So, what did I do on my actual birthday?
Welllll…first thing in the morning, I had a dentist appointment. Just a cleaning, but it wasn’t very festive. Then I remembered this was the day my driver’s license expired. Stupid procrastination.
The main DMV for Rhode Island is in the old Apex building in Pawtucket, a department store in happier times. I bought something there once. There’s a sign behind the information lady that says “No more than three garments at a time in dressing rooms.” Last time I was there, I pointed to it. She shrugged. When they moved in, they were told not to change anything because it was only temporary and they’d be out within the year. That was…some years ago.
Well, they motor through things pretty efficiently, anyhow. Within fifteen minutes, Magic Voice called my number.
They give you a choice now: new photo or stick with the old one. My old license photo was awful, so I confidently toe’d the line for a new one.
Bad idea. I was grievously hungover from birthday celebrations the night before and it showed. At the last moment, I decided I should open my eyes wide and only one of them obeyed. So my eyes came out two radically different sizes, like Moron Billy made flesh.
Worst. Licence picture. Evarrrrr.
Then I came home, ate a big ol’ steak and drank a great deal of alcohol. So it was like every other day, really.
Today I have to drive up to Boston and appear in a corporate video. When you work in the multimedia department, you get volunteered for this duty sometimes. I fucking HATE it. I have terrible stage fright. I’m going to swallow a Xanax the size of my thumb in a minute. After which I shall no doubt say grossly inappropriate things on camera.
So I’m flying the ‘light blogging’ flag today. Talk amongst yourselves.
May 14, 2008 — 7:07 am
Comments: 54
Yeeeaaaaarrrrrgh!
So I finally got around to watching the DVD of LOTR: Return of the King last night, and Legolas plugs an arrow in some dude who falls shrieking off the back of the oliphant, and I thought, “damme if that wasn’t the Wilhelm Scream!” And I looked it up, and and damme if it wasn’t.
What’s the Wilhelm Scream, you ask? If you wanted to be helpful and set up this post you would, anyhow. Go on. Ask.
The scream (or series of screams) that came to be known as the Wilhelm Scream was originally recorded for the 1951 film “Distant Drums.” It is intended to represent a man being eaten by alligators. Most probable voice talent that screamed this screamy scream: Sheb Wooley, bit actor and musician. You know him best for “Purple People Eater.”
It subsequently appeared in a Number of Warner Brothers films — a thing that did not escape the attention of film student Ben Burtt. He picked it up and named it after the second character to scream it: Private Wilhelm, with an arrow, in “The Charge at Feather River.” Then Bratt got hired to do the sound for Star Wars, and The Scream went nookylar.
Here is Wikipedia‘s list of Wilhelm’s screen credits (you can hear the file there, as well):
So now you know something you didn’t know before, unless you already knew this, in which case you can just go straight to hell, smartass. I really don’t have to take this from you.
May 13, 2008 — 12:30 pm
Comments: 20
You know what’s great about going to Hell?
I’ll know so many people there!
This was a birthday gift from my hiking buddy. She saw it and thought of me immediately (blasphemy/weasel? Tack/weasel? Not sure, but I’m flattered). You press it onto a piece of bread and, when you make it toast, the pressed parts come out darker. Voilà! Miracle toast!
At least, I think that’s how it works. I haven’t tried it; my toaster was one of the first things to go. It was a beautiful object — according to the Toaster Museum it was a General Electric 139T81. I saw a picture of one in the industrial design catalog of the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Arts once.
But the pressy thing was go-bust, and you had to jam a fork in it to make the toast stay down, which was pretty bad mojo, especially if you forgot and immolated your toast. Nothing says are you flipping insane? like silverware jammed in an electrical appliance.
I’m proud to say this blasphemous object came from the college bookstore of my alma mater. Wait, can you call it your alma mater if you drop out? I know they consider me an alumna, regardless.
Probably because so many, many people wash out of the grinding hell-machine that is art school.
May 12, 2008 — 7:19 am
Comments: 49
Ugh. Is it over yet?
Kinda ran out of gas this week. Nothing like losing your pussy to put you off your game.
May 9, 2008 — 4:43 pm
Comments: 39
This isn’t very good blogging advice
Do you ever get sick of the sound of your own voice? I know I do!
I was hitting my blogroll this morning, leaving weasel droppings in various comment sections, and I caught myself thinking, “shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Do you have to have an opinion about everything?”
I just backspaced over the comment and went for a walk. (Yes, now that you mention it, it was your blog…and it was a really great comment, too).
Not conducive to blogging.
Instead, help yourself to a really disturbing graphic of a weasel wrapped in duct tape. Somehow, I thought it would be funnier. I dunno. Maybe if it didn’t look so terrified. Maybe if I’d left it a breathing hole. (On a related note, the Duct Tape Bandit copped a plea and is expected to get ten years).
May 8, 2008 — 2:53 pm
Comments: 39
Get me! I’m Miss Marple!
This is my big birthday present, though of course I can’t play with it yet. It’s exactly what I wanted. Poor Uncle B was mightily confused when I sent him out to find me the funkiest old Raleigh three-speed touring bike in the county.
“But it’s all rusty, Weasel!” he wailed.
Perfect.
It’s probably one of the last Raleighs built in England (look! They’re pretending “Nottingham” is a real place. Hee hee! Those zany Brits; they never break character). I had a bike just like it years ago, until some toe-rag stole it. I loved that bike. I’ll get this one all cleaned up (did you know a ball of crumpled aluminiumnum foil makes a fabulous chrome de-ruster?) and ride into market every day.
The wicker basket is a nice touch, don’t you think? Now all I need is one of those little bells, so I can go, “chi-ching, chi-ching! Get the fuck out of the fucking road, you stupid fucking limey dick-hole!”
May 7, 2008 — 6:00 am
Comments: 108
Lost: adorable fluffy psychopath
What the heck. Might as well give the little knucklehead his own thread. I’m not panicked yet; it’s been about five days. It’s a record for him, but not for tomcats. Stupid testosterone.
I spent some time yesterday calling around various vets and rescue leagues. In fact, I screwed up my list-making activity and accidentally called Providence Animal Control twice in the space of about ten minutes. I didn’t realize it until the guy on the other end said, “call once a day, please.”
He must’ve thought I was the queen of all crazy cat ladies.
Anyhow, here’s the next great website idea: a lost and found pets registry. I know there’s Craig’s List, but that’s where civilians go to trade information about lost and found pets. Vets and rescue organizations don’t have any reporting mechanism. I know, because I asked them. I had to track down all the likely organizations in Damien’s territory and call them individually.
This could be big. I’m serial. You could entice vets and city organizations to participate by describing it as free advertising, and support it with paid advertising from, like, Petco. Write the occasional goopy cover article about people reunited with beloved mutts or the latest in chipping technology, and there you have it.
I’d do it myself, but I’m moving away. Also, I’m butt lazy.
May 6, 2008 — 8:30 am
Comments: 36
My kung fu is strong
Long time readers may recall that I observe the Birthday Fortnight (working my way up year by year to the Month of Birthday). My actual birthday falls somewhere in the first two weeks of May. In the interests of amoniminty, that is all I shall say. As a first of the birthday tributes, Uncle B bought me a drawing program called Manga Studio 3.
Not to worry, I’m not about to start drawing weasels in teeny tiny sailor suits with eyes the size of dinner plates. It’s just a drawing program that is specially designed for black and white line work, à la comix. It does things like calculate vanishing points and make speed lines and comic panels.
It’s kick-ass fun to play with. If any of you still harbor that old, old desire to be a comic book artist, there’s a 30-day free trial. I can’t work out the difference between the $50 version (which I got) and the $300 version, BUT IF THE MANUFACTURER SENT ME A COPY I’D BE HAPPY TO TEST DRIVE IT AND THEN FLOG THE SHIT OUT OF IT RIGHT HERE ON THIS BLOG.
That’s going to work one of these days. I just know it.
May 5, 2008 — 11:05 am
Comments: 35
This is what one of them looks like
Everybody alright? Check to make sure, did your buddy make it through okay? Right!
I’ll probably never top this Ace-o-lanche, on account of New Comments Thingie went down just after Ace teased the link, so the morons were stuck with nothing to do and a big fat mystery link staring them in their slack moonfaces. Morons abhor a mystery.
And the reason they call it a ‘lanche, once Ace hit it, the Grapevine picked it up, and the Rottweiler and…lots of other folks I’ll have to pick out of my logs and followup. And I’ll do it, too, just in case somebody somewhere said something halfway nice about me.
The peak was probably a couple of hours later (that’s usage by hour up there), but I was down in the basement with a big glass of vodka and a crooked little smile.
Thanks for dropping by, y’all. You’ve made an attention whore very happy.
May 1, 2008 — 7:28 am
Comments: 24
Dude!
Albert Hoffman died yesterday at the age — holy shit! — of 102.
Hoffman is called the Father of LSD on account of he was the father of LSD. He was a chemist working at Sandoz Labs in Switzerland in the thirties when he discovered lysergic acid diethylamide-25, a compound derived from wheat rust. He was looking for a PMS cure (I forget where I read that; maybe the pixies told me). The stuff is so powerful, he got a ginormous dose just from handling it that day. His description of riding his bicycle home afterward is guaranteed flashback fodder.
He remained a proponent of the stuff all his life and dropped acid himself for decades. A hunnert and two. As a friend of mine once remarked, “this stuff doesn’t kill you. It only makes you wish it would.” She was looking rather paisley at the time.
Plant rusts — ergots — are fungi that occasionally affect crops and, when eaten, cause a range of effects from hallucination to extreme blood constriction (Ew. Wikipedia calls it ‘dry gangrene’). Some historians have blamed the nuttiness of Medieval Europe on ergotism, AKA St. Anthony’s Fire.
Dry gangrene. There was one medieval lady who was riding a mule to pilgrimage, rubbed against a tree and her leg fell off. She picked it up, tucked it under her arm, got back on the mule and went on her way. That really doesn’t advance this post, but I read it a long time ago and wanted to share. Like, how the hell did she hop back on the mule with one leg? And why take it with her? (Don’t be a litterbug — take your spontaneously amputated limbs when you go!) Boo. The pixies never answer the important questions.
Oh! You want a good, creepy read? I highly recommend The Day of St Anthony’s Fire. True story. A sack of wheat contaminated with rust was delivered to the little village of Pont St Esprit, France in 1951. The frogs love them some bread. By nightfall, half the village was yapping mad.
Actually, I recommend the first half of the book. The second half of the book is a boring drone about the decades the survivors spent trying to wring some reparations out of the government. The frogs love them some bureaucracy.
Wait, what was I talking about? Stupid pixies.
April 30, 2008 — 5:38 am
Comments: 54