Oh finally

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Update, January 13, 2011: Ignore most of what is posted below. My blog now resides at the main link. That is:

http://spleenville.com/

Adjust your bookmarks accordingly.

Update, October 6, 2009: Hi there! This is just a little announcement for anyone who has wandered over here and is confused as to why there is no new content. I closed this blog on December 31, 2008, and opened a new one for 2009. See the original post content below. But if you want my latest web ramblings, please go to the main page for all the links to all my sites, or head straight over to my current blog, The Spleenville HQ Chronicles. What does this mean in the great scheme of things? Well, for one thing, it means NO, I DON’T WANT TO ADD ANY ADVERTISEMENTS TO THIS SITE. (Yes, I periodically get spammed from my old sites for this purpose. Stop it. It is irritating, and is not making your business any more attractive.) Now everyone, change your links to either http://spleenville.com/ for the main site, or http://spleenville.com/v2/ for just the blog.

**********

I thought this year would never end. Peace out, sparkly bitches!*

New site.

*that’s from here.

Yappy Hew Near

Blargle 3 Comments »

Well, the evening is winding down to its end and a bunch of other clichés and hackneyed phrases. I’m working on next year’s blog. I haven’t had to do much, since I decided to just sign up on Wordpress.com for one of their free blogs. I feel like letting someone else tend to the back end of things for a while.

I have some nosh for my private party for one waiting in the fridge: cheese, fancy olives, stuff like that. I don’t have champagne, but some sparkly rosé from Italy that I hope won’t suck.

Squeaky has been feistier each time I try to give her her fluids — I had her on my little typing table because I didn’t feel like squatting on the floor, and before I could stop her she jumped off the table, pulling out the needle. I’ve perfected closing the line in time so only a few drops sprayed out, but I’m like all right, bee-yatch, you just wait. After her acrobatic performance she sat on her pillow looking all pleased with herself, and then she got up and ate some illegal kibbles. I’m going to check online to see if I can get the dry version of the prescription cat food cheaper than it costs at the vet’s office; I didn’t buy a bag because their price is thirty-five bucks or something like that. Youch. I’m hoping she doesn’t turn up her nose at it like she does the canned, which I still have to spoon-feed her. I think she just likes me to spoon-feed her.

They are already setting off fireworks all over the neighborhood. Around midnight I’ll ceremonially turn the new wall calendar I bought at Books-A-Million (Japanese Gardens, half-price) to January, and post the link to the new site. Until then.

Nog

Blargle 3 Comments »

Egg, that is.

I used to love eggnog, and I’d drink gallons of it, usually without the booze, during the holidays. But lately every time I eat something with eggs in it (like — scrambled eggs) my innards bitch and complain, so I’ve gotten off the eggnog bandwagon. Gosh, I hope I’m not getting one of those gallbladder thingies. Stupid aging process.

Cat brief: last night she actually walked into the kitchen and nibbled some of the (bad, non-prescription) dry kibble. Today she went all the way out into the patio, explored around (ignoring Xena who stood their all offended, growling her best I’m Menacing! growl), squatted and peed in the mulch, and then went back indoors to recline like a princess on her pillow.

Things to read

Seeds of Our Demise 2 Comments »

I must get this book. (Via one of Ann Althouse’s commenters. Oh, and you really must read not only her takedown of Richard Cohen, whose photo should be used to illustrate the concept of “narcissism” in all good dictionaries, but also John Weidner’s over at Random Jottings. It’s true that Cohen is such a dolt that it’s too easy to smack him around, but his carapace of smug ignorance is so thick that doing so is a public service.)

Related: don’t use these words. Really. Just–don’t.

Shout out

admin stuff 5 Comments »

Heads up: Steve H’s Hog On Ice website is now Tools of Renewal.

And on a more personal matter, tomorrow (as is my long-standing, in internet years anyway, tradition) will be the last day of this website. I’ll have a new one linked up by midnight tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Orange you glad I didn’t make another pun?

Seeds of Our Demise 5 Comments »

Hey, you know that guy with the “Death to all Juice” sign? Are we so sure that this guy wasn’t pulling some sort of sarcastic prank? It just seems too perfectly moronic. Wouldn’t a real Jew-hating Islamic retard have misspelled the word so that it didn’t make a completely other real word that could make the phrase into an obvious joke? (Like — “Death to the Juse,” or something like that.) Or am I hoping for too much from humanity again. All I know is — trust no one, and don’t trust them on the internet twice.

Your cat of the day

Blargle No Comments »

Miss Squeaky started fussing halfway through getting her fluids today, so I gave her a reprieve until tonight. She also growled when I spooned some of the hated prescription food into her mouth. She doesn’t know it but I’m planning to get the rest of that can down her today if I can. Then she got up and went all the way out onto the patio. (It’s sunny and in the 70s, very nice.) She sat a bit on the damp mulch, then got up and came back inside. She’s still weak but walking much better — last week she would not have been able to make it up the rise from the patio into the living room. Now she is sitting by the sliding glass door in a patch of sun.

Bad House

Seeds of Our Demise 13 Comments »

No, not the tv doctor — an actual house that is bad. It’s not the only one of its kind either — these beasts are legion. I should know; I worked for a company that built them.

I guess I don’t understand people. They want houses like these. (My ex-employer insisted we call them “homes,” but nothing will make these dreadful boxes homes for people — only for their precious vehicles, which get the lion’s share of the square footage devoted to them, I will now point out. Your SUV and your Lexus graciously allow you to attach some extra drywall to their home so you can be available to give them their weekly rubdown with Turtle Wax and Armor-all. No I don’t know if that is how you spell the products and I don’t care.)

Anyway, if you watch HGTV and that Fine Living channel, as I do because I have no life, you will be presented with the sort of people who want houses like these. According to House Hunters, this is what Americans want: big closets, for all the clothing they don’t wear and to stash the suitcases for those trips they can no longer afford to go on because all their money goes into paying the mortgage off of their huge swollen residence. Oh wait — the closets are for the wife’s clothing and gear. Dad is lucky if he gets the hall coat closet. Also: Americans want nice kitchen countertops made of something expensive. And they want vast, huge, gigantic kitchens for all those dinner parties for visiting dignitaries that they plan to throw. How my parents got by with a tiny, coffin-shaped galley kitchen tacked onto the side of their 1925 Florida “Boomer” home I’ll never know. Frankly the idea of traipsing across the acreage of the average modern kitchen today just to fix breakfast for the average American family of husband and 2.5 kids exhausts me, not to mention having to polish all that gleaming granite.

Americans also want that ugly bonus room, for one of three purposes: to give the kids yet another room besides their bedrooms (in my early childhood I didn’t even have my own bedroom, I had to share with my sister, but then again we didn’t have enough toys to fill a cruise ship either, and few of our toys needed an electric plug much less their own power plant like all the Wiis, Nintendos, computers, kiddie laptops, musical “instruments” that are just computerized guitar- and keyboard-shaped things, and so on); for a family “home theater” (in addition to all the other rooms including, these days, the kitchen and bathrooms, that also have their own television sets); or a den for Dad if the home has no basement.

No matter how many people are in the family, what is wanted now is twice as many bedrooms, because Mom needs a “craft” room, and they also need a guestroom for relatives, friends, and so on. Every single bedroom needs its own bathroom, and also there will be an extra “powder room” because God forbid anyone be further than five steps away from a toilet. Considering the amount of liquid people drink these days in just soda and water I’m not surprised. (On a side note, check out this old Pepsi commercial (via James Lileks). Look at the tinyness of the cups they are drinking the iceless Pepsi from. Those can’t be more than ten ounce glasses. People these days don’t give cups that small to anyone over the age of four. And we wonder why there are so many bladder-control commercials on tv?)

Anyway, people want all this stuff in their houses, but most of all they want that giant garage. I understand the need to protect today’s cars and trucks from the weather. Cars aren’t made of steel like they used to be, but fragile junk that costs a mint to fix or replace. Also cars are even more of a status symbol these days. It used to be that the average middle class family was expected to own one sober sedan or station wagon, until Junior came of age when he was expected to buy a pile of junk to practice on until he grew up, got married, got a job, and could afford a sober sedan or station wagon of his own. (Miss Junior was supposed to have a boyfriend to drive her around in his dad’s sedan or his own pile of junk, often referred to as a “jalopy.”) Nowadays everyone in the house of driving age is expected to have their own new or barely used car, and it will have a payment plan on it little less than the mortgage on the house, and the garage will have to be able to accomodate at least two or three cars.

The soulless, giant houses make the “cracker boxes” of Levittown look like hobbit cottages. They have no character — what sort of character can take root in drywall? They do have nice bathrooms, though, and the master bath will have a spa tub you could float the Bismarck in. At least the fashion for sunken living rooms seems to have disappeared sometime in the Eighties. I went to a Thanksgiving dinner at a house like that once. I fell into the sunken living room and nearly broke my kneecap.

Oh, burn…

Seeds of Our Demise 11 Comments »

A woman who has never wanted for anything in her life thinks she can speak for us all just because she’s been in a movie with the current governor of California. Thus spaketh Jamie Lee Curtis on the current economic troubles:

What this crisis is going to do is bring us into financial alignment. Families may have to live together again! What a concept. Grandparents will live with their grown children and help raise their grandchildren — even at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Neighbors are going to meal share and carpool and child care for each other and maybe even rent out parts of homes to other families. Less meat, more beans. Might be better for you anyway. Less indoor gym workouts and more walking, more park time, more family outdoor time.

You first, Princess.

I can speak from experience — real experience, recorded on this here blog — that not having enough money to pay rent on time isn’t a thrilling adventure, especially when you don’t have any living nearby relatives to move in on; and not being able to afford to eat anything but the cheapest, crappiest food isn’t “better for you” — living on nothing but beans, rice, and pasta makes you tired, gassy, and fat. And so on and so forth.

Her father, Tony Curtis, grew up poor in the Bronx, and had to work his way up in Hollywood. We’ll probably never know, but I wonder what he would have to say to his daughter’s silly paean to the sort of widespread struggle and poverty that thanks to her father she has never had to experience.

(Via.)

Cat report - Sunday, December 28

Blargle 1 Comment »

Well, Squeaky is doing a bit better, I think. Today she actually got up and went over to the sliding glass door and looked out at the patio for a while before going back to her pillow to sleep off the exersion. Then a couple of hours later she went into the kitchen, though she did not eat from the provided bowls (one with the commercial “bad” cat food that I have down for Xena, and one with a dab of the canned prescription foods that I’m trying to get Xena to eat as well). She seems a little bit more alert, and though I’m still having to spoon-feed her she now swallows more of the food than she spits out. I gave her a vacation from being poked with the needle today, so tomorrow some time in the morning I’m going to give her her next fluid dosage. She’s only had a little drink from her water bowl today so I think she’s still doing well.

Xena is her usual self, though she’s been very “needy,” rubbing, her face on me and jumping up on my lap, the bed, etc. I think she is worried that I’m going to take her to the vet — she sees Squeaky and the bag and doesn’t want any of that! So she’s making nice.

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