Every picture tells a story

Blargle 3 Comments »

And now you know why I threw out all my high school yearbooks, which were from the years 1977 through 1980. But in the interests of making sure everyone knows how horrible the Seventies were, here’s a photo of me and my sister at the beach in April 1974.

Our parents decided to throw us a joint birthday party at Crandon Park Beach (my birthday is in May, my sister’s in March), which meant they could sit around and drink beer and highballs with all the other parents while we kids played on the beach. So they rented a bus and trucked us all over to Key Biscayne. My friends and I tried to swim to the sandbar and I almost drowned, and I developed a terrible sunburn. (As you can see, I was as pale as the sand. I’ve always been like that.)

Oh, and that polka-dotted green-and-white horror I’m wearing? I loved that thing. It was made of some sort of towel material, and zipped up the front. My sister is the Indian-looking girl (because she’s an American Indian) standing next to me in the more-tasteful black bikini. This was before I got my top set of braces.

And if you want to know if I developed a better fashion sense in the 80s…

The answer to that question would be “no.”

Future improbable

Uncategorized 2 Comments »

Via Ghost of a Flea comes this headscratcher of a series of… something, at the Tate art museum in London (where else? Here’s an example of Tate weirdness: an artist who places tires on a floor or shower rods in a wall and gets an exhibit, and presumably lots of money). Anyway, they’ve got this upcoming thing about London in 2058, which they describe will be in this state:

Incessant rain is plaguing London, changing its landscape and forcing its inhabitants to seek shelter within Tate Modern, amongst monumentally large sculptures swollen by the rainfall, fragmentary film projections and books, rescued from the rain.

Erm. How does “incessant rain” describe a state any different from the London of today, or of the past? I know they have come out of a warm, dry weather phase (which in typical Anglo-Saxon insularity greeny activists in that land decided meant the whole world was doomed to the horror of warm, pleasant weather with a longer growing period) but pick up any classic tome about Britain and eventually you will come to a description of London containing the words “gloom,” “fog,” “pea-soup fog,” “rain,” “wet,” “damp,” “dank,” “rainy,” “drizzle,” “mist,” “wet,” “puddle,” “mud,” “rubbers” (not the male naughty bits protector but things you wear on your feet to protect them from mud and wet), “mac” (short for “macintosh,” a kind of raincoat), and any of the colloquial terms for “umbrella” (“brolly” was a common one).

That could be explained, I suppose, by the short cultural memories of the people involved, or perhaps they were raised in a windowless attic and not let out unless the weather was sunny and dry (which meant maybe once or twice a year, which is why they are so afraid of the weather). But that doesn’t explain the whole rest of the description. Let’s take those “sculptures swollen by the rainfall.” What kind of sculptures are these? What are they made of? From what I’ve seen in my life, sculptures are usually made of stone, plaster, metal, or some kind of plastic like resin. Plastic would probably hold up best in the rain, but it would not be “swollen” by it. Stone does not swell from “incessant” water running over it — it eventually wears away, as do things made of plaster. Which means they would get smaller, the opposite of “swollen.” Metal, unless protected, corrodes and rusts — there might be some “swollen” appearance in certain parts of the metal due to the effects of the corrosion, but eventually the object would wear away and crumble. What are these “sculptures” made of? I know of no substance that isn’t actually alive that swells in the rain. Are the sculptures made out of live fungi?

And why do “fragmentary film projections and books” need to be “rescued from the rain”? These things are not normally stored outside where they’d be exposed to the elements. Perhaps the people putting this exhibit together meant to say that London was being flooded by the Thames, which has been known to happen — it isn’t all that unusual an occurrence. That would make more sense when it came to the need to “rescue” books and film bits and whatever. So why didn’t they just say so? They probably wanted to make everything sound mysterious and profound (“ooh! the scary future full of doom!”), and “unusually long and heavy rains in the future cause London to be flooded, discuss” doesn’t sound as interesting.

Holiday fun times ahead

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This being the weekend before Christmas, a lot of people are having their Christmas parties around here. This means I get to hear all the crap taste in music people have in this area. There are a lot of Hispanic families in this apartment complex, and most of the Hispanics in the Central Florida area are Puerto Rican and Colombian (which is why I can’t seem to find a place that serves decent Cuban coffee within a few miles — there are a couple of restaurants, not at the low budget end, and some far away cafés, but nothing like the abundance of little places I was used to in Miami). And their taste in music sucks.

Actually, Hispanic music in general is just crappy. Salsa, merengue, all that jazz. Well, it’s not even jazz — it’s shrill-voiced guys hollering to be heard over screechy horn sections. And then for the younger folk there is the Latin-ized disco which is like disco only unimaginably worse.

Note: this is not Spanish music. Spain has an entirely different musical culture, very little of which seems to remain in its former colonies here in the Western hemisphere. I love flamenco, Spanish guitar, etc. Except for some stray guitar in some songs, most of the stuff over here is all horns and drums. I read a mystery novel once where some of the characters were Hispanic (the story was set in Los Angeles), and one thing I remember was the non-Hispanic heroine complaining that Hispanic music was too emotionally overwrought and frenetic for her tastes. It makes opera seem calm. It’s music for bipolar people. (And it’s funny, but most of the Cubans and so on that I knew were very calm and relaxed — if they were over forty. Before that they’re like mental patients who won’t take their meds — everything is a big drama, OYE MIJO NO ME JODAS MAS “Let’s go slash my ex-boyfriend’s tires” constant screeching fights about everything. But then they get married and settle down and once middle age hits it’s like they calm down and mellow out. But they still listen to that awful music!)

Anyway, I had let Xena out on the patio but she freaks out if I close the door so I made her come inside because there was no way I was leaving the door open and listening to that noise. So now she is mad at me.

The cat came back

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Well, she’s home. And she’s under the bed, with a very firm “leave me alone” demeanor. I don’t have to give her her medicine until this evening, so I’ll leave her alone until it’s time for that ordeal. That and getting her to eat some food. She does look better, but she’s obviously very tired and pissed off about the whole thing. Wait until the first time I get to give her fluids…

I just woke up. I had a couple of other places to go after I dropped her off home, and by the time I got home I was staggering. I felt like someone hit me between the eyes. I’m still sleepy, but I can’t stay in bed all day. Xena, my other cat, is in shock — she was sure the evil old cat who growls at her was gone for good and she was back in charge of the roost. She’s been sitting across the apartment staring at the bed, like she’s afraid that any minutes Squeaky is going to come charging out from under it at her, breathing flames.

Thanks so much to everyone for your contributions. They are really helping me with all this unexpected expense — first the car going blotto the other night and now this.

Most terrifying phrase ever

Seeds of Our Demise 2 Comments »

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2.”

There was an ad on tv for this just now. Hold me, I’m scared.

Fundraiser for the cat, and, well, me

Blargle 4 Comments »

Cat news: she’s staying one more day at the vet’s because he wants to put more fluids in her. He says she is showing some improvement — the problem was her kidneys shut down and she was dehydrated, but he seems to think she can do fine if I give her fluids subcutaneously twice a week. He didn’t mention the possibility that this might be more than she can bear and thus bring up the “put her to sleep” scenario, but I’m going to talk to him when I go over there tomorrow morning. It’s not that I can’t see myself giving her an IV (I already force a pill down her throat twice a day and clip her nails — which she hates and struggles against — so what’s one more thing), and not even so much the expense — me doing it will be less expensive than the alternative of bringing her to the vet twice a week. It’s that I don’t want her to be as miserable as she’s been. It’s not that she was lively and active before, but she showed an interest in things and seemed content; this past week was different, she was still basically a fur paperweight but you could tell she was feeling really bad, as opposed to momentarily pissed off because I bothered her to make her take her pill. And the lack of interest in food was the real alarm; food was her main interest in life. (That and growling at my other cat.)

Anyway, I’m going to talk seriously to the vet about this tomorrow. If she continues not to eat that will be a clear signal to me at least that she’s not interested in living anymore. I don’t want to prolong her suffering just because I’m squeamish. In the meantime… I just took a look at my bank account and oh boy I’m in the red again! I’d like to thank all of you who have already donated to my Paypal account. This sort of thing couldn’t have come at a worse time (which is why it occurred now — I never have these emergencies when I’m flush with cash). As for finding a job, it looks like the rest of the year is a washout — this is such a bad time to find a job. I could get a temporary holiday job at some store but those positions pay little over minimum wage — and with all the things they make you go through here (drug tests, background checks, weeks of waiting while they sift through seventy thousand other candidates applying for the same position) it’s probably too late to get one of those jobs anyway. I’m better off staying on unemployment, which will carry me through January and then that’s it.

Gah, what a week.

The cultural amnesia squad missed me

Seeds of Our Demise 5 Comments »

Well, I’m sitting here eating pasta and watching NCIS and trying not to worry about my sick cat all by herself in some strange cage at the vet’s office. (Or worse, surrounded by the smells and noises of strange people and animals! O, the felinity!) Anyway, since I have the tv on I get to see all the commercials for Hollywood’s idea of what makes uplifting Christmas viewing. Evil priests and mean nuns (Doubt); aliens destroying the world because we suck (the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still); and then for the Watergate-was-our-finest-hour crowd, that movie about the David Frost interview of Richard Nixon. This last one is particularly grating and here’s why: I remember what David Frost looked and sounded like, and he did not look and sound like a member of Oasis. I remember what Nixon looked and sounded like. He did not look and sound like someone doing a comedy parody of Nixon.

That is all.

Sick cat update

Blargle 6 Comments »

Well, she’s at the vet. He’s giving her fluids and blood tests, so I guess it’s not quite time to write her off. I’ll know more this afternoon — he asked me to call her around 3pm.

Oh, and in the ongoing farce that is my life, on the way to the vet I got pulled over and given a ticket because I didn’t come to a complete stop at a red light when I turned off on a side street. It wasn’t even a complete turn, this street just divides at an angle off the main road, but it leads straight to my vet’s office. It also leads past a private school where apparently the parents complained that all those turning cars made it difficult to stop and pick up their pweciouses, so the city of Casselberry gave them their very own traffic cop. Now including the $235 I paid the vet, I will be out another $140 for the ticket, and if I don’t want three (count ’em, three) points on my license (you know, for endangering the kiddles with my huge beastmobile — even though they were in the classroom at this time, not out playing around, and it was not school pickup time, so no parents’ BMWs were being inconvenienced by my giant SUV which is currently disguised as a battered Japanese econobox, but never mind) I have to go to traffic school. Whatever, it’s not like I’m working and have better things to do. Anyway, that’s the output so far. And if I end up having to have the cat put to sleep I have no idea what that’s going to cost. So I’m having a fundraiser.

I’m so sick of Florida.

Update on the update: well, she’s still hanging in there. The vet says he needs to get her thyroid levels down, and that she’s having some kidney problems, so he wants to keep her overnight. They’re giving her fluids. The one problem is he says she just can’t live on the regular cat food (Fancy Feast, etc.) that she likes — she has to eat the special cat food that is prescription only. Which happens to be the food she hates. I don’t know what her problem is, but she won’t eat it. She’ll gnaw on old chicken bones from the garbage (which I caught her trying to do one day until I stopped her) but try to give her the vet’s food and suddenly she’s a connoisseur. Well, I’m going to try again.

Update: I changed the sidebar photo. That’s Squeaky back in June when she was feeling better.

Bwahahahahah!

Palin for President 2012, Seeds of Our Demise 7 Comments »

Oh, I get it. Hee! It’ll be a nice mind-cleanser every time I have to see that commercial about the commemorative Obama plate on HGTV.

What did I tell you?

Seeds of Our Demise 1 Comment »

The reality on the ground. Sure, Obama campaigned to be the Princess Sparklepony Unicorn Rider promiser of all things good and liberal to get his ass in the Oval Office. But now that he’s there he has to govern the whole kit and kaboodle that is the USA, not just do what the leftist-weirdo majority that backed him wants. The first unpleasant kick in the crotch to the wealthy hippie left was Proposition 8, which was passed mostly thanks to the Hispanic and Black minorities who — shock, horror, why you ungrateful…– mostly don’t like gay people and want marriage to mean a lady and a man. Picking some bland centrist dude who happens to not be ashamed to be Christian to give the invocation at his inauguration ceremony instead of, oh, I don’t know, that performance artist woman who paints her naked body with raw eggs and chocolate* and screams about her dad? is kick number two, or twenty — I haven’t been paying attention, I must admit. Anyway, the Noisy Left is not pleased. Ooh, I love the smell of Schadenfreude in the morning.

Of course, let us not forget how stupid the Noisy Left is. And let not my fellow righties relax our fascist vigilance. Don’t put those jackboots away! Think of the Noisy Left as a distraction to hide Obama’s real agenda.

(Via Kathy Schaidle.)

*Trufax: I once got free tickets to a Karen Finley, ah, performance in Miami Beach from this guy I knew who owned a record store. This was back in the early 90s, so she’s been at this stuff for a while. Anyway, I didn’t go. I was tired, my car was broken — I don’t remember my excuse. Or maybe I just didn’t feel like watching a naked lady smear eclair ingredients all over herself. I had pretty low standards at the time but I did have my limits.