REPENT NOW

today i gave money to christians. Please, please, please do not hold it against me. Please, please do not erase me forever from the annals of the secular scientific saved. Please do not revoke my born again buddha card. Please do not preclude me from pagan parties. Please do not exclude me from evolution. Please do not think I've gone mad. Please, when I stand at the last gasp, in front of the great golden globe awards, please, please, please do not send me to the same hell that will contain jerry falwell, anita bryant, cardinal o'connor and pat robertson. Please. i repent.

It was the carrot cake that did it. Christian people can bake carrot cake. They do it well. I'm sure the kitchen they bake it in is as bright and cheery as a norman rockwell painting, with little black and white children looking on in awe, their cheeks flushed with anticipation, as mommie-like matrons in aprons hand out bits of dough, and pans to lick. I know, I know. It's all illusion, I know. I know it's a trick. I know they would bake me if they knew me. I know. But...doggone...the flesh is weak and the tastebud strong...

I bought carrot cake from some christians today.
AND
(oh dog! the sin...)
I also bought apple crisp.

mea culpa, mea culpa mea maxima culpa....

vey is mir

and I'm not even jewish...

However, it's been a hellish week. And I'm buried deep in things I have to do but haven't gotten to yet. At work fer shure AND at home. Work is kicking my ass this week. I forgot how much easier school is than working. Working is hard. Working takes a long time. that's why it's called "work." otherwise, I guess they'd call it "play" or "sleep" or "sex." of course, to some, "sex" IS "work" and to some, arbeiter macht frei. (i hope for all the thousands of my germanic readers that is spelled correctly... ). However, for yours truly, the sensitive, tender, flower-like, and incredibly youthful bloggrrilla, work is work. And, really, I'd rather just sit around and eat.

The high point of the week happened 1/2 hour ago, when I received some new runner togs that I'd ordered online. nice, new, supple, colorful runner clothes. mmmm. I'm easy to please. At least for minutes at a time.

and on that note, here's some news you can use: Apparently, (and i've always thought this) happiness is genetic. I mean, you get dealt a certain "set point" of happiness and "trying to be happier is like trying to be taller." read all bout it here. Given my family history, I'd say that momentary thrills over new running clothes are pretty much the mount everest of my genetic capacity for happiness....! too bad really. I mean, isn't it sorta unamerican to be unhappy? oh well. perhaps vey really is mir.

and now on a completely different note, I ask all my 3.5 readers, and YOU know who you are (yes ok i lied about my thousands of germanic readers. ich bin ein berliner and so on.), to map my personality! I mean fill in my "johari window". here's your chance to describe your favorite blogger by means of select and tasty adjectives submitted to you as a by product of years of painstaking, rigorous, psychological study. Don't miss this chance.... go on, and knock yourself out. I thank you in advance. You totally rock.

kick me

yes, i am walking around these days with a big, cosmic kick me sign plastered to my back. or perhaps my forehead. so go ahead. line up!!!

the cheese shop

say no more. here's what we've all been waiting for.

morpheus' dark and starry altar

I am a fan of sleep. If allowed, I sleep 9 hours per night. (but can't ever get them) I also (and have stated this before) think it's ridiculous to require people to start working at 9am, and i completely mistrust people who have no trouble popping out of bed at 6 or (god forbid) 5am. When I used to post to a runners message board, I realized that many runners are the type of people who actually pride themselves on getting up at hours that are beyond wee (3am, 4am) to get in a run before the 9-5 job kicks in. Now I love to run, but I could no more do that than I could go to torino this minute and knock off a flawless half-pipe 180 snowboarding trick. Nor do I EVER plan to run at 3am, unless I stay up to do it and unless (ok lets face it) someone comes up with some very nice medical enhancement that enables me to do so.

Here's where the link comes in. There are 2 interesting articles here about sleep. One about sleep deprivation drugs (which allow you to go without sleep without feeling it. and what do you do with those extra hours? why you WORK of course! ooo i can hardly wait.), and one about sleep in pre-industrial times (apparently they had 2 periods of sleep. they'd knock off at about 9pm (bedbugs allowing), then get up after midnight for a beer and a chat.).

anyway. If you, like I, love to worship at morpheus' dark altar, read and weep. Sleep as we imagine it was, never was, and sleep as we'd love it to be, will not be or will not be for much longer. There. sleep on THAT.

Reading List

For years I read only nonfiction (ok, and a lot of sci-fi). Post barzam (last july), I had had it with reading law, and with reality in general. So I started reading whatever struck my fancy. I also sorta wanted to go backwards, and do the 19th century novel thing, (but I also tossed in some sci-fi, because it's what i love) Here's what I've read since the zam.

Speaker for the Dead
Xenocide
Children of the Mind
(those 3 are books 2,3,4 of the Ender series by Orson Scott Card)
Martin Chuzzelwit by Charles Dickens
The Dispossessed by Ursula K. LeGuin
The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot
Middlemarch by George Eliot
Nanon by George Sand
Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick
The Aeneid by Virgil
Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
Break, Blow, Burn, poetry by various, poetry crit by Camille Paglia
Moby Dick (in progress) by Herman Melville
Time out of Joint (in progress) by Philip K. Dick

When I get ambitious, I may review some of them. But then again, I'm no book reviewer, and usually just say things like, "it's good, you should read it." I have to say I was surprised at how easy to read both the Dickens book and the George Eliot books were, I guess I only hate modern fiction. (heheh).

You may notice that the sci fi I've been on recently is more of the philosophical kind than the "hard" sci fi kind. As a die hard Larry Niven fan, I have read my share of hard sci fi too, and I'll always love it when it's done well (as Niven does). And as far as cyberpunk goes, I burned out on it. I mean after Count Zero and Neuromancer, Gibson kinda lost it, and I'm out of the loop with respect to what other cyberpunkians like Bruce Sterling are doing. I mean, I'll always have a soft spot for cyberpunk, just like I have a soft spot for the Clash and the Sex Pistols, because that was my era.

On another note entirely, I recently (ok ok, it was during law school), read an interesting compilation called Alien Sex. It was sci fi erotica. Except it was way more sci fi than erotic. Some of the stories weren't great, but some were amazing, especially if you like dark. (Again, not erotic amazing...lest we get your hopes up so to speak). My point is, it wasn't a good idea gone wrong.

insect petting zoo

Those who know me know that I am a modest fan of the insect. By "modest fan" i mean that I do not love insects the way I love cats, horses or even iguanas, but I do not abhore them either. I have a mild, somewhat bemused interest in the furious struggles of the ant, am amused by the homer simpsonesque nature of the fly, and think praying mantises are pretty cool looking. I also like bees. (However, big brown papernest wasps terrify me, and, as with all things that terrify one, seem inordinately attracted to me. I am reminded of the poet Archilochus, but, that's for another day.) (his grave is supposed to be surrounded constantly by hornets)



Anyway, given my feelings about the insect, it would seem that the Smithsonian Insect Zoo is tailor made for such as I. Apparently you can even pet them.
But, the picture on the site also has a
tarantula which, as any 8 yr old can tell you, is no insect.

It is an arachnid. Smithsonian oughta fix that.






and now for something completely different.
CAUTION: PG-13 (parental guidance suggested. Some nudity, some touching...some hardware...)



heh. fooldya. Friday feline follies as if you thought I'd forgotten. This time, pink and abby embrace on the bf's laptop.


since it is friday, i am exhausted. Cannot even tell you how tired. and before I forget, I have to say that next week is the bar exam. If I had not passed the sucker in July, I'd be doing it next week. I am inordinately glad that I am not, and I want to take this opportunity to wish ALL bar takers, be they first time, second or tenth, good luck next week. If you've never taken the bar, you have NO idea of the stress level involved. Not sure why, or how, but it is a NASTY experience. It's not even that hard, i mean objectively. But the psychological pressure is incredible. probably only equalled by the pressure undergone by doctors and paratroopers. thus, bar takers, i wish you ALL luck. merde, etc!

happy vd

This really has nothing to do with VD (or does it?). Nonetheless, I know that I have often stated that I hate broadway musicals. And I do. however, I LOVE quizzes that purport to tell you who you are, because really, I haven't a clue. So, here's the latest indulgence.

I am "Rent". And you thought I was "Cats" didn't you?

the quiz:
What Musical Are You?

Rent
You're Rent! The best musical in the world! You're wild, crazy, and a little unorthodox. You live life to the fullest because there is no day but today.

Quizzes by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!

angels in amurka

GW. Tha's global warming, folks, er, or is it George W?

more news you can use.

Seems the plight of polar bears as they slowly lose their icy homes due to GW (global warming), has forced GW (Bush) to take notice. If he actually moves on this, i will be very surprised, and may even be forced to believe in a deity... perhaps the great polar bear goddess...
Read about it HERE. And keep in mind the source...(the independant. A UK paper that spells "program," as "programme." I'm not sayin, i'm just sayin...)

Now speaking of deities, bush, and GW, THIS is really really interesting. It seems that the polar bears are actually being helped by a deity after all, the old mean one, jehovah. Apparently some Evangelicals have decided to back an initiative to fight global warming, and have signed a statement. Bush is thus pressured by his own base (well, not the billionaires yet). This is major, folks. First of all, to back such an initiative, you have to think there is something called global warming, and then you have to decide it is scary enough to be a threat. This is major on at least two levels:
1) One such evangelical admitted that there may be "blind spots" in the evangelical community (NO, REALLY???), and that GW was one of them (GW means global warming...uh, remember?(

2) I thought only the devil, gays, liberals, women who want good jobs, doctors who perform abortions, people who drive hybrids, janet jacksons left (or was it right?) breast, and the latex industry were threats to evangelicals. I'm glad GW (george...oh oops I mean GLOBAL WARMING) has joined the list.

Again, keep in mind the source for this one. That pinko-commie rag, the NY times. Sheeesh.

These articles verge on being good news. I am heartened and hope that soon we'll all join in the fight against GW... even GW himself...

miscellania

It is snowing like the bejeezus. And I have nothing really scintillating to say. Has this stopped me before, you ask? No it has not. Therefore, we forge on ahead to bring my 2.5 readers news they can use.

Yesterday I got my hair straightened again. I go here. Straightening my hair involves a long, and arduous process called "thermal reconditioning," which means they put on a chemical, then spend about 3 hours flattening 1/4 inch sections of your hair with an iron, tug tug, hisss hiss all over your head. I played go and minesweeper on my zaurus until they started pulling my head back at which time I forced myself to make some conversation. Fortunately, this was an abortive attempt because the guy who was working on my hair the most didn't speak english, and I don't speak much spanish.

At that point, a kid, a 10 yr old girl, asked the owner of the salon (it's a small, kinda family place) where the tallest building in teh world was. I (ms.nerdy know it all) piped up "In Singapore". Now i have to check my facts. Turns out that as usual, ms nerdy know it all is dead wrong.) here's the scoop. Also, according to this site, it depends on who measures.
However, note that, in none of these sites, is the word "Singapore" mentioned. Ah well.

At any rate, the kid & i began a conversation about, of all things, the Taj Mahal and birthdays.



She wanted to go to the Taj Mahal and I heartily concurred. She also wanted to visit the empire state building and disney world. Now I've been to the empire state building, in fact, i worked at a temp job there for quite some time (pre 911), so I have perhaps less appreciation for the deco skyscraper than I should. And let's not even get started that now the ESB reminds me too much of the WTC, which makes it all a bit sad. Human striving for the sky and all that. Money and Hubris, burnt up in one disgustingly low-tech, almost pedestrian act. Note that I didn't say "pathetic" at all, I said "sad." and that's just what I mean.

Anyway, disney world is less controversial. I have NO desire to go there, but when I was 10, I LOVED Six Flags over Texas. So i can understand the sentiment.

Apres the ironing of the hair, comes the neutralizing of the hair. One sits with goo running over ones head for about 20 minutes. since hair is in face, there is no zaurus action possible.

Then, the blow job (heheh, sorry, of COURSE I meant blow dry. Just checking the site monitor...) the blow dry, and the credit card pulled out and pinched til it cries out in pain, the tipping, and the leaving with pink and pearly products packaged in a glossy bag o' beauty.

I like the salon, which means that I can tolerate it. (See "Shopping with Bloggrilla") below. It's small, run by a very relaxed (no pun intended, heh), Puerto Rican guy and his 19 yr old daughter. Seems like the stylists are mostly hispanic, the manicure/masseur types mostly slavic, and there's a chick from Staten Island complete with SI accent to keep it local. This is not to say that the place is inexpensive OOOOOH no. And they do a booming biz. The reason? The guy is REALLY GOOD at what he does. I'm a case in point. Someday, when less camera shy, I'll post before and after pix. You would not know today that I ever in my life had one curly strand. No, I am now a blond asian. Minus the epicanthic folds...

I think it is time for breakfast. The snow keeps falling. Since you can't sweat or get your hair wet for 2 days after straightening, I cannot run today. Which is, in some sense a blessing, because although I have run in blizzards, and liked it, that was in Chicago where it's flat and wide and you don't run the risk of running into things or getting run over. So i will not be trotting about like the maniac I am today.

moon

soon there will come a time when I have to tell the story of moon. However, I'll probably wait until the anniversary of his death (March 13) to do it. And then I'll post pics of him.

Meanwhile here's a picture entitled "moon and squid in the shadows" from The Ex's website. It reminds me of a verse from a Rilke poem called "on hearing of a death"

But as you left us, there broke upon this stage
a glimpse of reality, shown through the slight
opening through which you dissapeared: green,
evergreen, bathed in sunlight, actual woods.

belated friday cat blog

The orange cat is squid, who lived with me and my ex-husband. After a protracted custody battle, squid now resides with my ex. The black cat is Jill, a reformed former feral, the very same feline who gave birth behind my ex's toilet. She is the mother of abby, one of my kittens.

it is truly a may/december romance, but who amongst us can cast doubts upon true love?

bowl of souper

this year, we are picking teams by the color wheel. the BF wanted higher frequencies, so he got Seattle, because they wear dark blue. I got the Steelers, which is fine. However, I have to say, as if it's not obvious, I don't like watching football. I don't even really like playing it. It's not like hockey, or basketball, which are exciting to watch. Football is like, um, well, like sex on anti-depressants, if you know what I mean. (it takes forever to get there...)

and speaking of sex. How about the word, "pudenda?" (nice segue there, 'rrilla) Now if there was ever a less sexy word for the female anatomy, I haven't heard it. I mean, it sounds a bit like "credenza". "Canya get your feet off the pudenda?" "I thought I told you to use a coaster on the pudenda." "This lovely couch, and matching pudenda..."

well, ok. now back to superbowl 40. brought to you by "brown and bubbly..." oh god. Stop me before i get started on THAT...

saturday mass

saturday is mass day in bloggrrilla land. This means the kittens get weighed.
here are the stats:

abby: the sleek and enormous kitten weighs in at 9.5 pounds. And can jump straight up in the air 6 feet.

pink: small and wiry, but does a mean backflip. Weighs in at 7.5 pounds. He's a little finicky about food, preferring to play with his chicken nuggets rather than eat them.
(by the way, those are real chicken, not McNuggets...I prefer to play with McNuggets rather then eat them too. oh god. say McNuggets to yourself a few times....bweheheheh).

I just ran 8 miles and am feeling mighty proud of myself.

i'm a believer

FSM:
well, at last, something even I can believe in. And there are even pictures. I especially like the Sistine Chapel, though i remembered it a bit differently; and the global temperature/pirate graph is very informative. This is at least as good as what L. Ron Hubbard came up with. Perhaps we can get some movie stars to convert.

FCB:
And another thing that I fervently believe in is the friday worship at the cat blog. Or the worshipful friday cat blog. Here, without further ado, I present:

Abby (the glorious)

and:


pink.
(i know it's a repeat, but one can't get enough of the handsome young thing.)

rewriting the wheel

today, in a sudden revelation at work, i confidently said to myself: "why, I don't need to rewrite the wheel here."

Then I started to snicker uncontrollably, all alone in my little cubicle. And then, words started to get funny on me, you know how that happens. Suddenly simple, normal, everyday words like "flower," "pudding," or "slumber," begin to become incredibly amusing. I normally like when that happens, but I'm still too new at this job to feel quite comfortable laughing uproariously at what appears to be nothing.

Additionally, this is a job for social phobes. There is virtually NO interaction with other humans. We work in a warren of cubicles like specialized insects. Now I happen to like that, but it makes the rare social contact really hard, whereas if you are forced from minute one to interact, it gets easier to do.

anyway. Ugly day today, the hair is a total rats nest now. I must bite the bullet and either cut it off or straighten it again.

But i shall not bite the bull. or rewrite the wheel.