Wednesday, April 29, 2009

: (

OK, I want blue.

Not this blue. Well, not that header. And the orange star... I don't really want the orange star.

Oh, why didn't I pay more attention in HTML class?

Lorenzo Saves a Barfly




Some days, a meme is just what I need.

Structure.

Guidance.

Further validation of my presence on the innernets.

The Honest Scrap Award is simple:

Say 10 honest things about yourself, pass it on to seven people. Lorenzo Laurie tagged me.

Now, Laurie's cat was the honest scrap in her blog. Does this mean, I wondered, that I should have Quill, the Cat for Scale, do this? Or should I do it?

Being much like King Solomon,§ I decided to do five Quill honest scraps and five me honest scraps. The lucky souls I tag can interpret the rules any way they choose.

Quill:

1. Despite the fact that I regularly rake the door jamb of the powder room, my claws are too long.

2. I can't eat canned food without getting a whole glob of it on my nose.

3. I don't get the fascination with yarn, but circular needles are the best kitty toy ever.

4. She makes me jump for treats. Secretly, I like it.

5. I'm mostly deaf, so I can't hear when you say, "No!"

Marin:

1. Despite the fact that I regularly chip them on work files, knitting, spontaneously while driving... my claws are too long.

2. I can't eat lunch without leaving a memento of the occasion on my shirt.

3. I don't know why anybody would knit with anything but circular needles. They're the best knitting invention ever.

4. I pretend that making the cat jump for treats is a training exercise. Secretly, I feel wicked# doing it.

5. I am fully capable of slipping into a knitting-/reading-/thinking-/gazing-induced trance, so I can't hear you when you say, "No!"

OK, who wants it? Nathan -- take a break from perfumery? Tani†† -- you never do any of these things. Jayne -- ditto. Patrick would be funny if he actually did it, but will probably sneer at the whole idea of being tagged. Ally, we haven't done this in the longest time. Sylvia can answer for the House of Fuzzy Crack‡‡ if she wants. And... The Pollyannas.§§


FOOTNOTE (crossed): Something I need deeply and on a daily basis.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Know how I have a book problem? Some of my book problem is a subset of my research problem. If I can't be a saint by the time I die, my Plan B is to know everything. So, yeah, I researched the issue.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In my own mind.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Horizontal surface, dontcha know.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And sometimes a little guilty. He's 18 -- I probably have no non-sadistic reason for trying to make any an old cat learn any new tricks.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Whose blog is a biiiiig secret.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): If I can do my fuzzy-wuzzy, she can do her fuzzy-wuzzy.

§§FOOTNOTE (two Pollyannas in one!): Who I am now conveniently counting as one, but who can do a tag-team response, maybe including their respective cats.

Aftermath

So the presentation went well, thanks for asking.

Sitting down and distilling my job into an accessible,§ concise, entertaining# three minutes was a marvelous exercise. I'd recommend it.

If you're unfocused, it can help weed out the chafe.††

If you're feeling small, it can highlight your talents your and many, many mad skillz.‡‡

If you're bored, it can give you something to do.§§

I bet you could do it for any project¶¶ or aspect of your life.##

This has been a public service blogpost. If this had been an actual blogpost, there would have been considerably more fibre, fragrance and dick jokes. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled blog, already in progress.


FOOTNOTE (crossed): Some of you did. I'm not making this up.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The portion of it this client uses, in any case.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): No big words, many analogies, Bob the Builder references...

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You'd never guess it here, but I am a master of concision. My high school drama teacher told me so after I distilled "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" into four relatively brief sentences without missing a single important point.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I almost always think I'm funny.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Mix metaphors much?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because mad skillz are what you guys are all about.

§§FOOTNOTE (waves of boredom crashing on the shores of mental ingenuity): This may replace the Tom Sawyer Funeral Game as my favourite waiting-at-the-DMV activity.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (bonk bonk): Baby Surprise Jacket, I'm looking at you.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding to the rhythm of the motivational speaker): ...in a VAN, down by the RIVER...

Monday, April 27, 2009

Srsly?

They want us to give a presentation tomorrow.§

Ten to fifteen minutes.

On what exactly it is we do.#

If any of y'all has a clue, could you please let us know before the meeting tomorrow?††

kthx - Bye!‡‡


FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not the US Dept of They this time, a more formidable foe: The Client.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hans and me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I told Hans, he started talking about Power Point presentations. I gave him The Look. He made the sign of the cross and backed out of the office.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I may have to work on my vamp... a little soft shoe, a little shuffle-off-to-Buffalo... maybe a sing-along.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If I knew that, it would probably take me less time to get it done.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 2:00 pm, MDT.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You know my brain just exploded -- I'm kthxing you.

Friday, April 24, 2009

My Friends at Nintendo Save My Lips

In Nintendo's very successful campaign to be my new best friend, they have sent me another little present.

As always, I picked the box off the front porch and spent five minutes trying to remember who I know in North Hollywood that might be sending me a CD.

[SUMMARY: Proving that some people really never do learn.]

I got my happy, friendly letter from the Girls' Guide to Gaming:




And a very pink and girly Nintendo accessory with lip gloss:




See? My friends at Nintendo don't just want to entertain me, they want me to be beautiful and moist of lip too.

[SUMMARY: Making gaming girly for nearly ten months.]

It's a philosophy I can get behind.


FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): It's a keychain that holds four game cartridges for maximum Nintendo portability.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And a heart! Girly!

Opposites

Yes!

A Tale of Two Wines

TTHFCIF

At last month's book club, when I was still estranged from wine, Tani served this:




Unfortunately, I have no idea how good it was, but the bottle is certainly worth the price of admission.

[SUMMARY: Proving one can take enjoyment without partaking of the wine.§]

A couple of weeks ago, I was heading to the pay station of the parking lot I frequent downtown and I saw two guys on the sidewalk. All over the sidewalk, actually. They were gesticulating broadly and cursing at the top of their lungs and taking up the *whole* sidewalk.

I secretly hoped they'd be gone by the time I got there.

One was carrying a briefcase. Surely they had to go to work.

[SUMMARY: Silly rabbit.]

The Businessman awkwardly opened his briefcase just wide enough to extract a bottle of wine. He and his compatriot proceeded to drink straight from the bottle.

Just as I passed them, Compatriot sucked down the last of the wine, theatrically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Chardonnay!" in a gleeful voice.

At the time, I wished I had the guts to take a picture, because I was definitely blogging it in my head.

Lucky for me, people who carry wine in briefcases are not as environmentally conscious as you might want, and the next day when I struck out from the pay station, I saw the bottle sitting there on the sidewalk.




I got my picture. And there is a frog on it. So good things come to those who wait.#

[SUMMARY: Little life lessons here at the Rickety Blog.]

Also worth the price of admission.


FOOTNOTE (crossed): And her homemade Tiramisu. From which I was also estranged. It was all very strange, being estranged as I was.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hint: Admission was free, but don't let that distract from the whole Bitch experience.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The grapes are *still* sour.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): No, and don't call me Shirley.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...and are willing to be pushed into the gutter by sweeping arm gestures.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Needle Love from Yatzer

Knitting needles too!


{AtCasa.it via Yatzer}

Fibre Love from Yatzer

My favourite design site has crocheted food today.


[NeedleNoodles via Wool and the Gang via Yatzer}

For Your Dining Entertainment

Sometimes in the oil and gas world, we do acreage swaps.

Say Bunnykiller Oil & Gas has the oil and gas leases on the red parts and Dead Dinosaur Exploration & Production has the leases on the blue parts§:




For one, Bunnykiller and Dead Dinosaur may not want to work together.

For two, they may not want to or be able to get their own road rights of way or pipeline rights of way from surface owners for two separate and intertwined drilling programs.

For three, the state Oil & Gas Commission may say they can only drill one well per 160 acres, and with those red and blue squares being 40 acres each, it's mathematically untenable for them to get what they want out of the area without being in each other's pockets.

So they draw up an agreement to swap acreage. I believe this even has certain tax advantages. In any case, this is what they might aim to do:




Now everybody's safe in their own little red and blue worlds% and peace reigns in the earth-raping business.@

It sounds really sweet and Disney from your point of view, but Hans and I have to deal with the contracts involved, and they're not standard issue items in our workaday world. Hans, being greener than I, occasionally comes to ask questions or confirm suspicions.

Recently, he did so, using his inimitable Hans style to get his point across.

Now that you have the backstory,# ladies and gentlemen, I give you Hans and the Acreage Swap††:

video


FOOTNOTE (crossed): There's a lot of boring educational stuff before you get to the good part.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because that's how we get the land we drill on -- leasing the minerals. Generally, it's for two or three years and we pay a per-acre bonus up front. Then if there's a well producing in marketable quantities, the landowner gets a royalty on that, usually about 15%.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I did the graphics myself.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Don't read a lot into that.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Or that.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): By roughly fifteen oil and gas years.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And now you know almost as much about landman work as I do.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Hans is such a good sport. He doesn't only mind when I mock him, he lets me take movies of it.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Reveal†




As you may remember, a crucial dinner with Dad was cancelled two weeks ago because of the NCAA final. With that postponement, we were left on the edge of our seats as to the questions, "Etcetera... what?", "What kind of trowels exactly?" and "Does Dad have a name for the chicken footed gardening implement?"

Our mutual educations hang in the balance.

[SUMMARY: Antici... ]

The answer to the first two questions can be seen here:




OK, one question, really. I don't know about you, but I can't identify the etcetera in this drawer. I see a pile of trowels and what could be a hot water bottle.§

[SUMMARY: ...pa... ]

But I think we can definitively state that there are no garden trowels in the Trowels, etc., drawer at all, hence, no chicken footed gardening implement.

HOWEVER...%

I did flat out ask Dad about the chicken footed gardening implement, and he got that slightly bemused Dad look on his face and said, "Well... I don't know that there is one... it's certainly a garden [insert international sign language for chicken foot garden implement here]... a cultivator of some kind."

[SUMMARY: ...tion]

I win!

Dad did not have a ready, conclusive name for the chicken footed gardening implement. Brother owes me lunch.#

Funny epilogue: We were in Peach's vast foyer†† explaining the trip to the basement.

"I bet Brother Dad would say, 'Well, I don't know...' and make something up for the chicken foot thing and he said Dad would *know* the name so I won. And we were curious if there were gardening trowels in the drawer, but there aren't. Just masonry trowels."

"There are garden trowels?" asked Peach

"Sure," said Dad.

"They look like a miniature shovel," said I.‡‡

"Ahhhh. And is there a name for the..." she hung out there, apparently not sure about the "chicken foot" construct.

"Well, yeah," said Dad, with a distinct hand signal. "Sort of. It's a cultivator."

"A cultivator," said Peach.

"Yeah, but you have to make the sign when you say it," said Dad, demonstrating international sign language for chicken footed gardening implement for her edification.

In case y'all ever wondered how I might have come by my sense of humour.

[SUMMARY: Your wait is over.§§]

Honestly.

That's how I came by it.

Dad, by the way, is fishing this week,¶¶ so we skip yet another father/daughter dinner.

The gelato level in my blood is getting low and I'm getting mean.


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm pretty sure "reveal" wasn't a noun before reality TiVi. There's also a chance "reality" wasn't an adjective before reality TiVi.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For those of you who follow college basketball, I think we can all agree dinner with me would have been WAY more entertaining than that game. We played the odds and we lost on that one.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Could be another trowel. Could be a secret door to the land of Narnia. I can't figure out what it is.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In my best Steven A. Smith voice.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The familiar and exact look I told Brother he would get on his face.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Any side bets on whether Brother tries to welsh by saying he won because Dad *eventually* came up with a name?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You could fit my master bedroom in that foyer.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ...deftly mixing my singulars with my plurals.

§§FOOTNOTE (tied 'em up in knots): We've just tied up so many loose ends here today, haven't we?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I really put my foot in it this time): Miss dinner for basketball... miss dinner for fishing. One more abandonment issue and we're going to need to find a daughterly version of "Cats in the Cradle."

Monday, April 20, 2009

They're Reading My Diary




Or my mail.

Converse a les Crocs

Want.


{Jalou via Highsnobette}

Available only in France.

Do they even *have* crocodiles in France?

And with the American lizard skin industry in dire straits, you'd think a quintessentially American icon like the Chuck Taylor would keep it close to home.

Think globally, act locally, people!


FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, I know they're not real crocodile skin Chucks. It isn't funny if we stay within the parameters of reality.

Is "Old News" Oxymoronic?

And who are you calling a moron?

Ah, it's a good thing I'm here to laugh at myself. I mean, I know all y'all are laughing at me, but I'm laughing because I think I'm funny.

[SUMMARY: I take what I can get.]

In last weeked's Travels with Shanny, we witnessed this gem:






"Do you suppose if Jesus came back now, he'd say, 'When *I* was crucified, we didn't have any wheels on our crosses. Oh, no, we had to drag our crosses through the alleys of Jerusalem with no help at all! Uphill both ways! And my father went *right by me* on his way to work!'"

Then we took a seat to watch the weirdos and tourists§ drift by and I saw this sign:




In all my years wandering up and down the 16th Street Mall, I never noticed this sign. I told Shanny so.

"Hey," he said, "Do you think they'd arrest the guy with the wheeled cross?"

[SUMMARY: Shanny's going to hell. I'm gong to hell. The arresting officer would most certainly be going to hell.]

Sometimes you just couldn't make up anything funnier than what's floating around out there not trying to be funny.

*************

Black Violet - Tom Ford Private Blend

Marin says: Lime... or bergamot, maybe,# with something else fruity -- I'm going with apricot, since it's one of my favourite notes and is just a little drier than peach, for these purpoes. My wrists feel warm -- not in a burning, allergic way, but in an electric blanket, comforting way.

We know the citrus isn't going to last long, since that's citrus's lot in life. That scent boosting it up, pushing it over the edge... vanilla? Amber? Warm and sweet, but a little dusty and not sugary. It has a moment of flirting with bay rum.

And there goes the citrus.

Now I smell like a Barbie doll fresh from her package, the scent I generally get when there are violets in the offing.†† That's quickly overcome by a blond wood. Not sweet, not balsamic, but definitely woody.

And... scene!

In the time it took you to read this, the scent went almost completely away. My wrists still feel warm, but it's very difficult to find the slightest trace of a scent left.‡‡ It's a shame -- I really liked the scent, very well balanced, intriguing, with some of my favourite inoffensive notes§§ well represented.

Tom Ford says: Crisp Citrus$ surrounds a modern pulpy Fruit Accord,$ fused with Black Violets.$ Woody$ accents fold into Oakmoss adding the universally comforting sensation of warmth.$

Hans says: it smells like an Abercrombie & Fitch cologne someone got me in high school.¶¶


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I should know better than to ask that.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Wow. That's so deep you could do a doctoral thesis on it.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Probably a good thing. I'm not sure I want to go through an afterlife without Shanny. Hey, if you make saint, do you get to appoint a cabinet?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I only throw bergamot in because half the time when I think I smell lime, the perfumer tells me it's actually bergamot.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Epiphany: it's interesting how many perfume notes take me back to some childhood toy: Barbie, Play-doh, Silly Putty...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): If I put the tip of my nose right at the bottom of my hand with my nose-holes perpendicular to my wrist, nothing. If I lay my nose-holes right on my wrist, I get a surprisingly full snork of violets and wood.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisted sense of smell): 'Cause we all know how I feel about honey.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (A&F models, staring off-camera to the sea): He didn't say whether that was bad or good, but he did allow as how he had ended up with maybe five bottles of cologne through his lifetime, but had probably worn cologne twice.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I'm claiming apricot as "modern pulpy Fruit Accord" and I'm mildly freaked out that the warm thing may be a feature of the blend rather than just my own reaction. Those KY his 'n' hers commercials keep going through my head. Also? Some day I'm going to get a bead on what oakmoss smells like...

Friday, April 17, 2009

It's Just a Jump to the Left



Unlike toast, throwing texts won't damage the movie screen, but would MST3K be nearly as fun without Crow and Tom Servo?

p.s. -- I think this is a great way to end a Friday.

ETA (8/29/2010): In visiting this post much later, I find when I click "play," I get a message that says the video has been removed by the user... whatever the hell that means. It's still on YouTube and you can see it here if you're so inclined.

Sometime You Lick the Pig, Sometimes the Pig Licks You

TTHFCIF




I think this is a really good way to start a Friday.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Breaking News!

Slovenian Capital under siege!

Quick! How do you say, "Pic-a-nic basket," in Slovenian?

Evolution on Easter†

Once upon a time of changing family dynamics, two boys went to the Denver Museum of Nature & Science with their dad, their grandpa and their dear ol' AntiM.

Every exhibit started with a movie.§

In the Space Odyssey, there was a really boring movie with no rockets or asteroid fields or supernovas and some of the grown ups in the group wondered how in the hell the museum planned to keep kids interested.




Fortunately, Dave Cuomo showed up# and saved the day with a reasonably engaging Q&A about what hurricanes and big cities and Dubai look like from space.

Then the happy family went out amongst the displays and interactive educational experiences and played to their collective hearts' content. Tallest Hairiest Nephew liked to push buttons -- any buttons -- and Dr. Doom went to the museum to shoot things.

One toy they all played with was the shooting-metal-balls-into-the-sand thingie.††




A video recorder captured all the scientific action, after which whomever was big enough and strong enough to muscle everybody else away from the controls could watch it backwards and in slow motion.

This is what it looked like when AntiM shot the ball into the sand‡‡:

video


What scientific lesson was to be learned from this was unclear, but it was button-pushing, shooting-stuff, video-editing fun for the whole family.

Once Space Odyssey ceased to capture the attention of certain short attention spanketeers,§§ they moved on to the Prehistoric Journey, more fondly known as "dinosaurs."

Of course, no self-respecting prehistoric exhibit gives you dinosaurs right off the bat. AntiM and the boys puttered through many dioramas of trilobites and the crinoids and brachiopods they lived and loved with in the Cambrian world.¶¶

They learned one very important thing:




"Well, duh," said AntiM.

"What?" asked Tallest Hairiest Nephew.

"What? Nothing!" said AntiM.

"You said, 'duh.' Duh what?"

"Where's your dad?"##

So they moved on to the dinosaur bone room††† where they were just in time to catch the dinosaur repairman‡‡‡ with that part that was ordered nearly a year ago.§§§




"Yay!" said the intrepid explorers.

They headed to the rock exhibit, where there were no good picutres to be had. Then Dr. Doom announced he was ready to go home.¶¶¶

They lunched on crackers and ham and tiny carrots and Danish puff### and lived happily ever after.

The End


FOOTNOTE (crossed): Am I going to hell for the evolution thing or bridging the worlds of science and theology through my saintly works?

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Understatement of the century.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The dinosaur movie had a narrator with a mild speech impediment. I said, "Mawiage..." and Brother and I giggled madly.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I use the term loosely.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, it wasn't actually Dave Cuomo, but it LOOKED like Dave Cuomo, it SOUNDED like Dave Cuomo and it even LAUGHED like Dave Cuomo. I went to college with Dave Cuomo. Turns out Dave Cuomo looks, sounds and laughs a lot like Dustin Hoffman.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I have better pictures, but I like this one because Brother looks like a light bulb.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): That would be a video of a video, which I'm pretty sure is meta.

§§FOOTNOTE (don't get confused): Span-keteer, not spank-eteer. That's a whole other subject, which I'm pretty sure shouldn't involve my five-year-old nephew.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (bunny ears!): My version of the Cambrian world resembles Peyton Place more than the Burgess Shale.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding a dead horse): To Brother: "I get saint points for today, right?"

"I think you get saint points if you actually come back from the dead on Easter."

"Did you *see* me Friday night?"

†††FOOTNOTE (Oh, Golgotha): That would be the room where the dinosaur bones are, rather than the room where dinosaurs go to bone. Though that would be interesting too.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (wires are crossed): You get an appointment and they say, "Some time between ten am and five pm and you go out real quick to drop the mail off and you come back to a tag flapping on your front door that says, "Sorry we missed you"...

§§§FOOTNOTE (giddy with laughter): I crack me up.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (bunny hops!): Which is a little like pulling the pin from a grenade.

###FOOTNOTE (pounding the pastry): Danish puff is something that Mom used to make almost every Easter. It has almost no sugar, about a pound of butter and enough almond extract to disguise a gallon of cyanide. It's the one thing Brother requested for Easter dinner.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Damning the Saint

Brother called Friday morning to say he and The Gov and Fuzzy G and maybe Magnet were meeting for happy hour at the Coral Room.

I thought, "Why not?"

I debated over whether I would have a drink or try to stay true to my own idea of Lent.

Guess how long that debate lasted.§

I believe Ben was two tables away when I shouted, "Tempranillo! Please!"

[SUMMARY: Sainthood hasn't changed me a bit.]

Actually, I had given myself an out for emergency situations: if I'd hurt someone's feelings by not having a bite of birthday cake, if someone got engaged and anything but a champagne toast would be inappropriate, if someone got pregnant and a jug of Wild Turkey seemed wholly appropriate...

For someone who gave herself that many loopholes, I think I did remarkably well.

[SUMMARY: Auto-aspiratic horn blowing.]

Anyway, wine.

Wine.

Wine.

After the old Corral, grabbed a bite at Chipotle, peed twice# and headed for the Hai Bar.

Shot.

Vodka.

Vodka.

Talk turned to getting brother a little action, seeing as he's wounded and divorced and needs to get back on some horse, maybe any horse. We were right in the middle of extolling the virtues of rebound sex when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a young woman who, in the dim light of the bar, could best be described as the love child of Robert Smith and Amy Winehouse.

Black chaos of hair, eyeliner as wide as a Wyoming sky. Lanky. Gawky.

So Bruce grabbed her and said, "Have you met my friend Bill?"

She told us her name was Erica†† and she was going to see Z-Trip and we should come. This excited the young folk to no end.

The old folk sucked her vodka ice cubes and tried not to feel her grey hairs glowing in the dark.

Brother and Bruce thought Z-Trip at Beta sounded like a *fantastic* idea.‡‡ Greg was interested in going home early, but allowed as how maybe he could be talked into it. And your dear ol' AntiM shrugged and said, "Sure. I can hang."

[SUMMARY: Enthusiasm is my middle name. Some of you may think it's Elizabeth, but that E is actually for Enthusiasm.]

So we cabbed to LoDo§§ and stood in line at the club.

Once inside, Crown and ginger ensued.¶¶

I tipped the bathroom attendent $20 because it was all the cash I had and nobody is going to work my soap pump for me and not be rewarded for it.##

We ran into Erica and she and I did a brief, happy girl dance together.†††

Later that evening, a very young, very drunk young man chose me for his own. I danced with him for a moment, then tried to get him to go on his way.

"You were really mean to him," said Brother later.

"I wasn't mean. I danced with him for a minute."

"Then you said, 'Make him go away.'"

"I believe what I said was, 'Step on him.'"

"Dude, you got hit on by a 22-year-old. You should be happy."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

[SUMMARY: That really was pretty cool.‡‡‡]

Z-Trip was interesting. He uses songs I know§§§ much of the time, which is an important component for my DJ well-being.

Y'know, the whole DJ-as-concert thing is a little weird. I can see a good DJ at a dance club being worth a following, but *watching* someone put other people's music together is like paying a premium price for a signed, numbered photograph of Starry Night.

Weird.

[SUMMARY: Old and feeble and you kids get off my lawn!]

Ish.

*************

Incense Rosé - Tauer Perfumes

Marin says: I totally fell in love with this. I think it is the hallmark of my undistinguished scent palate that I love big, spicy things.¶¶¶

With the spices, this is a tangy rose -- like a Tropicana -- rather than the prickly velvet of an American Beauty. The woods give it a darkish depth that makes me think of an opium den. There's something camphorous in the mid-hours of the perfume that speaks patchouli, but not too high and medicinal -- tempered by woods, for sure.

The incense isn't too churchy. In fact, I'm really impressed by the way the incense, wood and rose balance each other out. Nothing every shrieks or submits, they just fit together like a snake eating its own tail.###

The scent lasts for a long time and stays true to the core of itself through most of the journey. Oh, there are moments of higher camphor and moments of deeper woods and when it all boils off, it's more resiny that it was through the rest of the trip, but that tangy, spicy rose stays the course.

Andy Tauer says: Incense rosé is a mysterious fragrance built around smoking frankincense,$ with rose$ and citrus notes, and dark balsamic resins.

First, you might find a few rose petals, from a dark and spicy rose. The natural bergamot and Clementine essential oil, together with just a hint of cardamom play there with the natural rose absolute from Bulgaria.

The fragrance is lifted by orris notes, rendering it vibrant and clear. At the same time it is dark and rich, with castor and woody notes playing on the skin.

It is the Texan cedar wood, vetiver and the balsamic, dark and mysterious notes of myrrh and patchouli$ that are all dancing with the incense. This natural frankincense, CO2 extracted Boswellia serrata, is softened by balsamic labdanum and ambrein.

Brother says@: Woody.

[It's "Incense Rosé."]

Yes, it is.


FOOTNOTE (crossed): People actually call them by these names, though their parents probably still call them Adrian, Greg and Bruce.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If the heathens are going to party in my house of worship, shall I not join them?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Just about as long as it takes to say "Maundy Thursday."

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except me. One side effect of drinking is it kills my appetite. Then I'm starving the next morning -- that's my version of a hangover.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Maybe that was just me.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Erica was actually lovely, just sporting unfortunate choices in hair and makeup.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Brother and Bruce may have had more to drink than I had by that point.

§§FOOTNOTE (just turn around and go home): LoDo on a Friday night is almost always a bad idea.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, sticking my tongue out): Not a fan, it turns out. Thought you should know.

##FOOTNOTE (pound that soap!): Heheheheheh...

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): You know.... squeal, air-kiss, boobboobboobboob and away.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (what are those things anyway?): Even if he was really drunk.

§§§FOOTNOTE (earworms): I haven't been able to get "Take On Me" out of my head since.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, bob-bob-bobbing my head): Heheheheheh...

###FOOTNOTE (tic tac toe in 3D): I've wanted to use that image for weeks. Thanks for giving me this opportunity.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): This was Friday night. I thought it an appropriate review for the occasion. The occasion being, of course, Friday night.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I would never have gotten Boswellia serrata, but by golly, I managed incense and rose.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Miss Me?

I had a very pleasant and long weekend.

I haven't time to tell you all about it now,% but I will give a teaser for the rest of the week:

Drinking and dancing and breaking Lent on Friday. You saw the Facebook entry, next -- read the blogpost.§

A stroll down the 16th Street Mall with my main Shanny on Saturday.

Sunday in the museum with the Nephews.

PLUS! What's in the trowel drawer? Knitted objects with pretty buttons! Drunken knitting: proof of life! Exotic playthings from distant lands!

[SUMMARY: I am a marketing genius.]

Stay tuned...


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I always forget that half of corporate America closes down for Good Friday, so I got Friday off and the office closed early on Thursday and I played hooky yesterday. Gotta tell ya -- it's more fun when you feel like you're getting away with something.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Off to the BLM to work. You are so jealous. You wish your job was as glamourous as mine.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Unless I decide to be Catholic, in which case the massive cocktail intake on Friday was simply a normal reaction to the end of Lent on Thursday.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Also? There are pictures. You won't see them.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'll show you pictures of that. There's a funny bit with a cross...

Friday, April 10, 2009

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Got Yatzer?


{Bram Boo via Yatzer}


There's a cubby for your yarn and a cubby for your scissors and a cubby for your stitch markers and a cubby for your pattern and a cubby for the latest Interweave Knits and there's a cubby for your circular needles and there's a cubby for your next project...

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]

Plus?

I wouldn't have to come up with so many ways to say "and" if today wasn't such a cornucopia of wonderments.

Remember the Red River Hogs at the San Diego Zoo?

Now, for you blogspotting pleasure, the lickablest of lickable piglets:


{New Red River piglets at the Calgary Zoo via ZooBorns}


You really should click over to ZooBorns -- they have more pictures and video and these little guys look like pig-shaped chimpunks, which is totally worth a click of your time.

Moreover?

I won!

I got the lovely, shiny purple stuff even though I admitted to Robin that I'd probably use it to knit a spider.

I guess that makes this Good Thursday.

Thanks, Robin!

Also?

I've found a new avocation: Twitter Gangster.

Thanks to Kathryn in Nathan's comments,% I want to embody the pure essence of Twitter femininity.

The critics rave:

"...any more "callings" and you might have to up the meds."§
Nathan Branch

"Yeah. You need another hobby."
Brother


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm pretty sure it will hardly interfere with my knitting at all.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not to be confused with Kathryn from my comments, who makes skull plates and works in the tea mines alongside her brave husband and whom I used to call Sister Katrina in high school when she still had a crush on Boy George.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And rant. And shake their heads.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lent is almost over and this is what Grey Goose is for.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): He was talking about something else, but I'm pretty sure he'd say the same thing now. Is it really quoting out of context if you apply the quote correctly elsewhere?

*pbpbpbbbpbbbthbthbthbthththth*

I do believe that's been the headline for all my social techology this morning.

It's the eternal cry of the defeated, the gomer left standing with her mouth open, her eyes blank and her brain ticking dangerously as she tries to fnd a wittier reply that *pbpbpbbbpbbbthbthbththththth*.

In the world of meta,% I believe I was practically bested.§ Oh, sure, I could've taken a picture of my cell phone taking a picture of Nathan's blog bomb... shit.

I shoulda thought of that before I conceded.

It's OK. I'm a graceful loser. AND I got Facebook.

[SUMMARY: Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to throw one last rock and run.]

So anyway, *pbpbpbpbbpbbbthbthbthbththththth!*#


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I bet there's a real, official name for it. I bet Lucretia knows it. Hell, she knows what a landman is, she probably knows just about everything.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I have to tell you, though, the best stupid, impotent comback ever was when my Uncle Tom nearly hit a pedestrian in a crosswalk while he (Uncle Tom) was in the process of ignoring a stop sign. The guy yelled, "Asshole!" Uncle Tom, not willing to give up the good fight, sputtered for a split second and retorted, "Well... you're a... double asshole!"

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Wiktionary:

Adjective

meta (comparative more meta, superlative most meta)
  1. (informal) Self-referential; at a higher level

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When we used to have pun wars in high school, the key rule was that the last person to give a VIABLE (emphasis important) pun under the given subject won. Otherwise a really good xylem and phloem bit would lose to a really lame bit whose best plant-based element was the word "grow." So, yeah, I could've beat the parallel mirrors analogy flat into the ground by taking digital photos ad infinitum, but I've decided to take the high road and be VIABLE. You're welcome.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Marin trivia: Bobbi Newberg and I sang this as a duet, with me accompanying on guitar, in choir. Eighth grade. You're welcome again.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): You'd think I'd be more gracious since Nathan generously allowed that tweeting (I can't tell you how much I hate admitting to "tweeting" -- couldn't I just twitter?) about trying to figure out how to spell *pbpbpbpbbbthbthbthththth* even as I was spelling it was quite meta.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Avast, Ye Frosting Lubbers!


{Johnny Cupcakes via Highsnobette}

I can't believe cupcakes 'n' crossbones have made it under my radar for so long.

Dear Friends and Family,

Nathan Branch just tweeted, and I quote: "I out-meta'd Marin! I took a screenshot of a twitter and posted it on my blog. Top that, AntiM!"




I am a danger to myself and possibly others when double-dog dared, so I give you the uber-meta Marin challenge winner:

I tweeted from my cell phone, then took a picture of the Twitter feed on my blog with said cell phone, sent it to my online album and posted it back here on the blog.

How much more meta can you get than that?

Nathan, you have been served. And I believe the word you were looking for in relation to my big brass balls? Classic. Or maybe epic... yeah, epic should cover it.§


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm not as smart as I look. This is *really* saying something.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): None. None more meta!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The trash-talking is beyond my wildest dreams. This *must* be what it feels like to have a penis.

Stupid Sparkly Update

I guess I should watch my back.

The hairpulling is getting serious.


FOOTNOTE (crossed): Side note: Black type on a dark grey background is a VERY BAD IDEA.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Short Attention Span Theatre

The billboard is changing again.

That's less than two weeks.

I'm no billboard expert, but that seems really short.


FOOTNOTE (crossed): But I play one on TiVi!

Monday, April 6, 2009

Lent: Day 42

Father has cancelled our weekly dinner so we can watch basketball tonight. I have thoughts on this:
  1. We have dinner at 5:00. We're done by 6:30 at the latest. Tip-off is at 7:20. Why couldn't we have dinner and watch the game afterward, separately or together?
  2. Dad Dinners represent the one day a week I get to ignore my Lenten embargo on dessert. I feel betrayed and hopeless and the gelato level in my blood is getting low.
  3. I will not find out if the chicken-footed garden implement resides in the Trowels, etc. drawer. I will also not find the answer to my auxiliary question as to which kind of trowels are in that drawer: masonry trowels or gardening trowels? Or both? And if it's masonry trowels, would their be a chicken-footed gardening implement anyway? And we won't find the answer to brother's question about whether Dad has a name for the chicken-footed garden implement.
  4. I didn't realise until just now that Lent goes for 40+ days because the bloody Catholics don't count Sundays.

I have covered Lent, trowels and communism today. I have no further thoughts and don't anticipate any throughout the afternoon. Consternation and ennui abide.

True Dat

From: Marin
To: Brother
Sent: Monday, April 6, 2009 9:45:48 AM
Subject: Immortal Revolutionary Songs

Mile-High Headlines for Monday, April 6
by Michael de Yoanna

NORAD Calls B.S. on North Korean Missile Launch
North Korean officials insist that they've launched a satellite into orbit around the Earth via a powerful, multi-stage rocket and that it is broadcasting "immortal revolutionary songs" praising communist leaders. Not so fast, says the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) in Colorado Springs, which reports that the rocket and its payload actually plopped into the Pacific Ocean (via the New York Daily News). The launch of the rocket, identified by U.S. officials as a Taepodong-2, is troubling because it also represents a step forward in the impoverished country's possible efforts to construct a nuclear missile that could strike the United States, writes The New York Times. Diplomats are debating how to address North Korea's action, according to The Washington Post. Such launches don't appear to be good for the planet's protective ozone layer either, according to a researcher with the University of Colorado (via The Los Angeles Times).

*************

One of the many problems with communism? It's very hard to take it seriously when communist countries keep finding new ways to make caricatures of themselves.

"In glorious honour of our brave communist leaders, we have launched a satellite playing 'Hail to Kim Jong-Il,' 'Wayfaring Eternal President' and 'Shine On, You Supreme People's Assembly.' so all may know of the joy and power of North Korea. Don't look at that nuclear warhead! That's not a nuclear warhead! That's an XM Radio of communism!"

Oh, the satire could be endless.

From: Brother
To: Marin
Sent: Monday, April 6, 2009 10:12:14 AM
Subject: Re: Immortal Revolutionary Songs

How funny is North Korea, though?

I mean, this is clearly the scariest country on Earth, being run by a man with a -21 golf handicap. But it's scary for being communist - the ridiculous impunity with which they can deploy their natural resources and human capital is alarming. It would actually be less scary if they were lying, because to devote the sort of resources that they would have needed for such a project to broadcast "immortal revolutionary songs" approaches real Jonestown-level idiocy. Wouldn't it have been a fuckload more effective to offer the immortal revolutionary songs as free downloads on iTunes?

I hate to quibble, but does this thing really represent "a step forward"? Hell, [Tallest Hairiest Nephew] could build a rocket that could get a few songs from Korea to the Pacific Ocean. That technology, um, isn't new. To anyone.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Hurrah!

Another point for Slovenia!

Confession: Good for the Soul, Hard on the Reputation

TTHFCIF

I have wrestled with my conscience all week.

Shall I confess or take this shame to my grave, jeopardising all my good and saintly works?§

*sigh*

You know the answer with the asking of the question.

[SUMMARY: Spiritual talk apparently requires stuffy speech patterns.]

Last Friday, when I was snowed in,% I...

I...

I...

Iwatchedthestupidsparklyvampires.

*whew*

I do feel better. Does this require penance?

[SUMMARY: Theology slippery, sainthood in danger...]

The movie was better than the book,# if that makes anyone feel any better.††


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I can usually take my conscience nine falls out of ten.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): *gaspROSEBUD!gasp*

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like... cake. And... knitting. And... um... Lent. Oh! And not burning the Post Office of the Damned to the ground.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Technically, I was not snowed in anymore by about 10:00 Friday morning, but I see no reason for that to influence this story.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Like maybe watching it again?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): This is known in the business as "damning with faint praise."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I feel better. Thank you.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Update!

In regards to the Trowels, etc. drawer: Brother says "etc." would be one of those miniature rake things that look like chicken feet.

He's bet me lunch on it.

Next Tuesday, I'll unveil the results.§


FOOTNOTE (crossed): I know you were on the edge of your seat.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): We agreed nobody knows what those things are called -- we communicated the idea mostly through the use of hand gestures. As a side bet, we're waiting to see if Dad has a name for them.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I really know how to create an atmosphere of anticipation, don't I?