Archive for July, 2006

–Finished watching The Wire Season 1 last night. Now I need to get my hands on Seasons 2 & 3 as soon as possible. I crave it bad. Poor McNulty put adrift like a post-menopausal Inuit woman.

–Did you ever read something that you just knew was dictated by another person? Like a letter that was supposedly from your sister, but had your mom’s turns of phrase all over it? I’ve had that experience a lot lately with different blogs that I read here and there. It’s like the blogger is posting stuff to his or her site, but you know they’re just doing so at the urging of someone else behind the scenes. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I know a lot of these voices, and I can’t quite figure out the reasoning behind the ventriloquism. Why write something at someone else’s urging? Blogs have established a pretty good conversation nationwide (I don’t read that many international blogs), so just start your own if you have something to say. I don’t like it when people sneakily force other people to do their dirty-writing for them.

–In all the conversation yesterday at Feline Little Britches about The Very Evil That Threatens To Destroy The Fabric Of Our Society, it came up that dogs are red-green colourblind. Man, Christmas must suck for them. I do know that one of the colours that dogs CAN see is blue. Because I’ve got two blue blankets, a blue pillow and a blue couch that my dogs have adopted as their own. I think blue must shine for them like diamonds.

–Wouldn’t it be funny if Bob Corker accepted campaign donations from Pit Bulls? Cause then I’d know for sure who I’m supposed to hate.

–I’ve been struggling with my Welsh book of late. Trying to tie up plot lines, etc. So imagine my glee when my daily cartoon fix tackled the same issue. It’s awful when a cartoonist is inhabiting your head.


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Allow me to take a few moments to tell you about Kate. She was an elfinly-pretty woman, both smart and talented. She married very young, and to a much older man. Not long after their cool plunge into hasty marriage they had a son they called Duncan. Her husband, Bob, loved her for making him feel young again in spite of his advanced years. He and Duncan spent many hours playing chess together, looking at the stars and swimming in the backyard. Kate busied herself in med school. She was whipsmart and in spite of her love for Bob, she was well-aware that he wouldn’t be around to support her forever.

As she climbed the career ladder, Bob declined into his elder years. Kate would often rush home from a night shift at the hospital to help her ailing, aging husband. Not long after she was promoted to chief resident, Bob died. Both Kate and Duncan were grief-stricken, yet there was nothing they could do besides carry on. More fortunate than many families who lose a husband and father, Kate and Duncan had the house and a nice chunk of insurance money to blunt life’s rougher edges. They carried on that way for awhile, until Kate met Simon at work.

Simon was a graduate of the prestigious medical school at the University of Edinburgh. He had a one-year fellowship in the surgical department of the hospital where Kate practiced. One look at her large grey eyes and he knew he would finagle to stay in her orbit forever. He passed the Duncan test with flying colours and six months later they were married.

Many people fail to have luck with one hasty marriage. The fact that Kate had fallen happily into two equally perfect unions was not lost on her. But there was a dark cloud in her wedded bliss the second time around. Simon was a Scotsman from a large family who wanted an equally large brood. A year into the marriage, Marah was born. Her name was Kate’s little joke–it means “bitter” in Hebrew–and Kate was definitely bitter about that pregnancy. But she found having a daughter to be such a joy that she didn’t complain at the birth of Galadriel a year later. (People remarked on that name often. It was due to Simon’s fanciful Scottish poet’s streak). Three years later, Simon finally got his boy, who he promptly named Wallace. Is there another, more fitting name for the son of a Scot?

The family grew, and grew happily. Shortly before she turned 45, Kate had what is politely known as a “change of life” baby. Some people also call them surprises or accidents. Ceddryn was neither, although her redhead and her temper made her true handful for two people trying to slow down a bit.

The problem is this. Now all the kids are grown and have kids of their own. Some of those kids have kids. And yet I can’t bear to kill off Kate and Simon. I’m attached to them. It was hard enough to let Bob die, but I knew he had to go quickly. The point was for Kate to be widowed as soon as possible, to see how she coped with Duncan on her own. But now I just want to move Kate & Simon out of their house and back into the “Families” bin where they can quietly sit in their grey-haired happiness forever and ever.

I hate Sims 2 sometimes.

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In another life I was a lizard.

That can be the only reason that I am so happy on days like today. I love love love this hot, steamy weather. I know the rest of you hate it. And I’m slightly sorry that my utter joy brings you great misery.

(the post title is my lizard name. Not to be confused with my sister, whom I call Lizard, but only because that’s part of her name. She hates the heat. Crazy person.)

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My hometown is in a bit of an uproar lately. Well, as much an uproar as Hoosiers are likely to get into that doesn’t involve a basketball court.

People with grievances are apparently paying professional sign-painters to churn out public notices of how they were done wrong. Family members who have felt defrauded are letting everyone know about it.

When I first read the news I thought “oh great. Now I’ll never convince people that Indiana is a friendly place.” And then I thought some more and realised that this is a testament to the very heart of Midwesternness. The Midwest is a place where we cut through the crap and say what needs to be said. We work hard because we know that the wind cuts across that open land without mercy and if we don’t store up our nuts winter will be hell. Trust me. We have a lot of nuts.

And now it appears that a few of our cashews and filberts have had enough of paying lawyers and waiting for mediators to decide right and wrong. They call things exactly as they see them. Kind of cool. Now if only my siblings would do something dramatically horrifying so I could paint my own sign.

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Of all the perfect scenes in TBL, this is probably the best. (Again, the language is a no-go if you don’t like four-letter words). It’s certainly my favourite scene in the entire movie. I think. Well, at least apart from “Gutterballs”. Enjoy.

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Courtesy, Jason

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