…is the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons.” I’m refusing to even give it the official Italics of Titledom, because that title is just so twee and precious that I want to step on it with a pair of very large boots until I squish it. I don’t even know what the movie’s about — some romantic vehicle with a goofy time-warp gimmick for Brad Pitt (who does nothing for me, and in fact makes me less of a woman every time I see his supposedly sexy mug on my tv screen). It’s got Cate Blanchett in it too, who is starting to look less like a nice elfin queen and more like skinny, unhealthy boy every time I see her. Anyway, I really hate Oscar season. Every single movie out there, including Zombie Bordello of Death VIII, gets a “critics are raving” spot every five minutes on every single station. Some of these movies haven’t come out yet, and possibly are still in pre-production, but critics are already salivating over them and want you, the person watching the Law and Order: Criminal Intent marathon on Bravo to know all about it. It’s wasted on me, because I don’t go to the theater any more and wouldn’t even rent the current crop of talking pictures from Netflix. Who are the sheeple who make money for these things? I can’t imagine them appealing to anyone with the IQ of canned asparagus, much less a person with a job who can afford to go to the movies.
A teenager has been sentenced to four days in jail for smearing peanut butter on the forehead of another youth he knew was allergic to peanuts.
****Investigators say that during lunch at Wenatchee High School on Sept. 8, Hickson heard a conversation in which it was mentioned that a student sitting near him was allergic to peanuts.
Hickson then grabbed someone’s peanut butter sandwich and wiped some of the peanut butter on the boy’s forehead.
The boy did not suffer an allergic reaction, but told police he had suffered a severe reaction to peanuts in the past.
Right. (Via.)
Please let the door hit it in the ass on its way out.
Haven’t got much to say right now. The end of the year looms, and next year will be the last year of the ‘Oughts, or maybe the second-to-the-last-year — I can’t remember what the pedants say. Anyway, ’08 has been quite a rollercoaster of a year for me. I hate rollercoasters, by the way. Let’s hope next year is a ride more my speed (which would be the very slow merry-go-round that’s for little kids).
I plan to get out of this apartment for a few hours, so in the meantime here are some pics from the past week. First, here is my pathetic Christmas display:
I couldn’t be bothered to get any lights this year. The cute little tree was a gift from a coworker back when I still had a job. The candle is one of those with a flat wick that makes a “crackling” noise supposedly like a fireplace. Well it’s like a real tiny fireplace. Still, it smells nice. In the background you can see my lame booze collection. Well there’s only one of me and I can’t drink that much. The orange bottle is some overly-sweet “pumpkin spice” liqueur, the tasting of which confirms that I am no longer the sweet-drink drinker I used to be. Maybe I can use it to flavor a cake.
Squeaky resteses on her pillow. Which used to be my pillow until I looked over one day and there she was on my bed in the very center of it (the pillow). It was an extra pillow anyway but what makes it extra special to a cat is that it’s one of those anti-allergen pillows with the plasticene covering and it makes a crackling noise when it’s lain down on. Cats love to lie on things that make crackling noises when they move about — paper, plastic, dried leaves. I have no idea why. Anyway, Squeaky has been too weak to get up on the bed so I just put the pillow down on the floor for her.
Here is the fluid bag of doom:
Nothing much to say about that. Last night she wiggled and squirmed and pulled the needle out so she only got a little fluid. I’ve got a second bag — tonight she’s getting the rest of this bag whether she likes it or not. I’m still having to spoon food into her mouth, by the way, but she’s gotten strong enough that she puts her paw up to try to push me away and growls. I even tried some of her old store-bought food, but she did the same thing, so her appetite just hasn’t come back. But she’s getting a little stronger.
And last but not least — remember my delicate little tomato plants, which were smaller than the herb plants I put in the pot with them? (The tomato plants are at the back.) Well look at the monster now:
As you can see, the only herbs left are the thyme and the rosemary, and it looks like the thyme is on its way out. There are tons of tomatoes developing now, including that first one, which is now about two and a half inches in diameter.
Anyway, that’s all for now.
I woke up to gray skies and evidence of rain, but it’s warm outside. That’s Christmas in Florida for you. Here’s a picture of our family Christmas tree from when I was about five years old:
(Click for larger.) See all the cool toys? Most of which I don’t remember, except for the cowboy boots and hat. Those were mine, baby. There’s probably also a cap gun in all the boxes there. This is our house in Miami, which was built in 1925. See the hardwood floors? I still miss those, even though they had to be tediously cleaned and waxed to keep that shine. Someday I will have real hardwood floors, oh yes. I remember those curtains, but I can’t recall exactly the pattern on them; some midcentury modern abstract design that we’d all call retro now. My father built those bookcases himself, and he carved those tiki masks out of chunks of palm tree trunk. The net and glass balls are from an old fishing boat that he got somewhere.
Update: the British do Christmas right — Flea, in Canada, provides us with the Queen’s Christmas speech as well as a bit on the Queen’s gift of Christmas trees. Warning: singing children alert. Still, the British seem to also do singing children right as well.
So the UK’s Channel 4 bigwigs have decided that the best person to give their “alternative Christmas greeting” (alternative to the Queen’s customary Christmas greeting tv appearance over there, for those of my readers who don’t follow the doings of the tattered remnants of the former British Empire) is Iran’s president — or whatever he is — Ahmadinejad. I guess they were inspired by this e-card from Jibjab. Who says that Old Media doesn’t know how to use the internet?
(More commentary at Kathy Shaidle’s, Damian Penny’s, and Tim Blair’s websites)
Is simmering on my stovetop as I type this.
Those things floating in the picture are lemon rind, a cardamom pod, and somewhere in there are the cinnamon stick and cloves. After the preparation has simmered for another forty minutes or so, it will be ready for the brandy and the cup.
Merry Christmas!
I managed to get Squeaky’s allotment of fluid into her without spilling too much of it and only had to reposition the needle once. This time I didn’t lift her up onto the typing table I’d set up as a cat-care platform, I let her stay on her pillow on the floor. I think that’s why she didn’t fuss as much. Of course I did end up putting the needle in sort of to her side — her skin has gotten very loose since she’s lost so much weight, and I didn’t realise I hadn’t grabbed her center scruff. So she’s got a bit of a lopsided look until the fluid is absorbed. I also made her swallow a spoonful of food and got most of it down. Last night she went to the litter box several times with little success — I think she’s a bit constipated. Well I got that way when they put me on a fluid diet when I had a kidney stone, and I got flaming piles too. Hopefully I can get her to eat more of the food and maybe that will set her right.
Thanks again to everyone who has donated to help me offset the costs of all this.
On me news: I am seriously thinking of getting my CSR 440 license and going back into insurance. I can’t seem to find a clerical position. At least I can carry insurance quoting to another state, though I assume I’ll have to pay for a new license when I move to St. Louis (the Florida 440 license is only for Florida). Insurance isn’t that difficult, and I’m not going for the full agent license, just the customer service rep one, which is just quoting. I didn’t like it when I was doing it, but that was mostly because I was doing it part time and mainly on nights and weekends, so it cramped my style and ultimately didn’t pay enough. It’s boring, but people always need insurance. I’m sure I can get a full-time position doing it. Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking about. The only problem is the test and the license, which aren’t free. I’ll have to look into what these things cost these days.
Well, here’s one reason: Jeanette Winterson was my ex-fiancé’s favorite author. He wrote his master’s thesis on her. (Some mishmash of her and Chaucer that I carefully did not inquire into too deeply. Actually, I didn’t inquire into a lot of things about my ex too deeply. I think that’s why I managed to keep my sanity.)
Merry Christmas, everyone!