OMG... O M G... omgomgomgomg

John Cusack is going to play Edgar Allen Poe.

I knew all this sainthood shit would pay off eventually and I would be rewarded.

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.

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.

Geek Chic 1977

There we were, Dad and I, sitting in his office† chatting.

The conversation got to, "Do you remember that old Atari I got for you guys?"‡

"Oh, yeah. I talk about it often. It's pure geek gold."

He chuckled and said, "Really?"

"Sure. It was the first. I was in on the ground floor of video gaming. It didn't help me any when Pac Man came along,§ but I do have some bragging rights."

He puffed his pipe the way he does and said, "Pong."

"And that tank game with the giant pixels for tanks."

"And Space Invaders."

"Space Invaders was much later. That first Atari was Pong and variations of Pong -- like the four-paddle Pong -- and the tank game, which also had the planes. Which were also giant pixels, only they flew."

"Oh, geez, yeah. Remember how you could corner someone in a tank and just shoot them over and over and they'd spin around and couldn't do a thing about it?"

I giggled. "How on earth did you even hear about Atari?"¶

"I don't know. I remember going to Denver# and looking everywhere for that thing. You may remember our TV got very poor reception..."††

"Oh, yes I do."

"...and it was cold and snowy a lot of the time. I thought you guys should have some kind of entertainment..."

He trailed off and puffed the pipe again.

"You remember standing in line in the snow to see..."‡‡

"Star Wars!" we both said together, laughing.

"It was the last night it was playing," I said.

"The line went all the way around the building," he said.

"And you and I had to sit one place and Bill and Mom had to sit somewhere else because the theatre was packed and we couldn't get four seats together."

"That's right."

"And you bought me Milk Duds§§ and I took one out of the box about the time we established a galaxy far, far away and at the end of the movie I had a Milk Dud in my hand that was about a foot across and *that* thick. The Milk Dud box was full. I was so enthralled I squashed that one Milk Dud into a pancake."

"I'll never forget standing out there in that line in the snow."

We both stared at the ceiling for a moment, grinning.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): As we are wont to do of a Monday evening.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The 2600. It looked like this:



And had games like this:




§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I was *terrible* at video games. We'd go to the bowling alley after school (how Americana) and everybody else would hit Pac Man, Tron, Centipede... I'd trot over to the pinball machines with a sneer, purporting to find the modern arcade distasteful. Of course, pinball was both easier and more private so I didn't have to broadcast my ineptitude to my friends. Come to think of it, I still do that. With pinball, I mean. I'm mostly OK with trumpeting my dorkitude to anybody who will listen.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Google hadn't been invented yet.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): We left Houston the summer before to move back to Colorado so my dad could have his mid-life crisis with heavy equipment. He bought a partnership in a friend's floundering excavation business in Tabernash. Going to Denver was a regular event because it was the only place to buy clothes and reasonably-priced food. And Christmas presents. For the record, that was the Christmas I learned to knit.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The Broncos went to the Super Bowl that year and we rented a motel room so we could watch the game. Without static. With colour.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Now that I know my dad better, this doesn't seem quite as unlikely, but for years I thought it was odd he wanted to take us to see Star Wars.

§§FOOTNOTE (Ah, the dance of memories): That has to be the brokest our family ever was. Milk Duds seem like an astonishing extravagance when I think about it now.

Fly Day

I want to redecorate my whole bedroom around this wallpaper†:


{via Art of Darkness}


It has *bats*.

[SUMMARY: Bats are where it's at.]

While I go ponder the remodel, you go check out Gigapan, one of the coolest ways to suck a half-hour‡ out of your day.

You can see the Obama inauguration picture in full screen here.

[SUMMARY: If I'm not getting any work done,§ ain't nobody getting any work done.]

I bet that Captain Kangaroo¶ guy was embarrassed when he realised nobody else in the entire event# was clapping.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Maybe not this colour. But I kinda like this colour. But I don't know if I'd want to sleep with this colour. The white one with the blue bats would make a lovely sundress, don't you think? You could practically go to Ascot in a dress like that.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or two. Or twelve.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I'm not. Oh, how I'm not. I put in my 4o hours sometime yesterday -- perfume reviewing at work notwithstanding -- and feel totally justified in screwing off to see a Best Picture nominee this afternoon. Besides, I'm pretty sure it can only put shiny, shiny rhinestones on my application for saint to help boost a sagging Hollywood economy. Or even Bollywood economy *hinthint*.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Marin Trivia: Captain Kangaroo and your dear ol' AntiM share a birthday. This will be really handy for you when, as a saint, I'm my own Jeopardy category.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): He's in the VIP section behind Obama, for the record.

Sex in the City!

And I didn't even see the movie this weekend.

Kelley's birthday† was the 30th, so we inhabited the Coral Room Friday night. Guess who came?‡

The Boy, of course.

And that Hot Tamale Jason.

And The Waiter.

And one of the married men from Dave's birthday who brought me to the term "flirtopause."

So I had stuff to do.§

[SUMMARY: I need my stuff to spread out more. Stop laughing.]

Let's see... long story short¶:

I was travelling light, just my skully wristlet with my keys, cards and cash. Kelley got very worried about my stuff just being out there, so she put it in her purse for safekeeping.%

Jason, The Boy and Kelley met when they worked at KMart, like, 15 years ago. Friday night, The Boy called Joel, also a former co-worker# and Joel actually showed up.††

Now, Jason had just wandered outside to sit by himself and I was going to casually wander to him‡‡ when The Waiter caught me and wanted to talk about how we never see each other anymore. And then Mr. Flirtopause wanted to chat. Then Jason came in to get another beer and I latched onto him with a coy little, "Hey, I was just going to come out and see if you wanted company."

"You can come out and keep me company."

"You looked kinda solitary sitting out there."

"I can be pretty solitary."

[light bulb]

"If you want to just be solitary, I'll let you be solitary."

"Relax. Come sit."

I started to sit opposite him at the table and he said, "No, not so far. Come sit next to me."

We sat for all of two minutes when Joel bounced outside to visit the old days with Jason. After a few minutes, everybody else followed. Because all I could do was sit there and nod and pretend to be amused when someone tossed out the seventh version of, "Remember that time Big Brandon caught that chick in the garden department...?"§§

So I went in and talked to The Waiter. And Mr. Flirtopause. And looked up just in time to see Kelley roaring out of the parking lot with Ed¶¶ in her car.

"She's coming back, right? She just went to take Ed home?"

"I don't think so. She didn't say anything. She just left."

"SHE HAS MY KEYS!"

[SUMMARY: I missed the boat on "long story short" about 200 words ago.]

So The Boy's sister## offered to take me to Kelley's place††† to wait for my keys, after which she'd bring me back to my car. But we beat Kelley home. And she didn't show up and didn't show up and then Joel showed up with a couple of his friends and we took the party indoors for noise control only they went out for a smoke and Kelley's car was there and The Boy pounded on her front door and I pounded on her back door‡‡‡ but she didn't answer and meanwhile The Boy's sister was calling her and she didn't answer and Joel and his friends were getting stoned and drunker and I was getting tired and The Boy said, "You can just crash here and get your keys in the morning" and was that enough foreshadowing for you? and The Boy's sister whispered something to him and he said, "No, Marin's all about Jason," and then he looked at me and said, "You're all about Jason," and I couldn't disagree and I called the Coral Room to promise I would come in and pay my tab as soon as I had money again and at 2:30 I couldn't stay up any more so I crashed in The Boy's bed and told him I'd go to the couch when he came to bed only when he came to bed at 4:00 Joel was passed out on the couch so I couldn't go sleep on the couch.

[SUMMARY: How old are we?]

Now I'm going to slow down, 'cause this is the good part.

He climbed in bed an just laid§§§ down for awhile, then spooned up on me and put an arm around me.

"How come we don't do this more often?"

I flipped. Literally. All the way over and looked him straight in the eye and said, "WHAT?!?"

"How come we don't do this more often?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"No... seriously? After you broke up with me? OK, OK... the answer to your question: we don't do this more often because you don't want to."

And then there was a little fooling around. And then there was more spooning.

[SUMMARY: I'm only campaigning for saint... I'm not there yet.]

And then we picked the conversation up where we left off:

"But I like this. You next to me feels good. We should do this more often."

"We'll talk about it later. Get some sleep."

And Kelley brought my keys and stuff around 8:00 and took me to my car and I spent Saturday with my favourite cousin.

Then Sunday I broke up with the poor little date¶¶¶ and celebrated Brother's and Father's birthdays### The Boy is going to see Rush at Red Rocks with me Thursday and you can just call me Carrie Bradshaw.

[SUMMARY: Not the body or the cachet, but the Big and Aidan and Burger and all.]

With less fabulous shoes.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 40th

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not like that. Well, yes like that, but later. Guess who showed up at the Coral Room?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I can hear you giggling out there...

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): -er. Shorter.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ooooh... how clumsy is my foreshadowing?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And a guy with no filters, no tact and no social grace at all.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to everyone's surprise.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Smooth as cactus.

§§FOOTNOTE (circular logic): Followed by peals of laughter and objectless sentence fragments:

"With the..."

"And then she..."

"And the SEAHORSE!!!"

*wild laughter*

¶¶FOOTNOTE (double-fisting those long necks): Ed was h a m m e r e d.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-door apartment): I finally met the sister. I know that sounds weird when I'm talking about a guy I've technically been separated from (if you can call the passive termination of a two month thing "separated") for two years... but it seems to be a point of curiosity for a lot of people who know us that I never met his sister.

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear... or have I already done that one?): Also The Boy's place and Ed's place. Wait... was that more bumbling foreshadowing?

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sidetracked): Quit it. We stopped being dirty two paragraphs ago. Besides, now you're talking three-way and I'm just not sure I'm cut out for that.

§§§FOOTNOTE (too confusing for words. Let me do this interpretive dance...): What a great choice of words. But, really... lay is transitive, but what's the past tense of lie? The dictionary shows lay, lain, lying... grammar is not my friend this morning.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (like clubbing baby seals): 1) The hook-up and the break-up had nothing to do with each other; I was going to cut the poor little date free Sunday before I ever saw The Boy this weekend, and 2) this was the first time I've *ever* broken up with someone that didn't involve a fight. Oh, guys have broken up with me before, but I've never been the one to call that shot. It was weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather not do it again if I can help it.

###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding we're taking here in the footnotes today): Flip-flops with bottle openers in the bottom may be the coolest invention *ever*.

Sick and Twisted

Talking literally, here, folks.† I had a really spectacular flu the last three days. Poor Steve had it first, and I had to call him Monday to say, "Hey, hope you're feeling better, but I really need to know this is going to be over soon."

It was one of those where I spent a significant amount of time thinking I was going to die and another significant amount of time thinking it may not be the worst thing.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

I've been gone so long... today I feel I'm a stranger‡ in a strange land.

It's going to be disjointed, but we'll all get there together. Without joints.§ And you know what that means...

That pig is gonna get the tongue-bath of his life.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

First, happy Super Tuesday. Go read this book:




I'm a big fan of the "Click Clack Moo" series¶ anyway, but this isn't really a kids' book. Well, maybe. But you'll get more out of it than your five-year-old.

And you can read it standing up at your local B&N.

[SUMMARY: That's what he said.]

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

Second, happy Super Bowl. Don't drink this:

Me and My Main Shanny doin' what we do best



And maybe you think you have no call to drink Boone's Farm Sangria-Flavoured Wine Product Food Stuff, but, hey... this isn't what I thought I'd be using my college degree for either.

See, our Super Bowl is about tradition. The Elks have been Super Bowling for nearly 20 years. In fact, next year is our 20th anniversary.# Because most of us were just out of college when this whole mess started, a lot of our traditions revolve around alcohol.

Because we're all still wildly immature and in denial about our age,†† we've seen no reason to delete, modify‡‡ or render symbolic+ any of these alcoholic traditions.

These traditions include the National Anthem Chug, in which the *stated* object of the game is to begin chugging a grossly cheap beer§§ at the first note of the anthem, finishing as the anthem finishes. Around, "...does that star-spangled banner yet wave..." it devolves into a highly competitive race to finish first.

These traditions also include the Lonely Guy Hour, which used to mean passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm at half-time, but now means everybody brings four or five bottles, which are cracked right after the national anthem and somewhere around the post-game confetti explosion, someone says, "Gorrdamit! Where's the best of the Roone's Flarm?"

After years of delicate tasting, we have highly sophisticated Boone's Farm palates.

Thusly:

"Where's the pink?¶¶ The pink is really good!"

"Are you high? The pink made me barf. Now, the blue..."

"Oh, dude, the blue SUCKS! Ya gotta get the orange."

"You'd drink that peach shit?"

"Not PEACH, dumbass, ORANGE..."

"Ha! That's what she said!"

Anyway, our verdict is the Sangria is just bad. It actually tastes like blood.##

Also? This year we may have started a new tradition. Y'all twelve-year-olds will appreciate it: just about anytime anybody says anything, answer with, "That's what she said," or the occasionally snarf-worthier, "That's what he said."

Funniest thing ever. I still giggle every time I say it.

Maybe you had to be there.&

[SUMMARY: That's what I said.]

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

Soldier Boy called Friday night. I think I'm gonna get me some this weekend.

[SUMMARY: WOOOOOOOOOT! I mean... That's what she said!]

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

At one time, I had a lot of words to impart on the whole Queensryche/Dokken experience. Because it's so far gone, I'm going to give you some bullet points:

• Look! Bullet!
• We got our tickets under face value from a scalper. I didn't know that happened. I felt dangerous and hip and savvy.
• It was the first time in (probably) twenty years that I haven't been vigorously frisked going into a concert. 1) Damnit. It would have been the most action I'd seen in months, and 2) if I'd had a clue, I'd've brought my camera.
• Don Dokken now looks like Kenny Rogers.
• Don Dokken did an all-acoustic set, and all of Dokken's Greatest Hits sound pretty much alike, acoustially presented.
• Don Dokken pulled a Tragedy Vampire on the whole Heath Ledger thing with, "I wasn't going to play anything off the new album,% but this is for a guy... a guy who liked music. And he used a lot of music. And I met him a couple of times..." I will never forget the chorus to the alleged song because I was so intent on memorising it just so I could share with ya'll:

I've been driven by wild horses, dragged beneath their feet.
Why do the children cry? How can we get relief?

• All that said, Don Dokken was personable, friendly, cheerful (other than the Tragedy Vampire portion of the program), played the hits and got off stage. I think I could have a beer with Don Dokken.
• Queensryche rocked. Geoff Tate has lost the tiniest bit off his highest wail, but mostly just rocked like an antiformal syncline.$ They did not do "The Lady Wore Black," though I had a dork moment when I thought they were going to and I turned to Greg and said, "No way. No fucking way." Later, I had to confess I'd failed to recognise some Queensryche hit that sounded a lot like TLWB and Greg said he thought it was TLWB too. So... vindicated.
• Geoff Tate is DEADLY serious about his work. While that often makes art and culture more laughable, I came to the conclusion that if he wasn't so very, very serious, his work would be a joke.
• Geoff Tate doesn't cuss. Not so much as a "hell" or a "damn." Particularly in contrast to Don Dokken's every-other-word-is-fuck, it was kinda refreshing.
• Reservoir tip ski hats are back in. Half the roadies were wearing them, but I also saw a couple of escaped Abercrombie & Fitch models in front of us and one was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana reservoir tip hat and I have a strong feeling that if it was five minutes passé, the boy wouldn't be caught dead in it.
• I'm pretty sure the couple to my left at the encore actually had sex. Right there. Next to me. And she was wearing this strappy, complicated, dominatrix thing that took her about ten minutes to get straightened when the lights came up.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

THIS JUST IN:

I received an plane ticket sales email thingie* from Frontier under the heading, "Why Hibernate?" and saying you could escape with low airfare. On the "to/from Denver" list? Anchorage. Chicago. Billings. Rapid City. Detroit.

What exactly am I escaping? And why would I leave hibernation to do it?

[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]

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

Speaking of concerts, did I mention Rush? At Red Rocks?@ I got my ticket last week. $120. Fuck me.^

So I guess I won't be leaving the eighties any time this year. It's a total celebration of lack of maturation.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

While I was sick, I spent a lot of time in front of the TiVi,††† and this is on Comcast On-Demand. Watch it:



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

Dang. I'm sure there's lots more. I'll probably have to lick that lucky pig tomorrow.

[SUMMARY: All together now: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I know you're used to my metaphorical... um... flights of fancy and purple prose whatsits, but there I was, sick (throwing up every hour on the hour for 22 hours) and twisted (wrapping myself around the toilet in new ways I never I could manage).

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, even stranger than usual.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not those kind. If you ever saw me stoned, you'd know why I never, ever mean *those* kind. Mentally, I went straight to Lyda's zombies.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't judge. Anyone who has kids or has bedtimed for, "Read it again. Read it again. Read it again," appreciates a book you can both appreciate.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be T-shirts.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except for some of the guys whose daughters are rapidly approaching teenage-hood. Ah, Mateo... this is where you get it back for all your slick, horn-dog years.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): At least not to save our souls and livers.

+FOOTNOTE (plussed): You know... like substituting Crystal Light for Boone's Farm or tossing confetti instead of our cookies.

§§FOOTNOTE (now, there's a nice, tight spiral... that's what she said): In honour of our humble beginnings.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two bottles for the price of one!): Because Boone's Farm, like Gatorade, doesn't so much come in flavours as colours.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Patriot): Well, Blood-Flavoured Wine Food Product Stuff, in any case.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I will, of course, be forcing it down your throat for the rest of the post. *pause* *think* *giggle* That's what he said!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Don Dokken has a new album coming out. Acoustic. All new stuff. Seriously.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A little geology humour for those of you who are so inclined. Or synclined. Or anticlined, if you'd rather. Gosh, I think I'm funny.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, if you can believe that): Plane Ticket Sales Email Thingie® Frontier Airlines. All saints preserve us.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): The place where U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" video was shot. You know, where the girl in the polar bear jacket mauls Bono, then he waves a flag.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): That's what he said.

†††FOOTNOTE (triple your pleasure): Except for Monday, when I spent a lot of time in front of the toilet and the rest of the time chasing ducks in fever delusions. Fever delusions are kinda cool.

This Just In...

Rhinebeck Countdown: game clock at 7 days, play clock at 10 days

They were filming on the corner of 16th and Tremont (roughly three blocks from the office and on my way to Cook's Fresh Market) when I sauntered into town for lunch today.

I'm pretty sure I didn't wedge my way into any shots.

There was surprisingly little fuss and REALLY suprisingly little equipment. When they make movies in movies, they shut down streets and there are cameras on motorised vehicles and big, dangling boom mics† and stuff. This was a bunch of people relaying information via walkie-talkie (what? No Nextel?) and a single camera on a stick only three or four feet off the ground.

They would wind up for the next green light, a cop would hold a few cars until the movie car went through said light, then life would resume as normal.

So I went back to the office to eat my sandwich.

Further updates as the situation warrants.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): heheheheheheheh... I'm twelve.

Time to Lick the Pig

Yes, it's brain lint time again. That time when rug burns sing, knitting goes feral and pigs get tongue-baths from winsome tots.†

Have you ever seen one of those French slice-of-life movies? Personally, I find them boring and awful, but I've seen one so I have some basis for comparison here. This first bit is basically my own little slice-of-life. It has no purpose beyond the "Huh."

When I was cosied up in my comfy chair Monday afternoon, I heard sirens from the north. They came closer and closer and a big, white fire truck pulled up right in front of my house.‡

The driver (wearing an official-looking navy blue uniform with a badge) and a fireman (wearing the giant fire coat and fire boots and placing his fire hat on his head as he hit the ground) hopped out. The fireman grabbed an axe and they both turned toward my house.

They looked up the long flight of stairs to the front door.§ They took two steps left and looked up my neighbour's stairs. They circled around opposite sides of the truck and disappeared, presumably to look at the across-the-street neighbour's door.

They came back around to my side. The fireman put the axe back in the hold of the truck and they both hopped back in.

Then they hopped out, grabbed the axe, milled¶ for a few minutes, jumped in the truck and drove off.

[SUMMARY: Huh.]

The movie people were back across the street from the office yesterday. Now they're gone again. I imagine it would be a royal pain in the ass to put up tents, take down tents, up with port-a-potties, down with port-a-potties every single day.

George Karl, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson will be filming next week.

I think George Karl is going to be surprisingly good with his seven words onscreen. I seen him on the news last night and I think he's got that certain something.

[SUMMARY: Uh... really?]

Um... Brother? You won't appreciate this. I'm going to give you this 37 seconds of your life as a gift. Just skip to the next one.

I leave for New York a week from today. I think it's about time I think about my shopping list for Rhinebeck# and travel knitting.

Yorick will be done. Sparkle Socks will be done, or nearly. I'll certainly take the Massive Debt Father's day Arrrgyles for Brother and I may start a pair of Rainbow Socks out of a nice ball of Austermann Step with Aloe and Jojoba I've been hoarding.

It would probably help if I had a better Christmas plan. Both with what I should be knitting in the tens of FAA-supported hours I'll be experiencing next week and with what I should (and shouldn't) buy at Rhinebeck.

Musing.

Pig-licking.

[SUMMARY: Are we going to do this every week, AntiM?]

Oh, wait! Not this one either. Try the next exit.

Speaking of Rhinebeck... I'm going to be a bingo square in Stitchy McYarnpants's Rhinebeck Bingo.




It's not some big, unforeseen honour or anything. I volunteered.†† But, y'know... didn't get rejected.

I just thought y'all should know, just in case it makes you happy.

[SUMMARY: Attention whore.]

OK. You can tune back in now. It's football.

Just in case y'all were sitting there wondering, "Man, I haven't heard anything about Marin's fantasy football world lately. I wonder how she's doing."

I am at the top of both of my Pick 'Em leagues (one boys, one girls). Even after picking the Broncos in both leagues last week and even picking them against the Colts in one league two weeks ago.

I am firmly planted in the middle of my fantasy league, a stunningly mediocre 3-2 record and a supa-hot one-game winning streak to my name. Or the name of BOB, as it goes. Brother -- because I know you're dying to know -- has crept out of the sub-basement and is in second-to-last place with a far inferior 2-3 record.

And, while our feisty Canadian friend remains a few points ahead of me in the overall standings in the Onion Shattered Fantasies League, I whipped her sassy Canadian ass this week and am roaring toward a comeback.

[SUMMARY: I don't suck at sucking as much as you thought.]

DayQuil isn't supposed to make you dopey, is it?

You don't suppose it's just me, do you?

[SUMMARY: Getting warmer.]

I miss my Fling. I think I even miss the Male Lady just a little. Mostly I miss being able to breathe. I'm pretty sure a lack of snot-free oxygen to the brain is causing these blogblahs.

Please have a lovely Wednesday. For all our sakes.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My father, for the record, says the kid in the pig-licking photo reminds him oh, so much of me. I was afraid to ask if it's just the blond curls or if it's the insouciant tongue action.

Hey! Stop that! My father is NOT thinking that kind of tongue action!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suddenly became very aware of my insurance.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For a moment, I honestly wondered if my house was on fire and they were seriously contemplating letting it burn so they wouldn't have to climb the stairs.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two people can mill. I've seen it with my own two eyes. Which... don't mill. Even though there's two. Like the story about the people. Please make me stop.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because pretty yarn out of context is a dangerous thing for the pocketbook and the stash. There are so many (whisper) useless hunks of fibre in my stash because I bought a ball or a skein in magpie mode and don't have enough to do anything compelling with it.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With my hand waving madly in the air, shrieking, "Oo! Oo! Pick me! Pick me!"

Keep Your Penis in Your Genus

Take that, Google!

Did anyone else watch "Cavemen" last night?

I just have a crapload of brain lint for you today, as I did nothing useful last night and apparently don't intend to do anything useful in the very near future.

Well, except for hockey.

Because I volunteered to help Interweave Press with this year's Sticks 'n' Stitches,† I'm on this special offers mailing list for the Colorodo Avalanche. It's not totally rockstar-VIP, but it is a nice litte tweak.

Kelley and I are attending tonight's season opener. I don't know if you've ever attended one sporting event (i.e. -- tonight's hockey game) while a big sporting event from another sport is going on (i.e. -- tonight's Rox playoff game)... it's really wound up.

The Rox score will be updated frequently -- maybe even constantly displayed. During TiVi timeouts and such, they'll show highlights from the baseball game. The Pepsi Center will hum and vibrate with the energy of 19,000 swept up sports fans.

So don't call me tonight 'cause it's going to be off the hook.‡

[SUMMARY: With hip talk like that, I could write sitcoms for CW.]

Can I just say here than anyone who doesn't read the comments... well, they're not necessary to your mental health or your understanding of the complexities of this blog (*ahem*), but brilliant and incisive minds come from all corners of the Innernets to comment, kibbutz and debate the merits of the term "pounded like a two-dollar whore."

It's a regular Algonquin Roundtable there under the surface. You should try it some time.

[SUMMARY: This may partly be a shameless slurp to ameliorate the ick that is to follow. But it works 'cause it's true.]

Right across from the office I'm working in (I can see it from my window) is a Hampton Inn Suites. I walk right past it on my way from the parking lot to the office in which I'm working

Every morning, there's about a half-dozen tourists waiting for their rental cars from valet or catching a cab or gearing up§ for a big day's cruise around downtown. An odd pattern I've noticed: they're almost always wearing Bronco shirts -- the entire family -- and the wife and daughter are more often than not wearing pink Bronco shirts.

Every day. For two months.

And about three-quarters of the nights when I'm heading to my car, Papa John's is delivering pizza. Doesn't matter if it's 4:00 or 7:00. Papa John's is there.

I wonder if the people at the front desk of the Hampton Inn Suites notice these vignettes.

[SUMMARY: Now that work has slowed down a bit, I apparently have too much time on my mind.]

I was trying to come up with a title for today's post. I got stuck in a "bits and bobs" loop, but (or because) Franklin just used that delightful little phrase. So I thought, "Google. Maybe there's a sort of thesaurus for phrases¶ and I can discover an equally delightful little phrase."

Read the footnote -- I didn't find a phrasal thesaurus,# but I did come across a website for English idiom, including a message board for ESL linguists trying to get by in the English-speaking world. I read through several of the forum entries and it fascinates me that they are so fascinated with phrases like, "to grease a palm"†† or "work like a dog."‡‡

[SUMMARY: English, she is more interesting than we remember.]

There's a girl on Ravelry with the screen name "Diva de los Muertos."

Best. Screen. Name. Ever.

Don't think I didn't stalk her and tell her so.

[SUMMARY: *slurp*]

My rug burn is almost completely healed. I need a new one.

[SUMMARY: Is she whining about sex again?§§]

Heh. I've been waiting for a good opportunity to use this picture from Cute Overload. Perhaps it could be the first installment in the Phrasaurus:

Lick the pig: jump the shark, screw the pooch, bite the big one, cock a snook, take the mickey, wag the dog, milk the joke.

[SUMMARY: This has to end soon.]

You know, when Enchanting Juno gets whimsical and musey, it's like a soft summer evening, warm and golden and jasmine-scented. It brushes melancholy and touches on philosophy and there's wisdom and usually fibre somewhere.

When I get whimsical and musey, somehow we end up with rug burns and children licking pigs.

[SUMMARY: Where do I go wrong?]

Ooh! Ooh! Fibre! I started the second Sparkle Sock last night and am halfway up the foot.

[SUMMARY: Weak attempt at knitblog.]

Second choice for TiVi quote blogtitle: "You all have numbers so we'll be doing this alphabetically."

[SUMMARY: Wow. This passes for blogfodder?¶¶]

You're right. I'm done.

Go Rox! Go Avs!##


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): January 5. Mark your calendar. $27 gets you tickets -- much better than last year, my buddy Brendan in the Avs' ticket office tells me (he also tells me, "You have my direct line. If you need tickets this season, just give me a call and I'll see what I can do." I love Brendan. I wonder if Brendan has ever operated a crane...). Your $27 also gets you a hot dog and a drink, plus a goody bag (which I will be helping to assemble in one fashion or another).

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I may have full-circled right past dork and back to cool. Humour me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Camera, fanny pack for Mom, fishing vest with guidebook for Dad, comfortable shoes, bermuda shorts, Barbie backpack for little Amber... it's a daily festival of guppying up to the stereotype

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Nope. Not that I could find. There should be.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Phrasaurus?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I never realised how dirty that sounds until just now.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You may be wondering why, after a certain amount of research, that's the title I came up with. Hey, a chance to use the word "genus"? I'm there.

§§FOOTNOTE (Pamela Lee got nothing on me): Why, yes. Yes, I am.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (more paragraphs than sense); Why, yes. Yes, it does.

##FOOTNOTE (pint's a pound the world around... believe I'll take two): Take Marin with you!