(no subject)
I never really watched Ally McBeal when it aired (and still think the sight gags are super obnoxious, from time to time), but I find myself drawn to it after watching a few episodes, last week.
Maybe I just like it because Calista Flockhart was the same age, when it started, that I am now, and she still looks so glowing and eternal (which gives a person hope), and she's full of youthful anger and confusion even though she's got a Harvard education and a sparkling career. And maybe, somewhere inside, I'm 10% transsexual and find it all rather melancholy and beautiful, like I'm watching the life of the girl I might have been. And maybe I'm just old enough to not care what people think, anymore, and not be embarrassed how much I love all those Vonda Shepard white-lady-suburban-piano-soul-style covers of romantic songs of yore. And maybe I'm old enough to really feel that yore is actually just back around that one corner of your life, even though it's moving further and further away, every moment.
(no subject)
I think you should totally listen to the Russian rock compilation. The first song is just as great as anything off that eponymous Serbian synthpop album by Alisa that I was obsessed w/ last year. You remember the one.*
I seriously don't even know how LJ works, anymore. Poor, stupid me. Craig has a bladder infection, right now, and is feverish. I still work my same skeezy job. We have a lot of trees, now. I've been given 3 credit cards. Fifth anniversary in June. You should vaguely summarize the last year or so of your life, like I've done, here. Pics are nice.
Assuming you've forgotten what we look like:
*In case you don't remember the one (on account of me never posting anything here, ever, anymore).
I seriously don't even know how LJ works, anymore. Poor, stupid me. Craig has a bladder infection, right now, and is feverish. I still work my same skeezy job. We have a lot of trees, now. I've been given 3 credit cards. Fifth anniversary in June. You should vaguely summarize the last year or so of your life, like I've done, here. Pics are nice.
Assuming you've forgotten what we look like:
*In case you don't remember the one (on account of me never posting anything here, ever, anymore).
Armenian
Craig planted some Armenian cucumbers out back and we are terrible at paying them any mind at all. Thus we keep finding ourselves w/ a monstrous yield of equine style cukes. What's a guy to do?
Sometimes I can't remember if I'm opening a bottle or sucking a cucumber.
Sometimes I can't remember if I'm opening a bottle or sucking a cucumber.
Mayday
I've let my pro account lapse. That's surely a sign of the end. In other news, not much has changed. Climbing up the retail ladder a little, still no signs of a serious educational endeavor.
Passion fruit is blossoming and fruiting. It's a glorious plant.
Our greeter @ work is dying. Patrick is his name.
Craig and I, in his unending need to see other places and both of our need to seek out a new place to be, drove to Monterey a few weeks ago. He dreamed of the aquarium, which we agreed was disappointing. It made me weep a little as we swept through its extensive reef detailing the human necessity for conservation, but it was otherwise a little short on sea life and a little long on theory.
Maybe that's the really the way things should be.
Banana tree w/ several pups, three or four new up and coming rose bushes. Cat claw vine cascading over the concrete wall. Palo verde tree where, before, there was none.
Growth, growth, growth. Decay. Sometimes the ratios seem to go awry.
Life goes on, for now, anyway.
Passion fruit is blossoming and fruiting. It's a glorious plant.
Our greeter @ work is dying. Patrick is his name.
Craig and I, in his unending need to see other places and both of our need to seek out a new place to be, drove to Monterey a few weeks ago. He dreamed of the aquarium, which we agreed was disappointing. It made me weep a little as we swept through its extensive reef detailing the human necessity for conservation, but it was otherwise a little short on sea life and a little long on theory.
Maybe that's the really the way things should be.
Banana tree w/ several pups, three or four new up and coming rose bushes. Cat claw vine cascading over the concrete wall. Palo verde tree where, before, there was none.
Growth, growth, growth. Decay. Sometimes the ratios seem to go awry.
Life goes on, for now, anyway.
QUEERSTIONS
Never played the whole March question game before, but I don't have much original content right now.
Ask all your most evil, amusing, serious questions.
Ask all your most evil, amusing, serious questions.
(no subject)
She walked away w/o acknowledging anything at all and I (being crazy) thought, "O, look! A cute little beetle." Then, I squashed it a little and upon further inspection saw that it resembled the German variety.
That guy on the left, there.
I like the harmless ol' two inch outdoor American roaches and the seemingly armored and probably forever archaically named Oriental roaches that I used to count on late night walks through the old suburban neighborhood w/ Craig- and this was barely larger the tip of a pencil- but I still can't believe that dirty little cockroach nymph wiggled it's way from the toothless bitch's purse. Kill the poor!
In related news, Jan Brewer has been reelected, and Republicans own The House. Granted, the Democrats are the lesser of two corporate controlled, money grubbing aristocratic evils, but I can't even understand the ability of the American people to dupe themselves, anymore. Most unexpectedly disturbing experience I've had in awhile.
How's you? How are you spending days?
I'm still trying to perfect the conversion of VHS to digital, using nothing but freeware and my twelve dollar dongle. It's a little taxing and as the Tea Party will tell you, that's just B-A-D, bad.
That guy on the left, there.
I like the harmless ol' two inch outdoor American roaches and the seemingly armored and probably forever archaically named Oriental roaches that I used to count on late night walks through the old suburban neighborhood w/ Craig- and this was barely larger the tip of a pencil- but I still can't believe that dirty little cockroach nymph wiggled it's way from the toothless bitch's purse. Kill the poor!
In related news, Jan Brewer has been reelected, and Republicans own The House. Granted, the Democrats are the lesser of two corporate controlled, money grubbing aristocratic evils, but I can't even understand the ability of the American people to dupe themselves, anymore. Most unexpectedly disturbing experience I've had in awhile.
How's you? How are you spending days?
I'm still trying to perfect the conversion of VHS to digital, using nothing but freeware and my twelve dollar dongle. It's a little taxing and as the Tea Party will tell you, that's just B-A-D, bad.
Summer
Got the dog shaved, the other day @ a local, homosexual dog groomer. Doggie in the Window in Phoenix: Cheap, pretty well done. The dog seems less depressed w/ his haircut.
Location ghetto as fuck, though. Had to stand helplessly outside and have them rescue me after two failed attempts to open the broken door. Felt sort of bad for the owner. They do a good job, but I don't think they'll ever make enough money where they are to ever move somewhere else.
"Is there a big, giant bird in there?" the homeless guy asked us after we dropped off the dog.
I'm finding it harder and harder to write here, these days. I don't know if it's that life is boring or too filled w/ strange, dissonant occurrences (oral dreams about dad, death of my best friend's sister). Maybe it's just that lady on the radio was right and most of the population is less and less inclined to read deeply, to think deeply, and to write long.
Maybe one day I'll figure out that I need to say something requiring more than the modern, lousy character limit allows.
Craig is still beautiful. Sunflowers are bowing before the summer heat.
It's a little oppressive.
Location ghetto as fuck, though. Had to stand helplessly outside and have them rescue me after two failed attempts to open the broken door. Felt sort of bad for the owner. They do a good job, but I don't think they'll ever make enough money where they are to ever move somewhere else.
"Is there a big, giant bird in there?" the homeless guy asked us after we dropped off the dog.
I'm finding it harder and harder to write here, these days. I don't know if it's that life is boring or too filled w/ strange, dissonant occurrences (oral dreams about dad, death of my best friend's sister). Maybe it's just that lady on the radio was right and most of the population is less and less inclined to read deeply, to think deeply, and to write long.
Maybe one day I'll figure out that I need to say something requiring more than the modern, lousy character limit allows.
Craig is still beautiful. Sunflowers are bowing before the summer heat.
It's a little oppressive.
(no subject)
Not a lot is new here.
Deaths upon deaths @ work: one man's mother, another woman's father-in-law; mumbling cashier's uncle, customer service woman's sister. Nice lady in the meat department (whose husband passed away and whose two sons would pass for hot, chubby bears in a universe not my own) had a minor heart attack.
The secretary's son kicked the bucket. This one hurt the most, because she's such a phenomenal person. Skateboarding accident, major head trauma, never regained consciousness. Harvested heart beating in a 52-year-old chest. Closed casket, because he has no eyes, because his corneas are gone; and closed to lessen the pain.
Death makes me remember how lucky I've been, how unscathed. Grandfathers dead before I was born or before I knew what death really was; grandmothers still kicking pretty strongly. Not a lot of friends (this part chokes me up, but just a bit), and none unfortunate enough to have shuffled off.
Only hearsay, death.
-
Investing in plant life, these days.
Lily is okay (albeit a little less bushy after some accidental afternoon sun exposure). Rubber tree is sprouting new leaves like crazy, variegated ficus not far behind.
Wheeler's dwarfs freshly planted out front and a retaining wall full of elephant food and purple heart.
Pondering a hobby in bonsai. The artsy, sparse kind, that makes it easy to breath.
-
Working out for a couple months; going okay. Honestly need to work on the diet aspect more than anything else and cease eating when I'm satiated, binging when I'm hungry, and generally ingesting too much cookie dough ice cream, and too many sodies (these I've cut down on) and beers. But, beers are relaxing!
Cropped out the fat there, yay!
Ears thoroughly cleaned on Monday. Enjoying this new "hearing" thing.
-
How are you?
I notice that even though everyone pledged not to jump ship for facebook or twitter, when I click on my friends list it grows shorter each time. Maybe people are just getting rid of me.
:D
Deaths upon deaths @ work: one man's mother, another woman's father-in-law; mumbling cashier's uncle, customer service woman's sister. Nice lady in the meat department (whose husband passed away and whose two sons would pass for hot, chubby bears in a universe not my own) had a minor heart attack.
The secretary's son kicked the bucket. This one hurt the most, because she's such a phenomenal person. Skateboarding accident, major head trauma, never regained consciousness. Harvested heart beating in a 52-year-old chest. Closed casket, because he has no eyes, because his corneas are gone; and closed to lessen the pain.
Death makes me remember how lucky I've been, how unscathed. Grandfathers dead before I was born or before I knew what death really was; grandmothers still kicking pretty strongly. Not a lot of friends (this part chokes me up, but just a bit), and none unfortunate enough to have shuffled off.
Only hearsay, death.
-
Investing in plant life, these days.
Lily is okay (albeit a little less bushy after some accidental afternoon sun exposure). Rubber tree is sprouting new leaves like crazy, variegated ficus not far behind.
Wheeler's dwarfs freshly planted out front and a retaining wall full of elephant food and purple heart.
Pondering a hobby in bonsai. The artsy, sparse kind, that makes it easy to breath.
-
Working out for a couple months; going okay. Honestly need to work on the diet aspect more than anything else and cease eating when I'm satiated, binging when I'm hungry, and generally ingesting too much cookie dough ice cream, and too many sodies (these I've cut down on) and beers. But, beers are relaxing!
Cropped out the fat there, yay!
Ears thoroughly cleaned on Monday. Enjoying this new "hearing" thing.
-
How are you?
I notice that even though everyone pledged not to jump ship for facebook or twitter, when I click on my friends list it grows shorter each time. Maybe people are just getting rid of me.
:D
(no subject)
Is there a single word descriptive term for all root vegetables, other than simply "root vegetables"? Boyfriend says there is, but I can't think of one.
He thinks I'm crazy for thinking one wouldn't exist.
He thinks I'm crazy for thinking one wouldn't exist.
(no subject)
It's hard to describe what I like about our neighborhood. It's somewhat mediocre. To the east, there's a large apartment complex, built in a sort of South Western style, with lots of arches and recessed outdoor lighting. The kind of thing that in the mid-West signals only a Taco Bell.
Our street is a mixed bag, mostly elderly folk (off to the right somewhere, there's a retired man who seems to be cared for, occasionally, by lesbians, and his neighbor, an awkwardly dressed Asian woman who can be seen walking for exercise through the nearby resort community, clad in attire that doesn't quite sit well w/ her Western surroundings: too pentatonic, too loud) and middle-aged Mexicans, many of whom own their own businesses (directly across from us are a cleaning woman and a landscaper, the latter of whom can be seen tending roses and citrus a couple of times a week).
At first, the hood seemed iffy, an opinion mirrored by Craig's sister-in-law and niece, although they referred to it as ghetto. And despite taking offense, there were reasons to call it so...the kid across the street shooting his sling shot at our car, Helen and Bob (the local homeless couple that beds down, literally, around the corner for a couple of weeks each year), those sporadic summer swap meets on the corner close by, full of old strollers and dressers and microwave ovens, no doubt the loot of the assumed house cleaners across the alley who are constantly filling up our shared dumpster w/ stuff.
But it's quiet. Most of the block is well manicured. There's no theme or consistent landscape style, necessarily, but it seems most people care for their yards, even down those three seemingly poorer blocks to the south.
I like it here.
Sometimes, I'll mention how we're not up to snuff, in some superficial manner. I likened our house to a dungeon the other day, but my Craigers didn't like that. He's too sensitive that way; occasionally takes my poetic dramatics as negativity. But I love him so. And this place.
I am comfortable for the next six to nine hundred days just lazing about. Maybe going back to school as per our talks back in the day. Adding all that sambal oelek to my ramen noodles.
We replanted this stupid dying aloe in against the side wall today, and I'm hoping it will actually grow.
The pot it was in was heavy as fuck and cheap, so when I tried to move it, it shredded like it was made of a sheet of cardboard.
Eff that noise.
Our street is a mixed bag, mostly elderly folk (off to the right somewhere, there's a retired man who seems to be cared for, occasionally, by lesbians, and his neighbor, an awkwardly dressed Asian woman who can be seen walking for exercise through the nearby resort community, clad in attire that doesn't quite sit well w/ her Western surroundings: too pentatonic, too loud) and middle-aged Mexicans, many of whom own their own businesses (directly across from us are a cleaning woman and a landscaper, the latter of whom can be seen tending roses and citrus a couple of times a week).
At first, the hood seemed iffy, an opinion mirrored by Craig's sister-in-law and niece, although they referred to it as ghetto. And despite taking offense, there were reasons to call it so...the kid across the street shooting his sling shot at our car, Helen and Bob (the local homeless couple that beds down, literally, around the corner for a couple of weeks each year), those sporadic summer swap meets on the corner close by, full of old strollers and dressers and microwave ovens, no doubt the loot of the assumed house cleaners across the alley who are constantly filling up our shared dumpster w/ stuff.
But it's quiet. Most of the block is well manicured. There's no theme or consistent landscape style, necessarily, but it seems most people care for their yards, even down those three seemingly poorer blocks to the south.
I like it here.
Sometimes, I'll mention how we're not up to snuff, in some superficial manner. I likened our house to a dungeon the other day, but my Craigers didn't like that. He's too sensitive that way; occasionally takes my poetic dramatics as negativity. But I love him so. And this place.
I am comfortable for the next six to nine hundred days just lazing about. Maybe going back to school as per our talks back in the day. Adding all that sambal oelek to my ramen noodles.
We replanted this stupid dying aloe in against the side wall today, and I'm hoping it will actually grow.
The pot it was in was heavy as fuck and cheap, so when I tried to move it, it shredded like it was made of a sheet of cardboard.
Eff that noise.
(no subject)
According to the song's Wikipage, "My Old Kentucky Home" isn't racist and Frederick Douglas was convinced that it was sympathetic to slaves. Also from that page is the news that in 1986, the Kentucky General Assembly changed the lyrics to exclude the mention of "darkies," which, if you ask me, amounts to revisionist history.
I don't want to come from a country that erases evidence of the torture and enslavement of dark-skinned persons, just so someone in 1986 can feel like they're stomping out racism. I want to come from an America wherein one looks back at the terrible events of its past and wonders that it ever happened in the first place, because it has since come so far.
I know it hasn't happened yet, but might it not, someday?
Btw: Black History Month (which is apparently opposed by Morgan Freeman, on account of how it relegates black history to one month, thus implying it shouldn't be studied all the time, as regular ol' history), so go read some James Baldwin or something, Whitey. Gawd.
I don't want to come from a country that erases evidence of the torture and enslavement of dark-skinned persons, just so someone in 1986 can feel like they're stomping out racism. I want to come from an America wherein one looks back at the terrible events of its past and wonders that it ever happened in the first place, because it has since come so far.
I know it hasn't happened yet, but might it not, someday?
Btw: Black History Month (which is apparently opposed by Morgan Freeman, on account of how it relegates black history to one month, thus implying it shouldn't be studied all the time, as regular ol' history), so go read some James Baldwin or something, Whitey. Gawd.