stitches up her shoulder without any anesthesia (at least I think that’s what was happening – I played it in fast motion and thus lost all of the dialogue, so it is marginally possible that the operating doctor said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Pitt, I will give her this leaf to chew on that will cause her to writhe but prevent her from feeling any pain”). The acting was very good all around (they might have given Gael García Bernal more to do). Rinko Kikuchi was as excellent as you’ve heard, really heart-wrenching at times, and I kept hoping the writer would forget he wasn’t writing a soap opera and have her undergo an operation that would give her the use of her ears, poor darling. (He didn’t though.) The cinematography I guess was well-done except that I have to shut my eyes and whimper when the camera gets all shaky for longer than ten seconds, so I missed several whole portions. Nor was it necessary to keep on alternating between the world with sound in it and the world without sound in it while Cheiko was at the night-club. Once or twice, and I promise dude, the audience gets it.
In the end, I think it would have been better for the storylines to have just been thematically linked. Something about human isolation maybe. Because I just really wasn’t prepared for how tenuous the connection between the Tokyo story arc and the Morocco story arc was going to be. Turns out Chieko’s father used to own the gun that ends up making it into the hands of the Moroccan kids. Bit of a stretch to pretend like this is in any way relevant? Well, yes. And sometimes the plot devices are just silly. Like, seriously, there was no one in the entire country to look after the kids for an evening? And seriously, she left them by themselves in a trackless waste and thought she’d be able to find them again easily?
Or, you know, I could just be searching for something to be cranky about as a cover for the thing I am actually cranky about, which is dust. I have contact lenses, so watching all these scenes with the sand and the dust clouds made my eyes water. I was watching nearly the whole film in a blur. I hate grit.
The problem with Babel, I think, is that the director had these three short stories to tell, you know, and he didn’t want to make three little short films because – I don’t know – he didn’t think enough people would see them and appreciate his excellent cinematography and choice of actors and sensitive direction of the said well-chosen actors. And indeed he was probably correct, because I myself have only ever seen one short film, a nice little animated one narrated by Geoffrey Rush that featured a cute animated man who liked to hang around naked and smile.
And so the hodgey-podgey Babel was born. It’s about two young Moroccan boys who are taking pot shots while they mind their family’s goats and end up shooting at a tour bus and severely wounding Cate Blanchett, who is on a vacation with her husband (Brad Pitt) that is supposed to mend their marriage after their newest baby died (crib death) and Brad Pitt, in his soul-crushing grief, temporarily deserted the family. Her getting shot brings them together. It’s sweet. They kiss while she pees in a pan. (I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the pathos of her having these bladder problems while she’s languishing near death in a small Moroccan town and waiting for the US Embassy to get its ass in gear to come and save her. But I couldn’t help it. I snickered.) The US makes a big deal about her being shot by a terrorist and there is a lot of gritty brutality towards the Moroccan villagers, who are all entirely innocent because the whole thing was just two kids messing around with a gun.
Cate Blanchett and Brad Pitt have also two (live) children at home in California, being cared for by a devoted Mexican (turns out, illegal immigrant) housekeeper/nanny person called Amelia, and they apparently have no relatives at all because Amelia ends up being forced to take the kids with her to her son’s wedding in Mexico.
Meanwhile, over in Tokyo (I know, right?), a lonely deaf-mute teenager called Chieko (Rinko Kikuchi) struggles to come to terms with her mother’s suicide.
It’s not that I’m complaining about any one aspect of the film, although I really did not appreciate watching Cate Blanchett writhe in agony while a local doctor stitches up her shoulder without any anesthesia (at least I think that’s what was happening – I played it in fast motion and thus lost all of the dialogue, so it is marginally possible that the operating doctor said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Pitt, I will give her this leaf to chew on that will cause her to writhe but prevent her from feeling any pain”). The acting was very good all around (they might have given Gael García Bernal more to do). Rinko Kikuchi was as excellent as you’ve heard, really heart-wrenching at times, and I kept hoping the writer would forget he wasn’t writing a soap opera and have her undergo an operation that would give her the use of her ears, poor darling. (He didn’t though.) The cinematography I guess was well-done except that I have to shut my eyes and whimper when the camera gets all shaky for longer than ten seconds, so I missed several whole portions. Nor was it necessary to keep on alternating between the world with sound in it and the world without sound in it while Cheiko was at the night-club. Once or twice, and I promise dude, the audience gets it.
In the end, I think it would have been better for the storylines to have just been thematically linked. Something about human isolation maybe. Because I just really wasn’t prepared for how tenuous the connection between the Tokyo story arc and the Morocco story arc was going to be. Turns out Chieko’s father used to own the gun that ends up making it into the hands of the Moroccan kids. Bit of a stretch to pretend like this is in any way relevant? Well, yes. And sometimes the plot devices are just silly. Like, seriously, there was no one in the entire country to look after the kids for an evening? And seriously, she left them by themselves in a trackless waste and thought she’d be able to find them again easily?
Or, you know, I could just be searching for something to be cranky about as a cover for the thing I am actually cranky about, which is dust. I have contact lenses, so watching all these scenes with the sand and the dust clouds made my eyes water. I was watching nearly the whole film in a blur. I hate grit.
Monday, March 5, 2007
A fond, fond memory
Yesterday Steve mentioned something about his taste in French fries, and it reminded me of the restaurant that exists in my memory as probably the best restaurant of all time. It is a nice little restaurant called Allison’s Restaurant, and it has many delightful features.
In the first place, it is called Allison’s Restaurant, which means that you can sing, You can get anythi-ing you want / At Allison’s Restaurant, and not feel you have been untrue to the lyrics. Indeed, for many years I was not certain whether the song actually said Alice’s or Allison’s Restaurant. I felt that if the lyricist knew what s/he was talking about, s/he would have gone with the latter; but I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect all lyricists in the world to know about nice restaurants in Kennebunkport, Maine.
Leading me to the second nice feature, which is that this charming eatery is in Kennebunkport, Maine, which is a town of many charms. For instance, it has a place called Blowing Cave where if you get there at the exact right time, the ocean water will swoosh into the cave and come out PFFOOOOOOO! in a big splash! And if you stand on the rocks nearby the water will splash upon you! IT IS SO FUN! So by timing your life correctly, you can eat a big delicious meal and then go and be splashed by a very fascinating natural phenomenon! And I believe that from Blowing Cave you can also see the senior Bushes’ summer home, so you can also stick your tongue out at that in order to express your disapproval of their philosophy and leadership. (But do not do it very conspicuously or the security people will Come And Get You. They will. It’s true.)
Then also the food at Allison’s Restaurant is very tasty. I am not a clam chowder aficionado, but I am informed by those who are that the clam chowder at Allison’s Restaurant is matchless clam chowder. Myself, I am a big fan of their French fries. It is one of those dishes that I cannot bear to share with other people, even though I am a good sharer usually.
Furthermore (as if you need a furthermore!), they have Trivial Pursuit cards on every table! Which means that every meal eaten at Allison’s Restaurant is a chance to acquire more knowledge on any number of subjects! (Six.) I was the best at the literature one, but I was not even very good at that. My mum got lots and lots and lots of answers right. What jolly good times we did have there.
So if you are ever in or around Kennebunkport, Maine, hit up Allison’s Restaurant. Also the toy shop with the marionnettes. I always kind of wanted one of those marionnettes, but as they were big goofy colorful flamingo things, I was not sure what I would do with them once I possessed them. Stage a one-flamingo marionnette drama?
In the first place, it is called Allison’s Restaurant, which means that you can sing, You can get anythi-ing you want / At Allison’s Restaurant, and not feel you have been untrue to the lyrics. Indeed, for many years I was not certain whether the song actually said Alice’s or Allison’s Restaurant. I felt that if the lyricist knew what s/he was talking about, s/he would have gone with the latter; but I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect all lyricists in the world to know about nice restaurants in Kennebunkport, Maine.
Leading me to the second nice feature, which is that this charming eatery is in Kennebunkport, Maine, which is a town of many charms. For instance, it has a place called Blowing Cave where if you get there at the exact right time, the ocean water will swoosh into the cave and come out PFFOOOOOOO! in a big splash! And if you stand on the rocks nearby the water will splash upon you! IT IS SO FUN! So by timing your life correctly, you can eat a big delicious meal and then go and be splashed by a very fascinating natural phenomenon! And I believe that from Blowing Cave you can also see the senior Bushes’ summer home, so you can also stick your tongue out at that in order to express your disapproval of their philosophy and leadership. (But do not do it very conspicuously or the security people will Come And Get You. They will. It’s true.)
Then also the food at Allison’s Restaurant is very tasty. I am not a clam chowder aficionado, but I am informed by those who are that the clam chowder at Allison’s Restaurant is matchless clam chowder. Myself, I am a big fan of their French fries. It is one of those dishes that I cannot bear to share with other people, even though I am a good sharer usually.
Furthermore (as if you need a furthermore!), they have Trivial Pursuit cards on every table! Which means that every meal eaten at Allison’s Restaurant is a chance to acquire more knowledge on any number of subjects! (Six.) I was the best at the literature one, but I was not even very good at that. My mum got lots and lots and lots of answers right. What jolly good times we did have there.
So if you are ever in or around Kennebunkport, Maine, hit up Allison’s Restaurant. Also the toy shop with the marionnettes. I always kind of wanted one of those marionnettes, but as they were big goofy colorful flamingo things, I was not sure what I would do with them once I possessed them. Stage a one-flamingo marionnette drama?
Sunday, March 4, 2007
March FOURTH!
I forgot to say! Today is the only day of the year that is a command! MARCH FORTH! I love today. It is one of my happy days in the year because I love to shout March FORTH in stentorian tones, even when there is no one around to hear me. It is really more like MARCH FORTH! because I place emphasis on both words, but even more on the FORTH.
Today is also pleasing because it is 3.4.07 (or, if you are British, 4.3.07), and 3 + 4 = 7! Hooray! Today is mathematically accurate! You know, if you substitute the proper little math symbols for the day month and year separation marks. Hooray for today! The only way this date could be any better is if God had chosen to mark it with a lunar eclipse rather than yesterday. (Although yesterday’s lunar eclipse was very cool, and it was still kinda going on after midnight, depending on what time zone you were in.)
Today is also pleasing because it is 3.4.07 (or, if you are British, 4.3.07), and 3 + 4 = 7! Hooray! Today is mathematically accurate! You know, if you substitute the proper little math symbols for the day month and year separation marks. Hooray for today! The only way this date could be any better is if God had chosen to mark it with a lunar eclipse rather than yesterday. (Although yesterday’s lunar eclipse was very cool, and it was still kinda going on after midnight, depending on what time zone you were in.)
The unfair thing about British rain
I discovered this today, and I think it’s totally unfair.
So Britain has a reputation for raining a lot, and it’s not totally unmerited (though not as merited as I might have thought, because — at least in Essex — we have a fair amount of sunny days), and today when I got up it was raining.
Sort of. I mean, it wasn’t raining hard. It doesn’t rain hard very often here; in fact, usually it is just a light drizzle that looks much rainier than it is, and it seems like you can see lots of raindrops falling in front of you but you aren’t getting hit by all that many. Whereas at home when it properly rains, each individual raindrop is deliberately searching you out so that it can fall on you and make you as soaking wet as it can possibly manage. When I put my hand out the window, it did not get hit by a lot of raindrops. So I figured it would be fine if I walked down to Tesco for my groceries, since Sunday is my shopping day, and walked back unless there was a handy bus to take me (which I knew there wouldn’t be because it’s Sunday and the buses do not love me on a Sunday. Or ever.)
Okay, but here’s the thing I failed to factor into my calculations. Even when it’s not raining very hard, it still gets you wet. And if you stay out in the not-very-hard rain for a long time — say twenty minutes or so, the approximate time it takes me to walk from my flat to Tesco — enough raindrops will find their way to you that by the time you get home you will be very, very wet indeed. In fact soaking. And you will have to put your dripping coat onto the radiator in order to remind it that it doesn’t work unless it is dry.
Anyway it made me cross. Why must it look so harmless if it will soak you so thoroughly? Stupid rain. I can hear it drizzling harmlessly on my window pretending it never did a thing to anyone in its life. HUH. I know about you, rain. Fool me once, shame — shame — shame on you; fool me — you can’t get fooled again!
So Britain has a reputation for raining a lot, and it’s not totally unmerited (though not as merited as I might have thought, because — at least in Essex — we have a fair amount of sunny days), and today when I got up it was raining.
Sort of. I mean, it wasn’t raining hard. It doesn’t rain hard very often here; in fact, usually it is just a light drizzle that looks much rainier than it is, and it seems like you can see lots of raindrops falling in front of you but you aren’t getting hit by all that many. Whereas at home when it properly rains, each individual raindrop is deliberately searching you out so that it can fall on you and make you as soaking wet as it can possibly manage. When I put my hand out the window, it did not get hit by a lot of raindrops. So I figured it would be fine if I walked down to Tesco for my groceries, since Sunday is my shopping day, and walked back unless there was a handy bus to take me (which I knew there wouldn’t be because it’s Sunday and the buses do not love me on a Sunday. Or ever.)
Okay, but here’s the thing I failed to factor into my calculations. Even when it’s not raining very hard, it still gets you wet. And if you stay out in the not-very-hard rain for a long time — say twenty minutes or so, the approximate time it takes me to walk from my flat to Tesco — enough raindrops will find their way to you that by the time you get home you will be very, very wet indeed. In fact soaking. And you will have to put your dripping coat onto the radiator in order to remind it that it doesn’t work unless it is dry.
Anyway it made me cross. Why must it look so harmless if it will soak you so thoroughly? Stupid rain. I can hear it drizzling harmlessly on my window pretending it never did a thing to anyone in its life. HUH. I know about you, rain. Fool me once, shame — shame — shame on you; fool me — you can’t get fooled again!
Friday, March 2, 2007
The day in review
Things that have made me happy today
1. My professor says “agin” for “against”. Heeheeheehee.
2. The 3rd Marquess of Queensberry, who was also (in case you’re interested) a relation of Lord Alfred Douglas, wretched Bosie who did the sex with Oscar Wilde, was violently insane, and — hee, hee, hee, hee — one time (I really shouldn’t be laughing) he killed a young scullion and roasted him on a spit and ATE HIM. Partly. Until someone found him and made him stop. Yes, this is on the list of things that made me happy today.
3. Cheese. I love cheese. Today I am having a delicious calzone. Calzones are terribly delicious and they are extremely full of cheese and I will eat one! Full of cheese! YUM!
4. Prussia! I totally forgot Prussia existed! But, hey, everyone, remember Prussia? Prussia! It’s like Russia, but with a P! And I think there was one poor heir apparent who like watched his best friend get killed on his father’s orders. Again, yes, this is on the list of things that made me happy today. PRUSSIA! (I feel like a Sesame Street episode.)
5. Queen Victoria liked Negro spirituals, and every year this one black choir from a college in Nashville would come over to England and sing for her.
6. Jane Austen. I like her. She’s funny.
7. PRUSSIA! Remember Prussia? Lovely Prussia!
8. my optimistic certainty, and I’m sorry to bring this up again because I’m tempting the Fates, that Lupin isn’t going to die.
Things that didn’t make me happy today
1. The essay I still have to write by Wednesday.
2. Being an American. I felt really bad about this today because in class today (the same class where the professor says “agin” and tells us about Queen Victoria liking spirituals!) the professor was talking about the American Revolution and how it was a humongous body blow to the country of Britain. And they were crushed and disheartened and they began to doubt themselves. And oh, I just felt so sad and sorry. I hung my head in shame because I felt that I was responsible for crushing the souls of a nation. But, y’know, they were doing taxation without representation. I also felt silly because I couldn’t remember when the American Revolution ended, and I only remembered two facts about the War of 1812 (the stealing people from American ships and the Andrew Jackson leading the Battle of New Orleans victory thing after the war was actually over).
1. My professor says “agin” for “against”. Heeheeheehee.
2. The 3rd Marquess of Queensberry, who was also (in case you’re interested) a relation of Lord Alfred Douglas, wretched Bosie who did the sex with Oscar Wilde, was violently insane, and — hee, hee, hee, hee — one time (I really shouldn’t be laughing) he killed a young scullion and roasted him on a spit and ATE HIM. Partly. Until someone found him and made him stop. Yes, this is on the list of things that made me happy today.
3. Cheese. I love cheese. Today I am having a delicious calzone. Calzones are terribly delicious and they are extremely full of cheese and I will eat one! Full of cheese! YUM!
4. Prussia! I totally forgot Prussia existed! But, hey, everyone, remember Prussia? Prussia! It’s like Russia, but with a P! And I think there was one poor heir apparent who like watched his best friend get killed on his father’s orders. Again, yes, this is on the list of things that made me happy today. PRUSSIA! (I feel like a Sesame Street episode.)
5. Queen Victoria liked Negro spirituals, and every year this one black choir from a college in Nashville would come over to England and sing for her.
6. Jane Austen. I like her. She’s funny.
7. PRUSSIA! Remember Prussia? Lovely Prussia!
8. my optimistic certainty, and I’m sorry to bring this up again because I’m tempting the Fates, that Lupin isn’t going to die.
Things that didn’t make me happy today
1. The essay I still have to write by Wednesday.
2. Being an American. I felt really bad about this today because in class today (the same class where the professor says “agin” and tells us about Queen Victoria liking spirituals!) the professor was talking about the American Revolution and how it was a humongous body blow to the country of Britain. And they were crushed and disheartened and they began to doubt themselves. And oh, I just felt so sad and sorry. I hung my head in shame because I felt that I was responsible for crushing the souls of a nation. But, y’know, they were doing taxation without representation. I also felt silly because I couldn’t remember when the American Revolution ended, and I only remembered two facts about the War of 1812 (the stealing people from American ships and the Andrew Jackson leading the Battle of New Orleans victory thing after the war was actually over).
I never knew that before!
I have totally saved your asses, people who read this blog and are planning to travel by wind-powered boat to the Southern Hemisphere. I am going to give you a handy navigational tip!
Apparently, there is no north star in the Southern Hemisphere! No North Star whatsoever! You can’t use the North Star to navigate in the Southern Hemisphere. So if you’re traveling to the Southern Hemisphere, and you were planning on depending on the North Star for navigational purposes, you would have been SHIT OUT OF LUCK. Because when you cross the equator, the North Star, it completely and totally and utterly vanishes, and you can’t see it! And you can’t use it to find North!
Okay, so let me help you out. If you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, and you’re having navigational issues, just search for the Southern Cross! Not the North Star but the Southern Cross. It is a very teensy little constellation, but if you follow the line created by the two stars (I know that a cross requires four stars, so try very hard to pick the two correct ones), they will take you right to the South Pole. Or, y’know, close enough.
See? I have SAVED YOU.
More saving information: If you get into a fight with an alligator or a crocodile, hit it on the nose, poke it in the eyes, and scream a lot. If that doesn’t work, play dead.
Even more saving information: Garlic fends off vampires and also like demons and werewolves.
You are so very, very welcome.
Apparently, there is no north star in the Southern Hemisphere! No North Star whatsoever! You can’t use the North Star to navigate in the Southern Hemisphere. So if you’re traveling to the Southern Hemisphere, and you were planning on depending on the North Star for navigational purposes, you would have been SHIT OUT OF LUCK. Because when you cross the equator, the North Star, it completely and totally and utterly vanishes, and you can’t see it! And you can’t use it to find North!
Okay, so let me help you out. If you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, and you’re having navigational issues, just search for the Southern Cross! Not the North Star but the Southern Cross. It is a very teensy little constellation, but if you follow the line created by the two stars (I know that a cross requires four stars, so try very hard to pick the two correct ones), they will take you right to the South Pole. Or, y’know, close enough.
See? I have SAVED YOU.
More saving information: If you get into a fight with an alligator or a crocodile, hit it on the nose, poke it in the eyes, and scream a lot. If that doesn’t work, play dead.
Even more saving information: Garlic fends off vampires and also like demons and werewolves.
You are so very, very welcome.
Happy birthday, lil Splotch!
This is a day late because I was trying to think of what to say about Kate that would encapsulate her fabulousness, but I have plainly failed miserably so I’m just going to settle for a few comments at random. What really encapsulates her is this story, and I’ve already said that, so anything afterwards is just going to be much less Kate-capturing. But here we go. Lil Kate’s birthday post.
Kate is nice because she likes to watch movies. And Robyn likes to watch movies. This pretty much forms the basis of their relationship. They watch movies together like anything. The other thing that forms the basis of their relationship is their mutual very small bladder size. When I watch movies with them, about every twenty minutes one of them says, “Um, can we pause it for a sec?” (In my household we do not let people leave the room while movies are playing and not pause the movie. That just Isn’t Done. Even if they say they’ve seen it ten thousand times and they hate this part and that’s why they’re pretending they need to go get some water, we pause the movie. Because every golden moment counts.) So we pause the movie, and the one that didn’t ask for it to be paused says, “Oh good! Me too!” and off they both dash to the bathrooms to answer the call of nature. It is just lucky for them that we have two bathrooms in my house because otherwise wouldn’t that just be too bad for them.
But I forgive her for this bladder issue for the following reasons:
This one time a few years ago when my sister and I were staying at the house alone for a week and everything went totally wrong and the dog got sick and we had no food and no money and it was very stressful, we finally decided that damn it we were going to make some delicious dessert for ourselves, so we started assembling ingredients, and we were out of milk. All out. Of milk. We had no milk. I believe both of us burst into tears, and then we rang up lil Kate and asked if we could borrow some milk and she said of course. So we drove over there and she gave us some milk and additionally gave us some movies that she said would help us through our time of struggle, and indeed the merry hijinks of the metal-controlling Ian McKellan and sexy clawed Hugh Jackman saved us from falling into the depths of despair and never re-emerging.
She totally hooked us up with Cold Comfort Farm. When Seth is all being his farmy Seth Starkadder self and Judith is wailing and they play the Tara theme — ah, we knew we were in the presence of cinematic genius. And that is only one of the genius flims she has introduced us to; there are many others, including (hooray!) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Angels in America.
She is very cute in this one picture I have of her sitting upon the bed in her cute pajamas reading Barbara Cartland’s romance masterpiece Love is Contraband. And yes! she…likes Barbara…Cartland. It is…sad, but…true.
(Barbara Cartland, in case you’re interested, is deeply interested in vitamin therapy. Deeply. It says so in all her About the Authors. And she helps gypsies and old people, and one year she published 26 books. That’s one every two weeks. Just to give those of you who don’t know Barbara Cartland a feel for the quality of her novels.)
A few years ago she did a science fair project on dark chocolate and its effect on blood pressure and I got to be part of it and she gave me all this chocolate for free! And I just had to eat it! Every day I HAD to eat some chocolate! IT WAS SO GREAT. And that is how I know that I love dark dark dark Lindt chocolate with all of my soul.
She once said that Anne of Green Gables could kiss her ass.
So anyway, lil Kate, happy belated birthday! I hope you had a splendid splendid birthday! And I even have some birthday advice for you, since I am such a wisdom figure in your life: If you ever meet Matt Damon, don’t do that. I know it’s tempting but you’ll have to resist.
Kate is nice because she likes to watch movies. And Robyn likes to watch movies. This pretty much forms the basis of their relationship. They watch movies together like anything. The other thing that forms the basis of their relationship is their mutual very small bladder size. When I watch movies with them, about every twenty minutes one of them says, “Um, can we pause it for a sec?” (In my household we do not let people leave the room while movies are playing and not pause the movie. That just Isn’t Done. Even if they say they’ve seen it ten thousand times and they hate this part and that’s why they’re pretending they need to go get some water, we pause the movie. Because every golden moment counts.) So we pause the movie, and the one that didn’t ask for it to be paused says, “Oh good! Me too!” and off they both dash to the bathrooms to answer the call of nature. It is just lucky for them that we have two bathrooms in my house because otherwise wouldn’t that just be too bad for them.
But I forgive her for this bladder issue for the following reasons:
This one time a few years ago when my sister and I were staying at the house alone for a week and everything went totally wrong and the dog got sick and we had no food and no money and it was very stressful, we finally decided that damn it we were going to make some delicious dessert for ourselves, so we started assembling ingredients, and we were out of milk. All out. Of milk. We had no milk. I believe both of us burst into tears, and then we rang up lil Kate and asked if we could borrow some milk and she said of course. So we drove over there and she gave us some milk and additionally gave us some movies that she said would help us through our time of struggle, and indeed the merry hijinks of the metal-controlling Ian McKellan and sexy clawed Hugh Jackman saved us from falling into the depths of despair and never re-emerging.
She totally hooked us up with Cold Comfort Farm. When Seth is all being his farmy Seth Starkadder self and Judith is wailing and they play the Tara theme — ah, we knew we were in the presence of cinematic genius. And that is only one of the genius flims she has introduced us to; there are many others, including (hooray!) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Angels in America.
She is very cute in this one picture I have of her sitting upon the bed in her cute pajamas reading Barbara Cartland’s romance masterpiece Love is Contraband. And yes! she…likes Barbara…Cartland. It is…sad, but…true.
(Barbara Cartland, in case you’re interested, is deeply interested in vitamin therapy. Deeply. It says so in all her About the Authors. And she helps gypsies and old people, and one year she published 26 books. That’s one every two weeks. Just to give those of you who don’t know Barbara Cartland a feel for the quality of her novels.)
A few years ago she did a science fair project on dark chocolate and its effect on blood pressure and I got to be part of it and she gave me all this chocolate for free! And I just had to eat it! Every day I HAD to eat some chocolate! IT WAS SO GREAT. And that is how I know that I love dark dark dark Lindt chocolate with all of my soul.
She once said that Anne of Green Gables could kiss her ass.
So anyway, lil Kate, happy belated birthday! I hope you had a splendid splendid birthday! And I even have some birthday advice for you, since I am such a wisdom figure in your life: If you ever meet Matt Damon, don’t do that. I know it’s tempting but you’ll have to resist.
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