It Gets Better - If We Make It Better.

The news has been abuzz the last few weeks with the stories of bullied teens. A nationwide campaign was launched to tell kids everywhere that It Gets Better. And watching those videos makes me happy, and a little tearful, because it does. It does get better.

But what I can’t help thinking is that not enough is actually being done. All we’re really doing is telling kids, “Suck it up for a few years, then you’ll be free.”

But what if they can’t suck it up? What if every damn day they’re tortured by kids in the hallways and locker rooms and buses that teachers and parents turn a blind eye to because they’re different? Because they’re fat, or slow, or ugly, or gay. They’re too nice, too hairy, too smart.

We’re basically telling kids to endure this abuse because someday those kids won’t be doing it to their face any longer. But they’ll still be discriminated against by their own government. Possibly their own families. Sometimes their jobs or churches. We’re telling them to wait and hope that it will get better.

But in the mean time, they have to suffer, because no one is listening to the people trying to change things. Not enough parents are teaching their kids about tolerance and diversity. Not enough schools are enforcing anti-bullying policies. Not enough people are doing their part.

I know what it is to be bullied. Every day for three years I was trapped for 90 minutes on a bus with kids who made fun of me because I’m fat. Those years are when the Star Wars movies were re-released, and you can probably guess which nickname I got. Some mornings I would miss the bus on purpose and my mother would have to make the 45 minute drive, making herself late for work, to get me to school on time.

I grew up with these kids, I’m even friendly with them now. But I will always, always remember those days. Crying on the bus, being sick when I got to school. Not wearing certain clothes because they showed my pre-pubescent belly rolls.

Kids are cruel. We hear this all the time, but I don’t think we’re actually listening. Kids are cruel.

And that has to stop. Because those cruel kids don’t always grow up to be friendly with their victims. And their victims don't always get over it.

I am glad President Obama made a video, but it was the least he could do. Then again, it was the absolute least he could do.

I want more.

Jon Stewart, come to our party!

So, Jon Stewart [you know, from The Daily Show?] is having a little shindig on the 30th. Perhaps you've heard of it?

Problem is, my roommates and I are trying to have our OWN little shindig that night, and many of our guests are bailing on us because they want to go to the rally and think they'll be tired or whatever later. Lame, right?

Well, I'm hoping to start an INTERNET MOVEMENT, y'all.

Go tell Jon Stewart to come to our party.

C'mon, you know you want to. This could be the kind of human interest story WORTH READING. Or watching. Whatever, you know it would be awesome.

TELL THE WORLD!

My Very Own Recipe: Butternut Squash and Mushroom Peanut Butter Soup

Butternut Squash and Mushroom Peanut Butter Soup
Gluten-free, vegetarian, could be vegan [if you're into that sort of thing...] All measurements are fairly approximate. I was just throwing stuff together that sounded good.

Giant butternut squash, peeled and chopped into two-inchish chunks
3 small onions, sliced up nice and thin
3 portobella caps, sliced up pinky-sized and then in halfish.
1/2 C peanut butter
3/4 C apple or pear cider
1/4 C milk
palmful of curry powder
palmful kosher salt
palmful ground black pepper [white or pink would be lovely, too]

I mix the seasonings together and keep them in a bowl next to the stove. You'll probably end up using all of it by the end.

Whack the squash chunks on a baking sheet with a couple teaspoons of olive oil, a bunch of the spice mixture. Roast at 350 degrees, stirring a few times, until knife tender. Turn off oven and let it chill while you do other stuff.

The other stuff: in a heavy pot with a lid or dutch oven, caramelize the onions in 2ish teaspoons of olive oil. Season with more of the spice mixture. Once onions are nice and browned, add the 'shrooms, a bit of the cider, and the milk. Add the rest of the spices, and let the mushrooms get all soft and squishy while you are doing more Other Stuff.

The other other stuff: In a large food processor, puree half of the squash, drizzling in some of the cider as you go to help things smooth out. Dump into the pot with the mushrooms and onions. Puree the second half of the squash with the peanut butter, again adding the cider. Once that's all smooth and creamy, add it to the pot and stir in the rest of the cider.

Let things hang out for a bit on low heat. If making earlier in the day, just leave it on the stove until you're ready to serve or take it to your potluck.

Goes really well with bread, or a grilled cheese sandwich with apple and honey.

Happy Things - September Edition

Alright, y'all, let's get physical positive!

Things for/about which I am Happy:
peanut M&Ms [I am chomping on some RIGHT THIS SECOND].
clean drinking water.
my cutest ever puppy.
Joni Mitchell [times A MILLION].
Gigantic coffee mugs.
my rain boots
my new suede knee-high boots [they are SO AWESOME, y'all, I can't even believe they're mine].
action-packed movies [GIMME THE SPLOSIONS!!].
quiet tea times.
people that hold the elevator for you when your hands are full of flu vaccine.
people that care about other people.
people.
lovely music.
pink post-its.
words.
the letter "L"; language, longitude, lull, lariat, lollipop, left, lucid, loquacious, love, love, love.
dirt.
ink.
windows.
soundtracks.
Matt Smith: [bow-ties are so cool.]

the internet.
friends.
family.
learning.

iSight is a hell of a drug.

I made this, using iMovie. 338 stills, set to .1 second each.



It was a lot of fun! After an happy accident whilst opening a single one, every picture in my Photobooth album flashed across the screen. I thought they looked neat and decided to put them together into a collage.

Music is "People's Playground Version A" by Vampire's Sound Incorporation. If you can get your hands on their album "Vampyros Lesbos - Sexadelic Dance Party" I highly recommend it.

Poetry: Bit, Bag, and Game.

Bit, Bag, and Game.

I want a job that I can move around
push and pull barrels
tear walls down or hang signs up

I want to fix wood planks to steel rails
flex my muscles a bit
wear jeans and get messy

I want sun and air
maybe concrete and metal
but definitely crouching down and dirt on the seat of my pants

I want to learn while I am doing.
Come home with mud on my neck and a dusty bandana.
Give me a hammer, tell me what to pound.

- Molly Price, 2010

10 Extremely Compelling Reasons for SPX Attendance

10 Reasons you should attend the Small Press Expo on Saturday, September 11th and Sunday, September 12th.:

1: You will be supporting independent artists. [This is, I feel, the most important point, because art is extremely important to me.]

2: You will have a chance to buy neat swag that's not available elsewhere.

3: You will be able to meet COMPLETELY AWESOME PEOPLE who make amazing things for you to read and view.

4: I will be volunteering there on Saturday, from 1pm to 5pm. I don't know what I'll be doing yet, but you better believe I will be doing it ENTHUSIASTICALLY. Watch my twitter on Saturday for details, cos I am going to tweet my little heart out. Also keep an eye on #SPX2010, cos I have a feeling it will be jumping.

5: Bethesda is quite pretty, actually, and the hotel is GORGEOUS.

6: It’s only $10 for a single day pass, and only $15 for both. This is an Outrageous Deal, y’all.

7: It’s easy to get to, wot with a Metro stop across the street, not to mention tons of parking in several garages nearby.

8: There is a Chocolate Fountain, y’all. I am not even making this up.

9: ANIMATION SHOWCASE.

10: Proceeds benefit the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.

If all this doesn’t make you want to go SO BAD, then you might be a robot and incapable of persuasion. If this is the case, can we be BFF? I’ve always wanted a robot BFF.

Photos courtesy of Rachel, SPX2009

Melancholy Thursday.

Do you ever have one of those days, when your hair is perfect and your dress is fierce and Gwen Stefani is playing on the soundtrack of your life? You float down hallways and people are just lucky to be looking at you?

Yeah, today is not one of those days.

I'm down. I'm angry about this priest. I am nervous about Earl.

I am sad , I am so so sad about James Lee.

I need something. A sabbatical. I want to get away from my life for a while, but I have to work every day.

It's not a Happy Things Thursday, and I'm sorry.

But, it could be Okay. I've got my iPod, and some oatmeal. I can make this work. I think it's time for a new tattoo.

Happy Things - August Edition

After a very disturbing dream where I was performing unsuccessful spinal surgery, I decided to focus on the positive. And so:
peaches from the farmers market
poetry [i am not usually a big poetry reader, but Louise Erdrich has been making me happy.]
roommates [I started this list before they went completely crazy and started obsessing over ghost hunting shows.]
thunderstorms
thorough dentistry
words
smiling
Scott Pilgrim
coffee
flowers
long walks
tattoos [I’m ready for my next one.]
wasabi
the letter G. gorgeous, gregarious, gamine, gainly, gallant, grey, great.
oranges
babies
tea
paper stars
Lester
friends
honey
My sister and brother-in-law:



What about y’all? I need some good happy things this morning. Load me up!

A Democrat Walks Into a Gun Range...

I started writing this post a little differently than I’ve done in the past. I started by googling murder.

In the five years [and counting] that I have lived in Baltimore, 1058 people have been murdered. That number will climb, probably this week. Probably today.

Of these deaths, the overwhelming majority were gun related.

Knowing these facts, and having been raised in a liberal, democratic family who support gun control and abhor physical violence, I am naturally terrified of guns. Terrified. Until last Sunday, I had never seen a full gun in person beyond the handle of one poking out of police holsters.

I refuse to live my life in fear, though. There are things beyond my control - Guns exist. People use them, often for terrible, horrible things. I don’t have to be happy about either of those points, but I will never ever say I haven’t tried to walk in all peoples shoes.

And so, I wanted to know exactly what I can expect from a gun. The noise, the smell, the feeling of what the person holding it must have. And no self-respecting planner for the Zombie Apocalypse should ever pass up the opportunity for new skills.

So, I asked my friend, Matthew, an officer and a gentleman, to help me face my fear. He responded enthusiastically, and we set a date.

In the few days leading up to the Event, I was extremely nervous. I freaked out to everyone I could, including my dear friend, Rachel, who happens to be Matthew’s older sister.

me: what if i shoot your brother
will you ever forgive me?
Rachel: After I stop laughing
Yes
I will forgive you
only, please shoot him just a little if you can
or near
how about near?
me: i can do near

What? It’s perfectly valid terror, okay?

***

“Do you think they’ll know I’m a democrat?” I ask Matthew, half-joking. We’re pulling into the parking lot of the range.

“Aaand that’s why we took my car.” he says, all chipper and matter-of-fact. I think of the OBAMA 08 magnet on my perky, import sedan, with its fuel efficiency and general liberal projections. I’m pretty sure nothing would have happened to it, but I still think it’s a sweet gesture.

We can hear the gun shots from the parking lot; a rolling stream of pops coming from a completely unassuming building at the top of a hill.

There are picnic tables outside and Matthew sets his bag-o-guns down to fish out ear and eye protection.

“Wait here,” he says, jamming orange ear-plugs into his ears.

I stand there, making furtive glances at the duffel bag that I know contains three guns and a whole mess of bullets. How can we just be walking around with this stuff? I mean, objectively I know why - because he is a police officer and therefor licensed for this sort of thing - but HOLY CRAP THREE GUNS AND A MESS OF BULLETS.

I keep my cool.

He comes back, and says the range is a little full and we’ll just wait here until a few more people clear out. I nod; it seems like the thing to do. He makes me try on the ear muffs, and decides I don’t need to wear extra eye protection since I’ve already got on my glasses. Okay, I tell him. It seems like the thing to say.

Inside my head I’ve got a steady mantra going of holy crap holy crap holy crap. I’m mostly not paralysed with fear. I mean, I can make my legs work, and Matthew is extremely reassuring.

“You’ll be great,” he says. I try not to laugh hysterically at his woefully misplaced confidence in my abilities. There are a lot of things I’m trying not to do. Vomit. Run away. Trip. Drop the deadly weapon I’m about to hold. Vomit.

We enter the range proper through a curtain of plastic flaps, and now I can really smell the gunpowder. My friend Casey warned me that it was a really great smell, and he wasn’t wrong. It’s, and I’m sorry to perpetuate any kind of stereotypes, but it’s kind of a sexy smell. Dark, sharp. Combined with the constant noise and people all around, carrying extremely dangerous things, I am giddy with fear and excitement.

Holy crap holy crap holy crap.

At this point, I can’t really hear anything Matthew is saying to me. I watch with close interest as he unpacks two semi-automatic pistols from a plastic carrying case. The clips are loose and empty and he sets everything out in a row. Next, he takes out a few boxes of bullets and arranges them just so, before opening one of the boxes and spends a few minutes telling me what’s happening.

All dialogue from now on is fuzzy, but I’ll try to recall as accurately as possible.

“We’re going to shoot the baby-Glock first,” he says, casually jamming bullets into the clip. I nod, pretty sure he didn’t tell me we’re shooting baby ducks. Matthew’s not a hunter.

All around us, the popping is never-ending. We’re close to the end of the pistol stations, and to our right, there’s a row of people stretched out on the rifle range.

Matthew is talking about safety, when I feel something small land on the top of my head and fall down in front of me. I look down at the ground, which is littered with brass, and then up at Matthew, and he laughs.

“Yeah, those are just bullet casings. No big deal.” It’s all so absurd. This is my Sunday, standing here, getting peppered with bullet casings. For many people, this is routine.

We grin at each other and get back to business. The baby-Glock [Glock 27] uses the same S&W .40 bullets as his service pistol, the Glock 40, but has a shorter handle, and I think, a slightly shorter muzzle. He puts the clip in, checks the chamber, and then shows me how to hold it so that I won’t break my thumb, which I appreciate. He tells me how to stand, to lean forward a little to prepare for the kick. I nod. He tells me not to even put my finger on the trigger unless I’m intending to pull it right then. I nod. He shows me how to line up the sights. I nod.

And I’m suddenly there in front of the target, holding a loaded gun. Everything kind of quiets to a hush, and I can feel my heart pounding in my mouth.

Holy crap holy crap holy crap.

I take a deep breath, and as I let it out, I squeeze the trigger.

BANG.

My hand jerks, and I feel the kick all the way down into my feet. It’s loud, it’s startling, but I haven't hit anyone! In fact, I haven't even hit the target.

"Good!" Matthew says, "Now, try again, a little higher."

I nod, and fire again. In the dirt. A few more times, and I manage to hit the board. Guns are heavy, and my hands are shaking more each shot. I let Matthew take over for a little bit while I think about things.

Shooting is fun, y’all. I am not even going to lie. It’s a visceral rush each time you pull the trigger. But, really, it is terrifying. It’s an extreme responsibility, and one that I wish people didn’t take so lightly.

That doesn’t stop me from trying some more. We move on to Matthew’s service weapon, the Glock 40. It’s larger, heavier, and when I fire it, I like it more immediately. The kick isn’t as extreme, and I manage to hit, not the bulls eye, but the same general area of the target a few times in a row. It’s not inside the widest circle, but, dammit, it’s on the paper.

We take turns for a while and then Matthew decides it’s time to bring out the .38 Special. “The gun of Sherlock Holmes,” Matthew tells me. It’s a five-chambered revolver that’s smaller than either of the Glocks.

Matthew loads it and tells me something surprising. I don’t know if it’s true with all revolvers, but with this one, you don’t have to cock it each time you pull the trigger. All my gunslinging preconceptions out the window! He hands it over and tells me to have at it.

The grip is awkward and small. I’m not sure what to do with my left hand since there’s really no room to wrap it fully around my right. I settle for a lady-like cupping and pull the trigger.

I do not like it, Sam I Am. The kick is much harder, and there is no cushion for the shock. I only fire it twice, before handing it back to Matthew to finish off the chambers.

We load the Glock 40 again and I shoot a whole clip on my own. Matthew, being the good teacher he is, coaches me through each shot. “A little to the left. A little lower. Look! That was the bulls-eye! Okay, that was the dirt, but look at that nice cluster on top.”

A cease-fire is called. Everyone has to unload and stand back while the range officers sweep away some of the shells and replace the targets. People are allowed to go and collect brass or take their target. A couple of range officers fix a target board that has been knocked sideways.

I don’t know exactly how long we’ve been there, but I’d estimate about forty-five minutes, maybe an hour. I am wiped out. Guns are heavy, and combined with the shock of each firing, my arms are tired and a little noodley.

The cease-fire ends and we pack up and make a donation to the range on the way out. It’s been quite an experience.

I’m still terrified, I still support gun control, strongly. I’ve never witnessed one of these Baltimore murders, and I hope to God I never will, nor be a victim.

But now I’ve asked the questions for myself and taken the time to do my research. I hope others are able to do so. Don’t ever say you haven’t tried to walk in everyone’s shoes.

And Something About a Monkey.

When I was growing up I was told, along with pretty much everyone I knew, that I could do anything I wanted to do if I just put my mind to it.

And I believed it. It sounds great, right? Really inspirational! I was ready to take on the world at the age of twelve!

But what happens with you just can't put your mind to it? What is a kid supposed to do when they can't follow a lesson because the window is so much more interesting. There's birds out there! They're flying and catching bugs! Hey look, that kid has a piece of paper sticking out of their bag, maybe I should tell them. I wish I wore different shoes today, these totally don't match my shirt. Oh crap the teacher just asked me to start reading but I don't know where we are, I already finished the book while we were sitting here. I can tell you how it ends! They throw a party while the Pigman is out of town, and he is disappointed in them and kicks the bucket. And something about a monkey. There, can I just take the quiz now? Oh good they're leaving me alone, I can write a note to...

Sound familiar?

So, I have attention deficit disorder, predominately innattentive. I was quiet and kept my head down at school, and so it wasn't diagnosed until I was twenty-two and had a panic attack when I tried to sign up for a college class. Apparently, I developed some extreme school anxiety while I was an adolescent. Whoops!

I would like to do a great many things with my life. For instance: I used to want to become a midwife. It sounds good when you tell someone that's what you want to do. They're always politely surprised and interested in the process.

I don't think I could ever do it, though. Not with the current educational system. If I could apprentice with a midwife, instead of having to go through nursing school and all of those lectures that would DRIVE ME COMPLETELY INSANE, I would do so in a heartbeat.

But the world doesn't work that way, anymore, and so it will have to wait until my mind can be put to it.

It's going to be a while.

I want instant gratification, I want to know something NOW. If I try something, and I'm not immediately a prodigy at it, I lose interest. And you don't have to tell me that's completely impractical, because I already know. I can't help myself.

Have you ever not been able to help yourself? And I'm not talking about that extra cookie you can't resist because you are STARVING YOURSELF [that's for another post]. And I'm not talking about a tick, or a compulsion like touching doorknobs or tapping a stair three times before you step on it.

I'm talking about sitting down with your book for school and having to read the same paragraph six times because you have no idea what it just said because you got up to check your alarm at least three times because you can't actually remember if you set it.

ADD has become a joke in todays world, and not without reason. I will be the first to admit that having a conversation with me can be amusing. I will babble at you for a good twenty minutes and not have actually said anything important. I may jump up and perform some menial task whilst relaying word-for-word a conversation I had with someone you don't know, just because I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the task needed to be done.

But I know that I did it, and it won't help me if you tell me not to.

People with ADD aren't without metacognition. We know we don't always explain ourselves well [it makes so much sense in my head!] and if you asked us why we just did something that doesn't make sense to you, I'm sure we could provide a detailed list of our reasoning, possibly starting with a craving for a tomato sandwich we had two days ago and ending with a conversation we just had about fleas.

But we're smart. We're sometimes smarter than our teachers, which is the MOST frustrating thing in the world, for all parties involved.

We just can't help ourselves. And if I could fix one thing in the world - one monumental and important thing - I would make sure teachers everywhere don't punish us for losing attention.

Because I don't judge you for wanting that cookie. So don't judge me for needing to get up and sharpen my pencil six times. It wasn't perfectly pointy, and I can't concentrate, anyway.

Warren Ellis is the coolest ever.

So, guess whose photo got used as a Station Ident on Warren Ellis Dot Com?

THAT'S RIGHT, Y'ALL, MINE.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Hells. Yeah. I love the internet.

If you don't know who Warren Ellis is, I urge - nay, INSIST that you start reading the weekly webcomic he writes: Freakangels. Art by the indescribable Paul Duffield.

I still can't believe it. I keep thinking he must have been hacked...

WHATEVER, I'LL TAKE IT.

<3

Movie Review: The Last Airbender

Now, I know I have a history of rigidity of thought regarding remakes of beloved media. And while I've accepted the Harry Potter movies as delightful [I've got an essay on that brewing for later.], you all may remember how I felt about Watchmen.

So, last night I went to see The Last Airbender with my roommates in 3D. Apparently, accepting remakes is a hell of a lot easier when they're WELL DONE.

Sweet fancy moses, was that a TERRIBLE MOVIE. Here is a sampling of my tweets from last night and this morning:

• So, I've basically decided that The Last Airbender is just a crappy fanfic of the real deal. Similar to my attitude toward Serenity.
• It's almost like Shyamalan was just given a summary of the series, but never watched it. Everyone forget how to pronounce their own names?!
• @meggytron Aang [rhymes with sang] became "Ahhng". Ihro [eye-ro] became "ee-ro" Sokka [sock-ah] became "sow-kah" Completely frustrating.
• Seriously, guys, I demand a do-over. Shammy, let's talk. If, by some miracle, you are allowed to make 2&3, please let me on the team.

There was a lot more profanity in the car on the way home from the theater, but I like to keep this family-friendly [sorta.]

See, here's the thing. Not only was there EPIC race fail [whose bright idea was it to make the villains brown?] - but there was also acting fail, cinematography fail, special effects fail, 3D retro-fit fail, and the most extreme plot fail.

I knew it wasn't going to be great. I was ready for changes in the script. But, dude. Over-all, one of the worst movies I have seen in an extremely long time. I was BORED. The logic was incomprehensible. Poor Dev Patel was the only bright spot in an over-all steaming shit-pile of a movie.

So. There's my two cents. Take yours and buy the animated series instead of seeing the film. Go on, you know you want to.

[And while you're at it, go sign this petition. ♥]

Five Years in Baltimore.

People look at me funny when I say that Baltimore is my favorite city in the world - even above Paris. It’s true, though. I may have been raised in Delaware, but I am growing up in Baltimore. I am experiencing things here that I never could anywhere else. I am living on my own, making my own money, making my own way here. I am knowing wonderful, beautiful people who could never exist in another city in the world because that is what Baltimore does.

It gets inside you and makes you who you are. If I had to define myself without Baltimore, I don't know if I would like who I would be.

Everyone needs to know a city that does that to them.

And here I have lived for five years. They have been, by far, the best five years of my entire life. and I know I am still young, and I have not been everywhere in the world, but I know that before I lived in this city I was sad until something made me happy, but here I am happy first and longest.

I look out my window and feel a surge of pleasure to see the rooftops and light posts and signs of Waverly and Charles Village in the distance.

Baltimore has its faults, for certain. High drug use, high STD infection, high gang-related deaths. But that in itself does not define the people inside. We are people. We are nurses and artists and doctors and writers and actors and lovers and haters and people with dreams. We are Baltimoreans. And anyone who looks at me funny for that can't know what it is to be in love with a city.

I love you, Baltimore.

Twenty-five.

So, it's my birthday on Wednesday. I am turning twenty-five.

o.O

I'm really trying to keep it together, here, but guys. I am turning twenty-five. This is kind of a Deal! I am one-quarter of a century old! I can rent a car!

In five years I will be thirty!

But I'm not going to let myself dwell on that. Besides, I welcome aging with open arms and affection. I am so ready for my age to match my age. Does that make sense? I'm talking to all those folks out there whose friends group is five to ten years older than you. The ones that go to parties and avoid talking about your age for as long as possible. All you kids who get, "But you're just a baby!" and "Holy crap you're so young!" whenever we let it slip that, actually, we weren't alive when that movie/album/cartoon came out, sorry.

It's one of my pet peeves, I guess.

But anyway, gettin' older. I really am enjoying it, even the surreal moments.

[Holy crap, twenty-five!]

Happy Things April Showers [for which I hope you have an umbrella...]

Oh hi there. It seems this blog is quickly deteriorating into a HAPPY THINGS ALL THE TIME blog. I don't have a problem with that, do you? I didn't think so.

Carry on:

• Forearm tattoos on the Facilities Fellas. [Lots of ex-navy here at the JHH.]
• Fancy pudding in the cafeteria.
• Time travel. [I really love it, guys. I love it so hard.]
• Ice cream.
• Calendars.
• Discount Easter candy. [Malted-milk eggs, guys. Nuff said.]
• Veronica Mars. [MYSTERY.]
• Space. [I know I say this basically every time, but really truly, I want to marry space. We would have the most adorable nebula children.]
• Pearl-pink nail polish.
• Avatar, the last Airbender.
• My beard.
  
• White cotton sheets.
• Cinnamon gum.
• Thunderstorms.
• Soup. [this one is Lisa's fault for making me want soup at 9:00 on a Thursday morning.]

Alright, I've got some STUFF TO DO this weekend. Namely, Friday night, My pal Penny is flying in from Seattle and we are going to see GOGOL BORDELLO with Devotchka opening. I am terribly excited. It will be my third time seeing GB here in Balmer, and they have never disappointed me. Last time, Man Man opened for them, and it was one of the most amazing concert experiences of my life.

Blah blah someone gushing about music. Anyway.

I've joined a writing group, and my first meeting with them is on Sunday. I am excited and nervous! I need to write a one-page story, and I think I will ROCK THAT NOISE because my forte is short and sweet.

Well, there could be blood, so maybe not so sweet. Whevs.

Moving right along: I did a massive clothing purge last weekend with the help of Rosemary, and I am getting rid of two lawn and garden-size bags of clothing. This is in addition to the several garbage bags I got rid of in October. I think I'll stick to an October/April purge schedule. Seems to keep my wardrobe in check nicely.

Wow, this got crazy boring. I'm wrapping it up now with a big bow of LOVE. Just for you. Don't throw it away, now, I made it special.

Happy Things - Take that, March!

In like a lion, out like a soggy lamb:

• Juice. [Anything except grape, because it makes my teeth taste purple, and I dun like that.]
• Criminal Minds [I want to pack Dr Reid lunch every day and write him little riddles on his napkin. WHAT. DON'T JUDGE ME.]
• Dragons.
• New friends.
• Old friends.
• Serial Comics on the Internet.
• Tattoos.
• My roof.

• Glass beads.
• Other people's babies.
• The rain. [I soooo wanted to stay home and listen to it in bed today, but I made myself get up and go to work. Being an adult kind of sucks sometimes. But, other times, there's cake for breakfast. So, I guess it balances out.]
• The letter "F". fortuitous, fragrant, fecund, favorable, flighty, free.

I might post something with actual substance soon, but there are no promises. I have the attention span of a toddler that missed its nap.

Crappy Poetry Monday!

Hair

that's my hair
in your hand
but you're a hundred miles away and I don't remember you ever
touching me

so maybe it's not
maybe it's just a wig that you bought
at the store

and

maybe I should be less trendy.

It's really not that hard. No. Really.

[In case UBALT is researching me, I did rework part of this post as my application essay. I hope you don't mind - I thought it was relevant. Please accept me!]


Oh for the love of mustard and onions.

Okay, listen. I am not a fancy scientist with a fancy degree in fanciness. I'm a girl who grew up in a household that had subscriptions to Discover magazine and whose parents and sister are giant nerds. Armed with that background and the ability to read, I think that's about all the qualifications I need to say:

CLIMATE CHANGE IS FRIKKIN' REAL, GUYS.

Lorrie Goldstein? You're a freaking idiot. That may be disrespectful of me, I mean you are my elder and all that, but YOU ARE A FREAKING IDIOT.

I don't even know how I came across that article, such is the violence of my rage about it, because it's certainly not the only one of its kind.

Anyway, Let's take a look at the evidence, shall we? Go on, I'll wait.

Done? Annoyed that I chose Al Gore? TOUGH NOOGIES.

I know that things of this scale move slowly, so the evidence is difficult to see when you glance out the window. And to some, the recent ridiculous snow that kept me housebound for ten freaking days may seem like everything is okay.

But guys. C'mon. When has the Mid-Atlantic seaboard EVER had that much snow in a single week? That alone should tell you that things ain't quite right.

And, look, I'm not above conceding that perhaps this is part of Earth's natural cycle. I mean, we all know that the dinosaurs lived in a world that looked much different way back when, and judging by how many of their bones Montana and France has kicked up, I'd hazard a guess that it was pretty planet-wide. [We also know that flipping rocks from space came around and screwed things up, so perhaps that argument is also moot.]

HOWEVER. We do not need to help it along.

I'm not so arrogant as to assume that Humans are the be-all, end-all of evolution in the universe. I am sure that there are races of beings out there in the black pointing and laughing at our naked, fleshy bodies. They're probably watching us play with our dinky computers and ride in our cute, clunky cars like so many lumbering cows.

But we are here right now. And since we are dominant enough of this planet that we will build shit pretty much anywhere we like, we have a responsibility to its upkeep. You don't take a dump in the middle of your living room and then set it on fire, guys.

And if you do, well. You might want to stop that, cos it's a fire hazard and also kind of gross. Unless you live in a yurt and that's fuel for something. In that case, alright, carry-on, but I think that cow dung is more efficient.

ANYWAY. I suppose my point in this all is: Whether or not you believe in Global Warming [which you totally should because IT IS FREAKING HAPPENING, but I digress], pollution is real and is a real problem.

I mean, what will you be hurting by changing some things, except the profits of power companies? They need to change, too, and nothing is going to encourage them to do so if we keep plugging in stuff. So suck up the extra few bucks and buy those energy efficient light-bulbs. Carry your groceries home in a cloth sack. Recycle your damn newspapers. Support local farms. Do all that crunchy hippy junk, because the littlest bit really is helpful.

Because, if you're not going to listen to the fancy scientists with their fancy degrees, then perhaps you should start listening to people like me.





Further reading:

This interactive article from the Washington Post is v. illuminating, and covers a lot of ground regarding the Chesapeake and how we are screwing it up. You should read it.

This comic is a lovely commentary on how a lot of us are feeling about the whole thing. It's two pages, so make sure you click the arrow at the bottom.

And my whole post is basically just reiterating what Phil Plait [one of my favorite people ever, y'all] said here, BUT HE IS RIGHT SO READ THAT OKAY. HIYAH.

*pant* *pant* I hate when I have to get all Miss Piggy on stuff.

ETA: September 2011 - HOW ARE PEOPLE NOT TAKING THIS MORE SERIOUSLY!? GET OFF YOUR ASSES, PEOPLE, MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

Happy Things - February edition.

Wot is making me happy, in no particular order:

• Dinosaurs. All of them. [Except Raptors cos that shit ain't no joke.]
• Shaun White. [I want to invite him to a party and then maybe make out a little bit, but not in front of anyone because I am a Lady.]
• Space.
• Noodles.
• Navel oranges.
• The Doctor.
• Mascara.
• Sleep.
• Paris:

• People who apologize profusely when they step on your toe in the elevator.
• The letter Q. quandary, quilt, quiescent, quirky, quixotic, quaint.
• People to worry about.
• Chopsticks.
• My dog.

File your entries in the comment box provided. ♥

Another strange one...

So, the other night, among other insane things, I dreamt that I got a tattoo of a star that was in two parts across my forearms [on the outside, like keanu's constantine]. And my apartment was inside this really old, like from the 1800s, department store, and I had to crawl through a small space and up a ladder to get to it. At one point I kept locking the door, and the landlady was chiding me that other residents needed to get in, but I told her that they were all monsters and we had to keep them out. She just laughed and unlocked the door. I tried to hide in this room that was in the middle of the hallway and was enclosed by glass-paned french doors all the way around, but I couldn't keep the curtains covering all of the windows, and marble statues kept appearing and just stood there, facing in.

Then there was a horrific bit where some dude that I was dating [I think his name was Michael or John, something generic, but I've never seen him in real life before.] fell down a hill on his face and got really hurt and I had to go on a wild goose chase to find medicine for him, which ended up being a bowl of blood and a bowl of water. All the while I was being chased by some awful monsters that looked like people who had been wrapped in thorny vines with strips of grey silk covering their eyes and mouths and they yelled this horrible low howl that sounded like a million bells all going at once.

And I was running around the shadier parts of Baltimore, but I felt safer there than in the brightly-lit places. The dirtier and grubbier it was, and the more buildings that were boarded up, the more comfortable I was being there.

I don't remember when I woke up. I think at that point I was just running and running and running.

Happy things - January Edition

Things that are making me happy today:

water.
avocado.
Gold Bond ^tm ultimate healing skin therapy cream.
my shell necklace:


the internet.
my foot.
coffee.
my Craig Ferguson mug.
the letter P. perpendicular, preposterous, periwinkle, portly, pie, prologue.
this picture wot my Pops took.
beta fish [i wants one!].
science.

What about you lot? What's making you smile today?

I gots a tattoo, y'all!

Well, you all know about Ina by now. What you may not have known, is how important Astrology was to her.

She was born on July 14th, and was therefor a Cancer. We used to have long evenings of pouring over her Astrology books, reading about our birthdays and marvelling at the descriptions of us.

She wrote poetry, too, and some of her goofier stuff is located here, which she hadn't updated it since 2004.

Anyway, when I was thinking of tattoos that I would like to get, Ines came to mind, and then the idea of a crab for Cancer. As I thought about it more, I realized that, yeah, Baltimore loves crabs, too, and I love Baltimore.

And so.


[Done at the Baltimore Tattoo Museum, by Josh Griffin.]

I love you, Ina. Now you are under my skin. <3

First Spam!

I got my first spam comment, y'all! HOW EXCITING.

And for a female urination device, no less! I HAVE ARRIVED.

Brownies!

I made these the other night, and then bragged about them on Twitter. My pal, Meghan, requested the recipe, so here we go!

Brownies Cockaigne [Slightly modified from the Joy of Cooking recipe.] - 30 brownies, but you'll probably eat the whole tray that night, anyway.

1/2 C butter
4 oz unsweetened baking chocolate
4 eggs
1/2 tsp salt
1 C white sugar
1 C brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 C flour

In a double-boiler, melt chocolate and butter. Let cool.

Beat eggs and salt until light in color and foamy. [I often do this by hand, and it is pretty rewarding if you are feeling the need to let off some steam. Otherwise, a mixer works just fine.] Continue beating and gradually add sugar and vanilla until well creamed.

With a few swift strokes, combine cooled chocolate mixture into the eggs and sugar by hand. Before uniformly colored, fold in 1 cup flour.

Pour batter into a greased and floured 9x13" pan and bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Brownies are done when toothpick inserted in center comes out almost clean.

Notes: For a fudgier brownie, I like to use half white sugar and half brown sugar. And for a holiday kick, try mint extract instead of vanilla. Recipe works really well with Bob's Redmill TM gluten-free, all-purpose flour.

I keep baking chocolate on hand at all times for the express purpose of whipping up a batch of these at a moments notice. If you ever come over to my house for dinner, chances are, these are going to be for dessert.

dreams in review.

the following are transcripts of my recent dreams as e-mailed or chatted to various friends after they occurred.

5/24/09, as e-mailed to K.

so there was this crazy kind of sea monster that was terrorizing swimmers on some tropical beach. so we were part of this elite task force that dressed up like the monsters [by wrapping ourselves in seaweed from neck to legs and then wearing a weird coconut hat. I NEVER SAID THIS MADE SENSE] and swimming around, killing the monsters with crazy knives.

and then we were getting out of the water, and i was naked for some inexplicable reason, and jaime hyneman was off gathering everyone's towels up, and so i went over to get mine, but it got caught on his head and we fell over.

the end.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

7/26/09

R: morning chica
Me: i had really weird dreams last night
a sampling
R: oh?
Me: nina already had a baby a few days ago, and is now having a second
R: I'm sure she would be thrilled to hear about that one :)
Me: two: that i caught the baby, but couldn't put it on her belly because she was too far away on the bed
three: that she had the baby and i was feeding it cranberry juice
R: LOL
Me: four: that the priest who married my sister and brother left the priesthood so he could ask me out
R: ROFL
Me: five: that we were defending my grandmothers house from marauders, only they were really breaking in a few houses down.
six: i was crating lester in a window sill
R: like in a crate in a windowsill?
Me: no, like the window well of a basement window
R: huh
Me: i know
i only left him in there for a second
because even my dream self knew it was ridiculous
R: I love your subconscious so hard, even when it is weird.

11/4/09, as e-mailed to R and K.

i just woke up from a nap where I was dreaming that I was part of SG-1 [can you guess what i was watching before i fell asleep?] and there was a mission that was a little hazy, but i think we were swimming at some point and there were goa'ulds. Anyway, then we were eating lunch and i was piling all sorts of weird stuff on my tray and all I really wanted was pudding.

So. I'm going to make some pudding tonight.

11/23/09, as e-mailed to R.

last night i dreamed that I bought Cam a whole bunch of underwear [cotton boxer-briefs are cannon!] and t-shirts in super-girly colors. He was sweet about accepting them all, and then he noticed that I was wearing my M-9 [because i was totally on sg-1, duh] and he scolded me because we weren't on a mission.

I let him take it out of my holster [twss], and then we played catch in an alleyway behind my apartment building with a football. There may have been unnecessary tackling.

Then somehow he morphed into Jay Smooth, and he kept picking me up by my arm and leg and swinging me around in circles.

Bzuh? Totally posting that on my twitter to see if he responds. bahahahahaha

<3 happy monday!

12/15/09, as e-mailed to R.

last night, I dreamed that I went back in time to see my grandparents a year before my grandfather died and I accidentally let it slip that he'd be dead soon, and he just looked at me sadly and we went for a walk.

I remember hugging my grandmother and feeling like I was really tall and lumbering compared to her [which is accurate, because she was a wee slip of a thing.]

It was really. soothing, sort of. I was early to work, anyway.

There are millions more that I never wrote down, but babbled out to various people over the phone. Like the one where I was the leader of a band of survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse, and I was driving an SUV through a parade of Zombies playing brass instruments.

Or the one where I really had to pee, but couldn't find a bathroom that didn't have a group of people clustered around the toilet so I finally gave up and dropped trou in front of a bunch of strangers.

You know, the usual.