MoxyCrimeFighter: http://dsc.discovery.com/news/2008/08/08/sea-turtles-depths.html
DearAlthea: i want to own one
DearAlthea: and i want him to putz around my house but not in water
MoxyCrimeFighter: you’d probably have to rub lotion on him
MoxyCrimeFighter: oo but you could get him a pair of spectacles!
DearAlthea: and a tiny tophat
MoxyCrimeFighter: and spats for his flippers
DearAlthea: and we could stage little arguments between him and his wife, a fiery, hot-blooded lobster
MoxyCrimeFighter: with a portuguese accent
DearAlthea: she could say “Shellington, you need thicker skin!” and he could say “Not all of us can have a carapace, Martha!”
MoxyCrimeFighter: she would often chide him for his lack of ambition
MoxyCrimeFighter: and unfavorably compare him to his coworker, a hammerhead shark
MoxyCrimeFighter: “his eyes don’t even point in the same direction, shellington! and look what he’s accomplished! he’s up to six remoras a year, shellington!”
DearAlthea: and he’d say “well why don’t you just run away with him then? you two have so much in common; you both scavenge meat, neither of you have bones, and oh, look, neither of you make a delicious soup.”
MoxyCrimeFighter: and she’d say, in her fiery portuguese accent, “perhaps i will! he’s got all those teeth, maybe he’ll actually make me feel something!”
MoxyCrimeFighter: and he would call her a mollusky trollop
DearAlthea: woof
DearAlthea: man
DearAlthea: you’b be good at that. you should write an underwater play
MoxyCrimeFighter: lol maybe i will
MoxyCrimeFighter: enter it in this year’s writing contest
MoxyCrimeFighter: “the lost city of love: an ocean story”
DearAlthea: adapt an old novel into a new, underwater love story
DearAlthea: Dracula: Waterlogged and Lovelorn
MoxyCrimeFighter: frankenstein: soaked all to pieces
DearAlthea: Love in the Time of Anemonies.
DearAlthea: hahaha Clams and the Giant Sea Cucumber
MoxyCrimeFighter: haha
MoxyCrimeFighter: Remora and Juliet
DearAlthea: hahahaha
MoxyCrimeFighter: clamlet!
DearAlthea: MacPerch
MoxyCrimeFighter: a midsummer night’s drown
DearAlthea: Crabthello
MoxyCrimeFighter: schoolius caesar salad
MoxyCrimeFighter: (they come with anchovies….)
|
[Over AIM]
Dad: Hi. h’war u? wotcher dune?
Me: oh my god Me: the lolcats have developed opposable thumbs! Me: i must warn the bishop! Dad: num num Me: haha
::Dad pops head into my room::
“That is what lolcats say, right? Num num?” “Nooo, nom nom.” “Right, right.” ::goes away muttering “nom nom” to himself:: |
I was raised by ghosts,
some more corporeal
than others.
Flicking in the wake of reality,
pages in books
offered comforting susurration,
assurances of stability.
Static and cyclical
people I knew and never met
whispered their yearnings,
their furies and failings,
lessons for lives
barely like mine.
They slept on bookshelves
in attic alcoves and hallways,
scattered in disorder
only in bedrooms
where other ghosts
would reside. On weekends
and holidays, in my mother’s room,
a poltergeist with bear-hugs
and piggyback rides,
trips to church
and chores to assign, would haunt
the Monday – Friday lives
he had left behind.
Beyond my mother’s room,
their room,
he ultimately ventured,
and I retreated,
my books shelter
from his presence
the same as from his absence,
from the spit-polished aura of calm
surrounding his tarnished wife,
from the infinitesimal tears
I felt on my bindings.
(with thanks to Kelly Norman Ellis)
Diablo Dibujo: sup fishmonger
moxycrimefighter: nothing much…wainwright?
moxycrimefighter: is that the theme of the evening, antiquated professions?
Diablo Dibujo: well, bootblack, you tell me
moxycrimefighter: you’re a strange one, you chandler, you
Diablo Dibujo: i wouldn’t say that if i were a highwayman
moxycrimefighter: well since i’m a dead-collector, i think i’m well within my realm of experience
Diablo Dibujo: at least i have my apothecary to keep me warm; i am, after all, an alchemist
moxycrimefighter: what a coincidence! i’m a midwife/wisewoman
Diablo Dibujo: ah, well, the fletcher’s life for me
moxycrimefighter: as you deserve. and you’d best get to it, since i’m also the hangman and could have you swinging in an instant
Diablo Dibujo: well, who would hang a simple squire?
moxycrimefighter: the corrupt magistrate, perhaps
Diablo Dibujo: or perhaps are you just afraid i’m a wizard?
moxycrimefighter: in the guise of a goatboy? i think not.
Diablo Dibujo: you’ve caught me! i am but a simple troubadour, from town to town to make my sheckles
moxycrimefighter: how exotic! you’ve seen far more of life than i have, a simple tavern wench/occasional bit of rumpy pumpy
Diablo Dibujo: oh, but do not tell me, as the town crier soon everyone will know!
moxycrimefighter: as the madame of the local brothel, i know things that would make your wife’s ears shrivel, so i would avoid doing such a thing. go drown your secrets in a pint.
Diablo Dibujo: i’d have to steal it, the rogue that i am, like everything else i’ve ever gotten in life
moxycrimefighter: and as the jailer, i’d put you away to rot…but as the smitten goosegirl, i’d also aid in your escape
Diablo Dibujo: and as the scribe i’d record your deeds, and as cleric i’d sooth your weary bones….and guilty mind
moxycrimefighter: i can attest to your ecumenical skills. after many years as the choirmaster, i’ve seen enough to know
Diablo Dibujo: you praise me a goldsmith when i am nothing but a peasant; you’re too kind
moxycrimefighter: i work with nothing but dull iron, so my eyes are always on the lookout for a glint of the finer things. i do envy your skills with a hide, though
Diablo Dibujo: i am a fair tanner. although, i am an even better shipwright
moxycrimefighter: i know this well, but even after decades as a sea-widow, i still walk my roof in a state of agitation
Diablo Dibujo: i won’t lie, the only one i’ve got left is barrister. i’m a barrister.
moxycrimefighter: haha, so i’ll be your bailiff
What’s up, bitches?! This is the funniest show on TV, period. 30 Rock and The Office are close, but It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia makes me do a spit take at least once an episode. It might not be fair to compare a cable program to anything from a network because cable allows for much more room to maneuver (think a chicken coop versus Versailles), and in all honesty, if you took out all the dirty and controversy of It’s Always Sunny, you probably wouldn’t be left with much. However, that’s not to say that the show’s sex, drugs, violence, alcohol, and just general lack of principles is gratuitous or overbearing; it just happens to be the ethos of the whole operation. Bless its amoral little heart. This Philadelphia seems to be located in the same parallel universe as Seinfeld’s New York; any given set of circumstances starts out normal enough before deviating into a situation that isn’t exactly impossible but far from probable, helped along by each character’s perpetually self-serving agenda. It goes without saying that innocent bystanders are taken out along the way, which is why this show’s motto could be “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt…and then it’s hilarious.” While it’s spiritual predecessor may be Seinfeld, It’s Always Sunny, for my tastes, far surpasses that show’s admittedly formidable comedy. This could be said to be another apples-and-appletinis comparison because of the network/cable difference, but Larry David has proven with Curb Your Enthusiasm that his brand of humor translates well to a less-restrictive outlet. However, it and Seinfeld possess the same sort of wry, aloof perspective that I think is completely blown out of the water by It’s Always Sunny’s manic energy and borderline slapstick atmosphere. Dry irony definitely has it’s place in my affections, but I can’t resist a glam-rock duet about superhero Dayman and his powers of karate and friendship. If Arrested Development was still on the air, I would say that my belusted Philly crew would have to take a backseat, but since the Bluths live on only in our hearts and DVD collections, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia reigns supreme. The fourth season begins September 18th, which happens to be my birthday. Sadly, I will be in New Jersey during it’s airing and not in my Philly suburb (yet another reason to love the show; hometown pride, holla!) but I will be watching anyway. I suggest you raise a shot to it as well.
Isn’t that weird? I thought the Internet was supposed to be a place outside the world, like the Olympics keeps claiming to be, where people unite, regardless of a/s/l, through their love of doctored pet photos, misspelled bitchery, and weird Japanese pr0n. That’s one of the greatest things about the Internet, that people in Britain don’t have to watch their crappy TV shows because they can torrent “Futurama” and “Flavor of Love [x]“, and Americans can download the far superior British originals that U.S. media conglomerates have bastardized in their quest for satisfying the lowest common denominator of the TV-viewing public. That’s freedom! That’s beauty and truth! Why shouldn’t I be able to watch Finnish death metal whenever I want, or some old Chinese guy freak out on a bus? Freedombeautytruth! The trailer for Kevin Smith’s latest movie was banned in the U.S. because it wasn’t MPAA-approved, or something like that, but people still managed to see it because it was being hosted by a U.K. site. Freedombeautytruth! I would imagine that this is going to cause a whole bunch of censorship issues which I am far too lazy to contemplate but find interesting in the abstract. Seriously, though, can I just watch some YouTube videos?
The article preview: Los Angeles (E! Online) - Normal 0 false false false MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:”Table Normal”; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:”"; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:”Times New Roman”; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}
The article subject: Chris Kattan’s wedding to a model.
I am not the only one confused, I see.
Sometimes it’s hard to say
Even one thing true
When all eyes have turned aside
They used to talk to you
And people on the streets seem to disapprove
So you keep moving away
And forget what you wanted to say
Little bird
Little bird
Brush your gray wings on my head
Say what you said
Say it again
They tell me I’m crazy
But you told me
I’m golden
Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth from the lies
Nobody knows what’s in the hold of your minds
We are all building and people inside
Never know who walks through the door
Is it someone that you’ve met before
Little bird
Little Bird
Brush your gray wings on my head
Say what you said
Say it again
They tell me I’m crazy
But you told me
I’m golden
Little bird
I know what I know
A wind in the trees and a road
That goes winding under
From hear I see rain I hear thunder
Somewhere there’s sun
And you don’t need a reason
Sometimes it’s hard to find a way to keep on
Quiet weekends, holidays
You come undone
Open your window and look upon
All the kinds of alive you can be
Be still, be light, believe me
Little bird
Little bird
Brush your gray wings on my head
Say what you said
Say it again
They tell me I’m crazy
But you told me
I’m golden
I’m golden
- The Weepies
So this is my new “writing space,” as I learned to call it in a class a while ago. I felt weird hijacking the group blog my partners and I established for the class, so I decided to start another one. I’m pleased with it so far; it still has that new blog smell. Delicious.
First things first: I imported everything that I wrote from the old blog (Three Non Blondes and One Blonde) because I am that narcissistic, and it made this place feel a little less empty. All the dates have been left intact, so they go back to Fall 2007 even though this blog was started Summer 2008. Not a big deal, just thought I would explain.
Second things in due course: The design theme of this blog is technically “Tarski” by Ben Eastaugh and Chris Sternal-Johnson, but I stole the header from a different WordPress theme called “Benevolence” by Theron Parlin. I wanted to use his theme originally, but it didn’t have the space for an “About this blog” tagline, which I got really fixated on, so I yoinked the grassy top bit and uploaded it into the customizable “Tarski” header. It’s very possible that this breaches some sort of Webiquette, so if it does, I’m sorry, but it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, which is the only useful life tool the Jesuits ever gave me. And I gave you credit, so shush.
Third things last: because good things come in threes. And also bad things. And I do my best, because I was raised on the five-paragraph essay, which by definition required that one make three points in order to have the requisite five, so I got really good at coming up with some lame fact or point of view that was only tenuously connected to whatever crap argument I was trying to make, and sneaking it into the middle before ending with a whizbang last point and conclusion. (<— That was three sentences, actually, even though one was really long. Still counts. Goodnight!)
