It's Halloween

And the greedy little costume wearing wee 'uns will be many. I hope they're not too cute, because then the spouse will want one. And I DID NOT spend the past year and a half sculpting this body, losing 20 pounds, sweating my arse off every day and eating healthy food, just to blow all that hard work and ruin this masterpiece with the wear and tear of a pregnancy.

I hope they're all little terrors, and that our house gets egged. Then we can think about adopting one that's past trick or treat age, and is capable of making mama a good Bloody Mary. That's what I'm after...

On another note, Most Haunted Live was an absolute riot last night. Yvette was crying, people were getting scratched up by a "demonic presence" in some creepy crypts of Edinburgh, and people all over the world were writing e-mails, faxing, insisting that they were hearing growls, seeing crouched, dog-like figures in the corners, and black mists hovering in rooms the crew wasn't currently investigating. Others were writing in with their advice, some nutters half way around the world, thinking they were 'picking up vibes,' getting scratches at the same time the investigators were, and offering advice. My favorite was the guy who wrote in saying "tomorrow night, you should consider bringing a white witch in with you." Yeah, that'd be good. Another credulous hippie, letting the power of suggestion take over where common sense should be exercised.

Clearly what they need to bring in with them is a lot of bright lights, and a skeptic or two. I will be watching tonight and laughing my tits off.

Excellent stuff. Really!

I have of late...

...though wherefore I know not,
Lost all my art, foregone all custom of ranting.
And, indeed, it goes so heavily with my bile filled innards
That this goodly template the blogger post window
Seems to me a sterile and taunting responsibility.
This most excellent free template, look you,
This brave, illustratable and linkable structure -
Why, it appeareth to me but a empty and pleading slate of blankness.
What a piece of work is a good blog.
How pleasurable in humorous musings,
In pictures and storytelling how express and admirable,
In clever wordplay and surprising anecdotes how like...something very clever.
And yet to me what is this quintessence of drudgery!
Blogger delights not me - nor coming up with new and interesting posts neither.
Though by your comments you seem to say...

...oh fuck it.



I Love old drunks.
...............................Don't you?

Local movie theaters SUCK

Can anyone explain to me why the Kendall Square Theater and the Newton Cinema are only showing "Driving Lessons" ONCE a day, at 1:50PM? How the fuck is anybody who works supposed to get to that? I would think subtly-humored English 'coming of age' movies may have some appeal in this market. Especially one starring my little boyfriend Rupert Grint. Lots of teeny-bopper girls around here, who might want to see Ron Weasley get laid. And more ...ahem...mature audiences, which might include me, might actually want to see a film that doesn't have shit blowing up, or people killing each other, or that might have an actual script and show some character development. I don't have time to see it this weekend (again, ONE SHOWING A DAY ON SATURDAY AND SUNDAY? Faaaaahhhhk.) so it'll have to wait till next weeknd, and it's such a tiny release, it'll probably be gone and I'll have missed it.

Or if you're only going to have one showing a day, why not make it, oh I dunno, NOT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DAY? How about 5 or 6pm, so working people, or teeny bopper girls who have school, at least have a chance without playing hookey? You can send all explanations of "market" and "demographics" promptly to the crack of my ass. Kthnx.

I've been whinging about movie times for years anyway. They're either 6pm, which doesn't allow anyone to get a drink or a bite to eat beforehand, or at 10 or after, which is stupid and impractical on a work night. This is one of the many reasons I only manage to get to a movie theater about once a year, or even less.

Speaking of movies, here is a list of movies that I see people include in their favorites list all the time, but which, frankly, I think sucked:

1. The Princess Bride. (BORING. Not funny, except for Peter Cook's scene, but that's not going to be enough for me, sadly.)

2. All the Bill & Ted catastrophes. (Were they written by special ed middle schoolers? Not funny, not clever, not even remotely entertaining, even after several beers and/or bong hits. Keanu Reeves cannot act, and I don't even know who the other guy was, but he's ugly.)

3. Dirty Dancing ("No one puts baby in a corner." Give me a fucking break.)

4. Ferris Bueller's Day Off. (There is NO WAY POSSIBLE that that kid could do all that in the span of one school day. Not good anyway, even with suspension of disbelief.)

5. Eraserhead. (Cure for insomnia, if I ever saw one. Honestly, I have tried to watch this film about 6 or 7 times, and each time I was asleep 15 minutes in.)


Anyway, it'stime for my mid-day graze.

Have a fantastic weekend, everybody. I have some theater managers to glass.

Let's get in the way back machine, Mr. Peabody!

I am feeling rather nostalgic today. For your viewing pleasure, I present to you the only known video of a Boston Band that I used to go and see just about every weekend at some local dive, for a good couple of years during my 20's. Ignore the bad Ah-ha special effects, and the poor quality of the sync up between the picture and sound. Here they are: SCRUFFY THE CAT!

Hold the phone! I may be The Chosen One!

Sunday evening, I nearly severed the end of a finger CLEAN OFF, whilst chopping potatoes for dinner. (Mashed, thanks for asking, and they were EXCELLENT!)

When I say nearly severed, I hope you understand, the end of my finger nearly Came. The. Fuck. Off. On its backwards flip from when the knife cut in, a piece the size of a gerbil's eyeball must have been cut completely through, and was probably boiled along with the potatoes. (Extra protein, right, and no one was the wiser.) Anyway, copious blood, lots of profanities, a makeshift bandage made of toilet paper, packing tape and cat hair...you get the picture.

But today, less than 48 hours later, finger is almost completely healed! The edges of skin from the piece that nearly came off have knitted themselves back to the edges of the wound, without even leaving a mark. No pain, no scab, just the eentsiest little tiny red mark.

I had suspected this early on, but now I have proof! YES, verily, I say to you, I must be some kind of GODDESS! Bow before me, you slow-to-average-healing maggots! I am your Queen of Fast-Acting-Metalloproteins! The Empress of Digital Resilience!

I will take bids from the world's best medical schools, and allow myself to be studied by the highest bidder. I'm here, and the phone lines are open.

Rootin' and Tootin'!!!!

The spouse and I have been preapproved for a mortgage...a mortgage larger than we expected to be qualified for, by about 100K. This means that yes, soon, though I can't promise to get it together to do it before the holidays, we will actually become real grown-ups and say 'adios to renting.

Yesterday, we went to our first and second 'open house,' and looked at a couple of single family homes in Watertown in our price range. Both of them 'inheritance' type deals, tiny old things that need a lot of work, but the kids inheriting are trying to sell quickly and cheap. If they were under 300K, we would have given them both serious thought, because then we could have put about 100K into absolutely GUTTING them, and it would have been worth it. As it is, for 350K? Meh... I'm not spending that so I can steam the 50 year old wallpaper off the walls myself, or spend 6 months without a kitchen because it's being rebuilt from the basement up.

Any of you out there who knows my husband will understand when I say that he's...well...not exactly what you'd call a 'do-it-yourself-er.' And though I'm pretty handy with a hammer and nail, power drill and a paint brush, you DO NOT want me fiddling around with electrical systems, floor sanders, and plumbing. Nothing good can come of that.

But it was a useful experience, because I now know that A) 1000 square feet doesn't amount to shit, and B) it will be far better to buy a duplex or condo that's in decent shape than a single family home that's a 'fixer-upper.'

So I say to the town of Watertown - show me your duplexes, your condos, your half houses. Send me your listings, your agents, your deals. But goddammit, don't show me anything under 1000 square feet, or less than 1.5 baths, or basement rot, or with only one electrical outlet per room. I didn't wait till the age of 40 to buy a house so I could end up remodeling the house on The Young Ones.

Heeeeeyyyyy...speaking of the Young Ones:

Bah!

René Magritte, Empire of Light (L’Empire des lumières), 1953–54. cm.

I have absolutely nothing of any importance to say today at all. So you didn't waste a trip coming here, I've just put up another of my favorite paintings. Peaceful, non?

Brings me back to sitting on the front porch of the family home, a summer twilight, listening to those birds that only sing at summer twilight. Quiet house, quiet street, not a leaf moving. It were lurvley.

Have a splendiferous weekend everybody. I'm off to drink a ton and make up for it by beating the crap out of myself on the exercise machine until I puke.

CHAWMING!!!

The Mysteries of DNA

I have six siblings. Most of the time, due to living great distances apart, and seeing each other rarely enough that we're on polite behavior, we get along just fine. Sometimes we disagree on things; sometimes it's politics, sometimes it's religion, health & diet, culture, art, etc., but we generally manage a healthy debate or have a few yucks making our points, calling each other idiots in a good-natured way, and moving on. "Well, I disagree with you there, I think the problems with X and Y are more to do with Z or what have you. I'm not sure how you arrived at this conclusion, knowing this, that, and the other, but I think you might be insane if you continue in this line of thought after having read such and such book, or seen this documentary or that news article. And I don't know how you can listen to that (insert musical artist of your choice here) crap, it makes my ears bleed. But...anyway, anyone want another beer? Sure! How about them Red Sox."

But I have one brother who...well, I don't know what to say except that I do not know HOW the DNA that produced me could possibly have produced him. I think he's a changling. I want to know what my mother was eating and drinking ...and smoking... during THAT pregnancy, because... something's missing from the helix on that one.

There. I said it.

That is all.

Seems appropriate, after the "what music do you hate" post.

Open letter to the women's clothing industry.

Dear Women's clothing industry, especially the women's section at the GAP:

Do you want to know why I dress like a boy? I have to say it. It's because you suck. Men's clothes are not only better and more durably made, but it is still possible to find classic cuts, styles and colors in men's clothing, where it has become almost impossible to find even the simplest things in the women's section.

Case in point: sweaters. Remember classic V-necks, crewnecks, things that ended at the hips, in colors that weren't reminiscent of disco lights or vomit? Remember green, blue, black, gray, red? The ones that DIDN'T have stupid floppy collars, kitty-cat embroidery, shag rug trim or require a fucking BELT, of all the stupid....?

I also have a few words to say about the 'skinny black pants' you've been advertising. Fellas...Audrey Hepburn is SPINNING IN HER GRAVE that you are using her to pimp these horrible rags. I admit I fell for it, and thought "Hooray, skinny black pants are back! I'll try them on and if they fit, I'll buy A DOZEN pairs and stockpile them for when they go out of style again."

Here's the thing: Oh GAP, you have taken a simple, good, classic idea and turned it to SHIT. I tried on about 10 pairs of these things...and they do not live up to the greatness that is our Audrey. If you look closely at what this icon of style was actually wearing in her prime, you will see that the waist came over the hips and rested in a flattering, stomach flattening, comfortable place on the waist. Your inferior imitator has a fly that is 2 inches long, and is more like a lo-rise or hip-hugger pant, something our Audrey did not sport until middle-age, when she was tooling around the countryside with Albert Finney. (And only she could have pulled it off at that age, or any age, I think. Christ, the woman was a stick.)

And, yes, a word about unerwear. Panties, to be precise. I have now scoured at least FIVE FUCKING DEPARTMENT STORES, looking for classic, cotton, bikini underwear, in my size (6) or Medium, in ANYTHING BUT FUCKING PASTELS AND BUTTERFLY PATTERNS. Why is it so hard to make a classic panty in black or navy? I just want some new, comfortable underwear, not these stupid lace fringe, or 'boycut' briefs, or thongs, for the LOVE. OF. ALL. THAT'S. HOLY. You fucking "Hanes Her Way" people are the worst offenders. Do you have any idea how much of the market you're losing because you can't do it SIMPLE?

Lord help me, don't get me started on the shoes.

This is why I'm currently wearing men's sneakers, men's jeans, and a men's t-shirt. Besides a bra (another post for another day), the only piece of women's clothing I have on is a black cardigan I bought at the GAP in 1987, that is no doubt the last normal, simple, classic piece you ever fucking put out.

You can all fuck off.

Musical diplomacy? Eh. Not so much.

Some of the most heated arguments I've ever had in my life have been about music. Seems you can raise people's hackles pretty easily by insulting some band or artist they love, and it's easy to become defensive when someone slags off your own tastes. As I get older, though, I find it's not worth arguing about it, in fact I've come to realize that it's actually pretty stupid. It's all subjective and I'm convinced that everyone's ear is a little bit different, attuned to different things.

HOWEVER, I can't mince words or be diplomatic about this: I REALLY FUCKING HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE THE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS, with every fiber of my being. Everything about them makes my skin crawl, from that stupid ape of a front man to that filthy little Flea character, to their smug, annoying videos and bullshit fake funk music. I am convinced that there is something about them that actually physically enters my body through my skin, and fucks with my DNA, and makes me regress to the form of some primordial, carnivorous animal, and I want to massacre entire cities. If you are a fan of these guys, good for you, don't get in my comments and debate me on this or call me names. You clearly hear something I'm not getting, or maybe I'm hearing something you're not. WHATEVER. As I said, matters of music taste shall not be debated. To each his own. But fucking hell. From the first note, my brain is going .... KILL KILL KILL!!!!!!!

How about you all? I'm sure there's some popular band out there that you really fucking hate, that you'd rather jam a knitting needle in your ear than listen to, that you'd immediately think less of someone if they said they were a fan...

Come on. You KNOW you want to tell Auntie Andraste all about it...

Joe Strummer Day

Had a different post up here for about 10 minutes, but I decided I didn't like it. Until I have time to rework it, and make it better...this will have to do.

Because I'm in a very random mood, and because I recently declared an Ian Dury Day, here's a picture of Joe Strummer. For no good reason, except I like it.

Random Thursday

Oh, who am I kidding? I have absolutely nothing to say today.

I'm having a busy week, some good stuff, some shite stuff, but mostly just working my big dimpled arse off.

Here's a nice little piece by Hieronymous Bosch (c. 1450-1516). It's called "The Extraction of the Stone of Madness."

Appropriate today, since I could do with a good purge. Eeep!

Genius!

More art!

.............................New Red Coffin, 2002 Marc Pelletier


Yesterday's post went over okay, I think. I liked it, and was happy with the way the painting loaded on blogger - nice and crisp. Puzzling though, since very few people commented, which makes me wonder...it was the first post I'd done...probably EVER, that didn't have cursing in it. Is that why you all come here? Shame on you.

But Kav, bless his heart, asked for more art. So here it is.

Since Kim can't seem to load my brother's web site, for some odd reason, I thought I'd pimp my brother, so at least he could see something of the site to which he graciously links, but cannot see.

I have no idea what the inspiration for this particular piece is or was, (must remind myself to ask) but I like it. I guess I tend to like 'darker' or more expressionistic pieces. I don't know much about aaaahhhht. But I know what I like!

In other news, it's Friday, I have Monday off for Columbus Day - (YAY! Celebrating the arrival of syphillis in the New World - Huzzah!) - I'm fighting a cold with all the vitamins, herbs, teas and juices in my arsenal. I intend to be horseback riding in 24 hours time, and REFUSE to be ill.

Everyone...have a dozen or so beers for me, as I will be taking it easy tonight.

Screw copyright law.

Amy Robsart, William Frederick Yeames 1835-1918

I think when I can't think of anything to bitch about, I'll just pop a painting I like up here.

Feel free to look up Amy Robsart (1534-1560), if you like, and get some edummication. She was married to Robert Dudley, court favorite, master of horse, and many contend, lover of Queen Elizabeth I. It has been widely speculated that she was whacked because of her husband's ambition to marry Elizabeth I and thus gain the throne of England. Or that she was cunningly murdered by William Cecil, the queen's trusted advisor (with the knowledge and consent of Elizabeth) in order to discredit Dudley, rendering marriage to the queen impossible. She may also have suffered from breast cancer, and porous bones, which would make a fall down even a short flight of stairs fatal... No real proof has ever come to light either way.

This painting shows Amy, dead at the foot of a shallow stair, with two shady looking fellas in the background, looking.

Wuz they the ones that done it?

Anyway, it's a beautiful work.

Poor wee Amy.

"Love went over the wall...
Was it pushed or did it fall..." - John Wesley Harding

SIIIILLLLLEEEEENNNNNCCCCEEEE!!!!

Christ, but the world is a noisy place, eh?

I appreciate that some of it is necessary: firetruck and ambulance sirens, for example. Some of it's not too bad and constitutes some of the 'white noise' you get used to and barely notice anymore: the distant hum of traffic, birds, the wind.

Most of it, though, is just people being arseholes. Case in point: Some days, on my bus, it appears that EVERY SINGLE PERSON is on a cell phone, creating an irritating layer of inane chatter, that gets right into my fillings and makes it impossible to concentrate on my book. I can't help but notice that most of them aren't talking about anything they NEED to be talking about in such a public way.

I just wish people would only talk when they need to. I'd be happy if people, while on public transportation, saved their minutes for emergencies . Every time someone pops open their phone on the bus, I start to twitch...I just want to say, "Hey, Chatty McYapper, can't you just read a book or something? I'm pretty sure no one cares to hear you tell some friend that you found 'the CUTEST SHOES' or that your landlord is a dick. JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP."

That is all.

If ever anybody looked like a Zdeno...

I, personally, have never met anybody named Zdeno. But...yes, this is pretty much what I would imagine someone with that name would look like.

Say hello to the Boston Bruins new captain, Zdeno Chara, everyone! He's got some awfully big SKATES to fill. But at 6 foot 9, erm...yes, I'm sure he'll fill 'em up good.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

The Imp of the Perverse.

So far, my day has been spent nagging our illustrious faculty because out of 100 of them, only about FIVE are ever on time with anything, or understand what "Deadline" means. I just don't understand it. They've been here for years, they know the procedures, and yet...and yet, some of them - EVERY TIME A STUDENT SUBMITS A QUALIFYING PAPER OR THESIS - are late with their comments and ratings, and unresponsive to my nagging until I go bitching to the dean to bug them for me.

Remember that Seinfeld episode where he goes on a rant about reservations at the car rental agency? That's what I feel like. It's a DEADLINE, people. A specific time by which you should have read and responded to something. It's not some vague, airy fairy, oh-sometime-this-semester-doesn't-really-matter-we're-
all-timeless- hippies thing. These students are trying to graduate - and every time you take an entire semester to reply to something, that's an EXTRA semester past their progress timeline, that they have to register, pay tuition, and try to get back on schedule. Should any of my illustrious faculty friends be reading this, you know an entire semester is kind of an exaggeration, but some of you HAVE dropped the ball pretty seriously, and for longer than a month or two...and it ADDS UP.

Don't get me wrong, some students are pretty lackadaisical about the getting of things done. (I love gerunds, don't you?) But where are they learning that deadlines don't really mean anything? From their advisors. So I don't care how bloody busy you are, just do the right thing and put the students first. It's only your JOB.

Jesus CHRIST.