May 28
While I think of something new to write…
May 28
Hi kids! Sorry, lotta things to do today. Well, some things. For instance, I finally was up late enough last night to observe my back patio being flooded by a busted irrigation pipe, as I told my landlord days ago. I even took pictures. Here is one. (It will open in a new window.) No, that’s not an ornamental pond, that’s supposed to be a bed of mulch.
And then I have a bunch of other errands to run, so I may not get back to this box before night. C ya.
Update: oh, a couple more things before I go. First, I finally broke down and closed two tabs at once in my Firefox browser. Oh! I am a wild woman! (Take that, punitive little “are you sure you really want to do that Dave?” message that pops up every time I click on the window close box instead of the tab close.)
And second: I am not sure that the spectacle of thousands of women having to commit the degrading act of prostituting themselves during wartime for food, shelter, and safety should be described as a “liberating” “sex romp.” (Via Kathy Shaidle.)
May 26
More links to new blogs coming up. Looks like my blogroll’s gonna get an overhaul…
May 25
On the internet you can always find someone who has even more time on their hands than you.
(This is my current favorite. No, wait — this one. No… it’s this one… because John Stamos is so dreamy! That, or the sight of him will drive you insane, I dunno…)
May 24
Hey, remember a few years back when inflatable plastic furniture was a brief rage? You didn’t buy any of that stuff, did you?
May 23
Huh. Just a few minutes ago this big gray squirrel climbed up on the screen to my patio and clung on to it for a while, and he had the most enormous furry schlong. Well, you know, for his size. I mean, if it had been a male human being the schlong would go down to the man’s knees. Even my cat was intimidated.
May 22
Update: preliminary Casanova review. Okay, here’s a memory from my childhood. I think I’m in high school, and I’m, I don’t know, in my room doing whatever — listening to Jimi Hendrix on the radio or something (I was in high school in the disco era but I managed to avoid that in my bedroom). Anyway, I go out to get some more Coke or Doritos or something, and my mother is watching teevee, and she says “My gosh, you should have seen this — they just had this woman having sex with all these men right there on tv in front of God and everybody.” The show she was watching was the I, Claudius episode where Messalina makes a bet with the whore that she can sleep with more men, and then has sex with, I think, 74 men in one night. She won. Let’s just say that Masterpiece Theater has always been a reliable source of prime time sex scenes since the 70s, and you could even get the occasional flash of ass, all before cable was even a dream. Now if you’ll excuse me.
Update, and ending thoughts: actually, it surprised me, though not really — like all of these “ain’t rampant sex and fun fun fun grand” epics it ends on a sad, chastened note, with a not very convincing declaration by the young amanuensis that, inspired by Casanova’s wild, useless life, she’ll “strike out on her own.” Yeah I guess the filmmakers have to say that, but the obvious lesson one gets from Casanova is that the wild life is no life to live.
As for the production itself, it was “hey it’s that guy” for anyone who watches current British tv. (For example, Casanova’s servant/best buddy was played by the same actor who played Martha Jones’ dad correction: the Captain in the “Impossible Planet/Satan Pit” episodes in Doctor Who.) The performances were all good — these are British actors after all. I’d like to know what they did to turn David Tennant’s normally brown irises blue to match Peter O’Toole’s — probably some film treatment thing. The costumes were anachronistically avant garde, especially in the hallucinogenic Naples scenes, but the series was obviously not dedicated to stringent historic verisimilitude. Russell T. Davies was the executive producer, so there was a gay-ish atmosphere all over everything, but they chickened out with the castrato love interest who turned out to be a real girl. I was rooting for a real boy, myself. I guess he used all that daring stuff up on Queer As Folk.
May 22
There are tropical carnivorous bees. I may never leave the house again.
May 22
There I was, lying peacefully in my bed, trying to ignore the cat (this would be the old one) who was sitting next to me and staring at me. After a few moments she got tired of staring, and started putting her cold nose on my arm.
I moved my arm under the covers.
But then I got sort of hot, so I moved my arm back out into the open, and soon was getting the cold nose treatment. “Oh go lie down, I’ll get up in a few minutes,” I said to the cat.
Cats can understand English. They just do what they want to do no matter what you are saying.
Anyway, I said this, and gave her a little pat on the head.
CHOMP!
She bit my arm, the bitch. After tossing the cat off the bed, I tried to go back to sleep, but sleep was impossible by that time. Besides, I really shouldn’t lie around in bed all day — this week is pretty much of a write-off, but I didn’t want to get into the habit of sleeping all morning. And the cat obviously needed her pill (and both of them needed feeding), so up I got.
The weather was good — cloudy and drizzly. We really need rain here. Also the clouds cool things off just a little bit, though now that it’s summer the humidity offsets most of the cooling. I decided to clean out the fridge, the litter box, etc. (That BBC show How Clean Is Your House really has had an effect on me.) Then I got ready to leave the house. I got all dressed up, more or less — the older and plainer I get the more care I take with my appearance, though I haven’t gotten to the point where I put on makeup. It sits in a box, waiting for that day. Anyway, off I went to Target. Well, off I went to the car, intending to get into it and drive to Target.
Splat!
Some idiot had left a hunk of what looked like a ham or beef bone in the parking lot. My heel had come right down on it and turned, and I fell on my knee and then just kept going. That’s the second time in two months I’ve fallen down on the pavement. This time I didn’t scrape myself up badly, but my hand, my foot, my knee, my hip, my shoulder, all are sore, and I got motor oil all over my nice clean jeans from a stain in the parking lot I fell in. I limped indoors, changed my pants, took two Advil and one tablespoon of mead because that’s all the booze I have in the house (mead isn’t very strong, I need to get some brandy), and an hour or so later did end up going to Target because there were things I needed, but the bloom of the day was gone. So I’m probably going to sit and finish off the mead and watch Casanova which just came in the mail today and in general veg out. Either way, I’m not going out again.