I’m not a morning person. Mostly, I’m a sulky, sullen sort of person first thing, though I’m occasionally a if you clink that spoon against that cup one more time I’ll rip your goddam head off kind of gal. Usually, it’s not an issue — nobody sees me for an hour at least, by which time I’ve pulled myself together into the adorable friendly creature you all know and love.
Well, Uncle B sees me early, but he tiptoes real good.
Here’s the thing: I’ve got to be at work an hour early tomorrow, with my boss, to learn from a very expensive engineer how to do something complicated on the computer. Worse: our clocks changed Sunday, so I’m an hour behind as it is. So that’s two hours sleep deficit already.
I’ve got a choice between getting up three hours earlier, but having my usual hour to get a grip on myself, or getting up two hours earlier but inflicting myself on the world rabies and all. Also, I’ll be real stupid.
Yes, yes…I’m going to bed early tonight. Any other ideas that don’t involve getting hopped up on goofballs? How *do* you cheerful bastards do it?
March 30, 2015 — 7:54 pm
Thanks to Wolfus Aurelius for the idea. And thanks to Some Vegetable for “Hillary is the Bob Dole of the Democratic Party!”
Have a good weekend!
March 27, 2015 — 10:11 pm
You must have seen this today: the words journalists aren’t allowed to use when talking about Hillary. On account of they are sexist or something. This per an unofficial group of Hillary supporters, who may or may not by now realize what a shit-awful mistake it was.
The words are: polarizing, calculating, disingenuous, insincere, ambitious, inevitable, entitled, over confident, secretive, “will do anything to win”, “represents the past”, “out of touch”.
Could they have offered a more obvious list of what they see as their candidate’s most glaring weaknesses? Jesus, people are stupid.
But not us. We’re smart. And helpful. I’ll be we can come up with a lot lot more words and phrases journalists need to eschew when describing Hillary. I’ll start.
Castrating bitch. Butch. Crusty pantsuit. Cankles. Dessicated hag. Lying piece of shit. Harpy. Hambeast. Shrew. Battleaxe.
C’mon — it’s fun!
p.s. Soon as she throws that tattered hat in the ring, I’m'onna try again to make one of my Hillary! posters go viral. This is my hour. I can feel it!
March 26, 2015 — 11:06 pm
I am a merciful weasel. No more beards. Have a cat.
We took Jack for his annual checkup and shots. (Aside — do y’all think that’s really necessary? Annual boosters, I mean? It’s one thing to give him his baby shots, but I’m not sure it’s worth hauling him in once a year, he hates it so).
According to the medico, his weight is exactly the same as last time. So, that’s it. He’s not growing. He’s going to be a runty little boy 4eva. With a sweet little pink kitteny face and mad unfocused psychotic eyes.
He’s still a friendly little beast, though. He has a bad habit of making love to strangers and trying to crawl into their cars. Bad enough with the UPS man, but people stop at the end of our drive to make phone calls and exchange drivers and such, so there’s a real worry he might get in somebody’s ride and drive off one day.
So, weird story: we had a tree guy over to look at our drive (we’re overdue for a pollarding) and Jack wouldn’t go anywhere near him. Really, obviously shunned him. Not like Jack at all.
The tree guy tells us animals used to love him. People’s dogs and cats would crawl into his lap and they’d be all, like, “Mister Tibbles has never done that before!” and he’d be all, like, “shucks — happens to me all the time.”
Then, about five years ago, it stopped abruptly. Animals began to avoid him. No idea why. It obviously made him sad.
If it happened more recently, I’d tell him to get a complete checkup right away. But five years is ample time for a serious, personal-smell-changing disease to do him in.
March 25, 2015 — 10:31 pm
Looks good on her. She’s got kind of an elderly Jesus thing going.
March 24, 2015 — 9:20 pm
So, first hat in the ring, and it’s a sombrero. Bad-dum-tssss.
I like Ted Cruz. I really do. I think. From what I know. But I just cannot deal with his face. It just ain’t right.
And if you think that’s incredibly shallow and foolish of me, just think how not shallow and foolish I am compared to huge swathes of America.
Facial hair. It’s the only answer.
Yeah, I know I’ve posted this before. I realized that. What I didn’t realize was that I’d used the exact same starting photo. This isn’t a repost. I’ve done the same stupid Photoshop twice.
March 23, 2015 — 9:46 pm
A bunch of us, strangers, gathered on a scenic overlook facing East at 9:35 and saw a deep and impenetrable nothingburger. We weren’t even able to figure out exactly where the sun was. After a while, someone muttered, “looks like your typical gray English morning.”
Other parts of the country were luckier.
In addition to the eclipse, y’all know it’s the Equinox, yes? So it was also the day blue hairs descend on Stonehenge for the world’s most elderly cosplay competition.
Good weekend, all!
March 20, 2015 — 10:49 pm
This is a ring that turned up in a 9th C Viking burial in Sweden. It’s made of glass (apparently that was a new and expensive material then) and the inscription reads “to Allah” in Arabic. It was a woman’s burial in a place called Birka (ha! ha!), but the body has completely rotted away, sadly, so they can’t tell if it was an Arabic woman that somehow made it to Sweden. Here’s hoping some hardy Viking beat up and A-rab and stole his stuff to give his good lady.
Archaeologists think it confirms old stories that there was trade between the Vikings and the Islamic world. Quite possible, too — those guys got everywhere.
There’s an escalating kerfuffle between Sweden and the region. Swedish Foreign Minister Margot Wallström had planned to address the Arab League and give them a finger-wagging lecture on human rights. So the Saudis blocked her. So Sweden published the speech she was going to give (it didn’t mention the Saudis by name, but it talked up women’s and human rights — wait, there’s a difference?). So the Saudis won’t issue any more visas to Swedish businessmen. So the Swedes cut off military cooperation with the Saudis. So the Saudis have expelled Sweden’s ambassador.
All this matters, I guess, because the Swedes desperately need oil. And the Saudis desperately need…pass. I don’t know. Blondes?
Anyway, it’s not just the Saudis. The whole Arab world has its panties in a twist (wait, do they wear panties under those things?). The Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) which represents 57 muslim countries (wait, there are fifty seven of the buggers?) issued a statement that read in part:
“The world community, with its multiple cultures, diverse social norms, rich and varied ethical standards and different institutional structures, can not, and should not, be based on a single and centric perspective that seeks to remake the world in its own image.”
Emphasis mine. Rich and varied ethical standards. Ho ho ho.
March 19, 2015 — 9:14 pm
We’re getting a total eclipse on Friday — first one since 1999.
I’m not sure why that is. It seems like y’all in the States get one every year or two, but there you go. Not quite total where we are; about 80% on the South coast.
It should peak in the middle of my Friday commute, but I’m not getting too excited. The weather is due to be very overcast, and probably will be (I say that because weather forecasting here is atrocious, but this is a big predictable band of dark cloud). Although I suppose overcast will just make it eerily darker.
I like eclipses. I haven’t seen many.
Anyhoo, check out this neat tool. It’s a 3D global eclipse tracker (yes, yes…it works for you, too). Go play with the buttons and knobs!
March 18, 2015 — 10:27 pm
I ran across this Mashable series of photos of inmates from a Victorian mental hospital in Yorkshire. It’s a sad browse, but interesting. I was particularly struck by this woman.
The caption says she suffers from “general paralysis of the insane” but it’s more usually called general paresis. It’s a sudden onset bugfuck crazy that used to be blamed on bad character but was ultimately recognized as the third and final stage of syphilis, when the bugs finally eat the brain.
It was tricky to work out because the madness strikes abruptly as much as thirty years after the initial infection, so the bad character explanation made as much sense as anything (a Victorian with syphilis being the very definition). But somebody got a Nobel in the thirties curing paresis by infecting patients with malaria (the syphilis bacterium can’t take the heat, so one good fever can kill it off).
My mother describes seeing a tertiary syphilis sufferer on Bourbon Street, stumbling along the road suddenly freezing with one foot in the air, having forgotten how to walk. The diagnosis comes courtesy of my grandmother being a nurse and jazzmen being no better than they should be, *sniff*.
Anyway, I mention it because this condition informs one of my most cherished phobias: Lyme disease. On account of it’s a very similar disease with a very similar progression: spirochete causes a small rash, disappears, roars back with a leather mask and a chainsaw thirty years later. Except Lyme is a lot harder to kill.
Summer is coming. Tick check, people!
March 17, 2015 — 9:05 pm