Horse's Ass Pub

Another religion/etiquette question

2008-07-17T10:50:00.001-07:00

I have another problem with religious etiquette and I'd like some input on this one. This is serious, not so much the hooch-fuelled rant of 4 July, as a serious question about etiquette and when and where religious practices are appropriate or not. And what the hell is up with the inconsistency in this one practice.

Okay, I was just introduced to someone who is an Orthodox Jewish male. I went to shake his hand, and he refused, just saying "Sorry, I'm not allowed."

I made the assumption that it's because I'm female. I tried to think of some other reason - he certainly couldn't tell anything about me, my cultural background, religious or non-religious leanings, etc. just by looking at me - the only visible cue he had to go on was my gender. So, right, must be the female thing. Putting aside that this is just another example of misogyny-with-a-religious-excuse, and just about all religions have them, so I'm not picking on the Jews here, AT ALL, I didn't say anything, just passed it off quietly in the name of not making a scene or causing discomfort.

BUT: A few minutes later, when he was introduced to another female, this time a member of our faculty, I looked over and, you guessed it, he shook her hand!

Now, I am a clean person, he certainly didn't see me handling food before the introduction, or coming out of a bathroom or anything. I literally stepped off an elevator, and was introduced to several people, him being the last I came to. And when I got back to my office I immediately googled a few phrases or words to see if I could come up with some answer, but none was to be had. Some Orthodox Jewish males do not shake hands with women, fine, my google search revealed that quickly enough. So, wrong and stupid and backwards and caveman and misogynist as I think that is, I'm just...whatever, dude.

But why not shake hands with me, but then shake hands with another female - in the same context, event, room, program, etc.? Is it my long hair? Did he make an assumption about my marital status? Does it have anything to DO with marital status and any assumptions he may have gotten wrong? (For example, the other woman he DID shake hands with is married - but so am I, and my ring is displayed just as obviously as hers. Nah, that can't be it.)

Anybody got an answer for this? Because, frankly, I am a little bit, shall we say, verklempt?

Submitted for your enjoyment...

2008-07-14T17:36:00.000-07:00

What the...?

I wish Kingsley was still alive, because I would PAY to be a fly on the wall as someone shows him this. I'm pretty sure he would implode.

Happy Friday, My Gentle Little Petunias...

2008-07-11T11:28:00.000-07:00

I live for Fridays, I really do. It's a bit sad, but there it is.

In the mood for a good jukebox, a ton of Guinness, the ballgame on the big screen, some good conversation, a bunch of laughs - all within a mile from home. Truth be told, I'm pretty much ALWAYS in this mood, except when I'm not. Sometimes I'm after vodka.

Anyway - off to the pub.

OH for the love of Salma.

2008-07-04T15:55:00.001-07:00

You guys!

I just got back from a barbecue. Everyone was having fun: the food was cooking,lovely smells wafting across the yard, kids in the pool, lots of beers everywhere, a few folks with the hard stuff, some sangria, lots of laughs, sports discussions, general social catching up, the game on the outdoor TV, Sox beating the Yankees, etc.

All good, right? Small town America, celebrating a national holiday. Sweet.

So a large bunch of food comes off the grill, right, a HUGE platter of chicken, steak, pulled pork, burgers, dogs, veggie stuff, the works. It's all good. And then...

And THEN: We all had to gather while someone said GRACE! Seriously, 50 people, regardless of religious belief - OR LACK OF - were all expected to stand around and give homage to this ONE person's imaginary friend.

Fucking hell.

What do you do when this happens? Is there a chapter in the Miss Manners Guide for something like this?

What gets on my tits is this: If I had actually actively dipped out or not participated in this 'ceremony' would it have been obvious and caused some kind of offense? And if so, why then is it okay for someone's religious beliefs to highjack (word used absolutely fucking on purpose) the day and this point in time for EVERYONE at the BBQ, when this person did not KNOW many of the people there, and could not judge what religious beliefs everyone else held, if any, when my LACK of religious beliefs would have caused offense?

Why is it okay to blast your religious beliefs to a crowd of unknown people, when it's offensive to express the opinion that you're atheist?

I've walked on egg shells for too fucking long. It is time for me to start getting militant about this.

It starts here. I don't want to hear any fucking church bells this weekend. It OFFENDS me that other people's religious beliefs interfere with my fucking Sunday morning lie-in. Got it?

Good.

That is all.

Things I don't need in my inbox

2008-07-03T07:13:00.000-07:00

No pun intended.

So, I'm getting some interesting spam in my yahoo account lately. Aside from the viagra offers (how do they KNOW I speak German?) and invitations to view people masturbating on their web cams (Yeeeah, no, I'm good, thanks), the latest seem to be offers to join over-40 dating services. Fuck that. If I suddenly find myself single again (not likely) I would totally have a mid-life crisis and get something younger. Not illegal, I'm no pervert, but something ...uncomplicated by age and experience. In boots. Sinewy. With good teeth. A tool belt is good. I'm a simple person.

Holy shit, I just described the construction worker from the Village People.

Think I'll stop here with this line of thought.
Let's look at a video:

Think I'll form a Stranglers cover band. Who's in?

I'm fine, really, thanks for asking.

2008-06-19T10:19:00.001-07:00

It's hard not to think my life is charmed in some way.

Don't expect much from this blog post.

2008-06-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

I'm just saying...

And with that, I say happy weekend. I'm off to celebrate the Celtics in a very loud and inappropriate manner.

It's NOT just me!

2008-05-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

For the last couple of years I've been noticing something about the last few crops of masters and doctoral students entering the program I work for. It is this: We are currently seeing a generation of the most spoiled, self-absorbed, arrogant little bastards EVER to enter higher education and the work force. The first thing they do on entering the program, before they've even finished a semester's worth of classes, is bitch about something. They get courted by our faculty, apply to the program, get accepted, get funded like I've never seen a group of students get funded, (most FULLY funded through fellowships and grants), and yet...and YET - the complaints about how the program is run, the classes offered, the program requirements, time limits, even the level of intellectual vigor - are all I'm hearing. We even had one, before he even started the program, complaining to a donor that he had not received the fellowship he thought he deserved. It got back to our dean, causing a whole lot of sturm and drang about the...what's the word, unfairness of it? Unfairness bollocks. This is just one small case in point - but it's indicative of the trend with this crew - they'd rather complain and claim phantom abuses than try to accept the possibility that SOMEONE out there MAY have been an eentsy bit more deserving.

Are we dealing with the first generation for whom there was ALWAYS a chair at musical chairs? Is this the crew that received a trophy for running the race, whether they came in first or dead last? Is this what happens when an entire generation is raised to believe that they are the center of the universe because mommy and daddy and Mr. Rogers say so?

I have been thinking about this a lot, and at first I was just wondering whether it was a function of my age - as in, 'oh, kids today - they have it SO EASY. They have no idea how to work hard, what it's like to not have everything handed to them, yadda, yadda..." And I was SURE I was just being and old grouch, letting my envy get the better of me.

But here's the thing: It's come to my attention that I'm not the only person noticing. They were recently profiled on 60 Minutes and I recognized them immediately. Seems they're called the "Millenials" and they are making me seethe. You little 'I'm special' fuckers, whose parents worshipped the shit out of you need to wake up and stop behaving as though the world owes you something just for being you. Sit down, shut the fuck up, and learn something.

I hope this little experiment has failed. Let's go back to trophies only for first and second place, winners and losers, and kids learning the lesson that the world does not revolve around their spoiled little arses.

Not dead.

2008-05-23T11:33:00.000-07:00

Friday, mid-afternoon in the office.

Where Time goes to die.

Wellllll now...it's been almost a month since my last post. How's everyone been? Is anyone still checking in? .......Anyone?

Hellooooooooo......

Been BUSY. I've never been so busy. Doing what, I'm not entirely sure - just working and going home and doing stuff there. Nothing out of the ordinary - haven't even had a transcription job in months. Miss the extra cash, but not terribly. Certainly don't miss spending lunch hours, evenings, and weekends listening to other people's mumblings and stupidity.

Christ, interacting with people is bad enough without having the human voice yaddering directly into my ear canal.

Let's look at some art. Here's William Blake's The Ghost of a Flea, 1819-1820.

Harrumph. One of our Bill's nightmare visions, it appears. What's in the basket, and what's he doing with his right hand? Looks like he's pulling a wedgie out. Needs to be careful with those nails. Read a biography of Blake a few years back. Don't remember any of it.

Happy Friday everyone. I'm 45 minutes away from a beer, and when the clock strikes 5 I'll be hell for leather to get to it. What's everybody reading? Anything good?

Me as was.

2008-04-24T15:30:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Medbh's outing herself on her blog, with a photo of herself in the 80's.

Here I am, with my dyed black hair and (gasp) is that EYE MAKEUP? Must be. Nobody's eyelids are orange unless they missed their shots.

The year - I believe it's 1988. An apartment in the student ghetto of Allston, Massachusetts.

Look at that skin, huh?

This black hair didn't last long. The dye was messy and dyed the skin around my face and ears for about a week after each touch-up, and as my ginger grew out, the part looked just awful. My poor mother thought I was going bald when my ginger and pale scalp started showing.

I'd do it again, though. I liked that Louise Brooks haircut. My friend Kim did that with the help of some clippers and about a dozen Heinekens. I wonder where she is now. She should move back here. I need drinking buddies and a way to avoid going to Supercuts.

So. That's me. EGAD - 20 years ago.

Factory farming is bad enough...

2008-04-16T06:59:00.000-07:00

Fuck. Now I don't even want to eat fish anymore.

Clicky, clicky.

Nothing to see here folks.

2008-04-15T09:28:00.000-07:00

Just had one of those odd, irritating experiences with someone's odd, irritating personal communication styles.

To wit: Have you ever met someone who has the disconcerting habit of just watching you speak, and even after you've said something and stopped talking, they don't reply - but just continue looking at you? You finish a statement, expect an interaction - you're clearly done with the thought and are putting it to them to respond - and they don't, they just stare, as if the pause in the conversation is entirely for YOU to fill, even though it's their turn? What the hell are they waiting for?

Very off-putting, I must say. Couldn't wait for this bint to leave my office so I could check to see if I'd grown a moustache or something.

HANG UP AND DRIVE!

2008-04-04T06:12:00.000-07:00

So - this is a question for those in the Boston/Watertown/Waltham area yesterday.

Was it my imagination or were there MILLIONS more cars on the road than usual for the morning and evening commutes? I noticed it - and today was back to normal, so I can't figure out what caused that. Was there an idiot convention in town? Because let me tell you, it wasn't just a lot of cars, it was a lot of cars being driven really badly.

Here's a few things I noticed:

1. About 90% of the other drivers on my commute last night were on cell phones. Narrowly avoided an accident or two and let's guess the cause, shall we? Assholes.

2. At just about every intersection, there were cars blocking passage through when the light turned green. Here's a thought, if you can see that you won't be able to get through to the other side of the intersection and you enter it anyway, blocking cross traffic when their light turns green? You need to have your license revoked. And yes, the two or three people I saw yesterday get into accidents because of this behavior absolutely deserved it. Greenough Boulevard onto Western Ave. - you know who you are. That'll teach you, shit-for-brains.

3. Everyone, please, pick a lane. You don't have to stay in it forever, just pick one, and if you need to change later on, signal. If you do it right, you'll get in the lane you want and no one will hit you, or hate you.

4. If I can hear your car stereo, it is too fucking loud. If you have a dog in the back seat while your stereo is making your car shake - you are abusing that animal and should have it taken away from you. Do you have any idea how painful it must be to an animal with ears that sensitive? If it's loud enough to make MY car shake, you are not just damaging your own ears, and forcing your shitty musical taste on those around you, you are destroying your pet's ears, causing it physical pain, and therefore, you guessed it, you are an asshole.

5. And the one guy, smoking a cigarette with a small child in the back seat. REALLY? Have you not paid attention lo, these last 30 years, to all that we have learned about not smoking around children? Serves you right if the kid pukes all over you when you get where you're going.

That is all.

As I suspected.

2008-04-03T12:22:00.000-07:00

Created by OnePlusYou

Sniff...I've never felt so proud.

Balls.

2008-03-28T06:15:00.000-07:00

Here is the one unchanging law in my life: the second I have any extra cash in my bank account that isn't earmarked for rent/mortgage, bills, car payments, or other living expenses - the very instant I feel like I'm doing a little better than just breaking even - my pet, whatever pet I happen to have at the time, will need expensive surgery. There's no getting around it. Extra cash for fun things, that leather jacket I've had my eye on, maybe a piece of real furniture to replace some old piece of shit I got at a garage sale in 1987, or simply put into savings for a rainy day, is evidently NOT ALLOWED.

For I just learned that The Calico - Lieutenant Vinegar Matilda 'Fraid o' Nuthin' Badass Calico of Doom - my Second in Command - needs to have a growth removed from her ear and we just got the estimate from the vet's office. $600 plus for the removal of a growth that may or may not be benign - but we won't know until they remove it. How much do you want to bet that that amount is EXACTLY the amount of our state tax refund.

I just BET.

But I have to do it. This cat is too good, too cool, too necessary to me to take a chance on this thing not being benign. Nothing for it but to do this the right way, and soon - just in case. So, on April 15 (tax day, no shit, gotta love the almost teleological synchronicity there, huh?) she goes under for the third surgery of her life. She'll do fine, of course, for she is made of nails and a motorcycle engine. And when the biopsy comes back, they'll say "oh, it was nothing, a completely benign little growth...but aren't you glad you know for sure?" And then I'll rub her little head and say "you better not have any more little issues, because if you do, it's curtains." And not really mean it.

No joke, this has happened with most of the pets I've owned since moving to the Boston area and their health and upkeep was my financial responsibility. Get a few extra bucks - oh look, the cat's limping. Finally ahead on the debt? What's that wheezing sound?

I love all of my cats very much, but once they start dying, I think I'll replace them with guinea pigs. Nobody takes guinea pigs to the vet for expensive procedures, yearly vet exams, or vaccinations. They live for a few years, then some morning you find a stiff little cavvy corpse in the cage, which you then bury in a shoe box in the back yard. No fuss, no muss. Of course, I don't really MEAN it. Of COURSE I'll get more cats. Maybe a dog.

I am hopeless.

Toys for masochists

2008-03-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

Years of working in shipping/receiving, lifting things that were probably too heavy for my small frame, and lower back - or lifting them wrong - have basically ruined my back for any kind of abdominal exercises. I literally cannot do any kind of sit-up or crunch - or at least not more than two or three before my lower back says, "Hey now, fucking stop this RIGHT NOW or end up in traction. I said STOP."

However, I have finally found a simple ab exercise that doesn't murder the lower back and bring me to tears. Meet my little friend, the ab wheel. Looks innocent enough, non? Don't let it fool you. This is an instrument of torture that would have given Urgha, Inquisition Torturer, kitten killer, and all-around bastard a righteous stiffy. But it is an instrument of torture for the abs, upper arms, and shoulders. To the lower back, nothing much at all. For all I know, as a bonus, it may even help strengthen the lower back and build core strength.

However - if the instructions say "do 7 reps" - DO NOT under ANY circumstances, do 14 of them, smartass.

Whimper.

That is all.

Gurgle.

2008-03-24T06:51:00.000-07:00

On a typical Sunday, I try to work out a little harder than other days of the week, because; A) I have the time, B) Saturdays usually involve more fatty foods and a LOT more beer or wine than I drink any other day of the week and need to relieve some of the guilt, and burn some excess fat calories, and C) Monday is a rest day anyway. I can never get up early enough for a workout on Mondays, since I can never get enough sleep Sunday nights, for worrying about...getting enough sleep. See what an awful feedback loop that is? It's ghastly.

But it seems even with the gruelling workout, all my afternoon chores and housecleaning, errands run, big dinner and the reward of a few glasses of nice red wine and some relaxing television, my brain doesn't want to shut down. And because most Sunday night TV is either too violent or insipid, that's when I watch some costume drama or other - Jane Austen, the Brontes, Anna Karenina - whatever features good looking leading men in high boots on horseback. I'm not very romantic, but put a good looking fella in high boots on a horse and now you're talking. And I can't watch anything too violent or scary when I'm detoxing from Saturday or I'll have nightmares. So there's my excuse.

Last night, I was awakened from an absolutely lovely (FILTHY) dream involving Kevin McKidd with his Alexei Vronsky costume draped over a chair, and a little trick he did with his...ummm...never you mind.

3:50 - Whuh. Now THAT was interesting. Didn't think I liked blonds. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep, go back to sleep...

4:10 - Shit. I'm not going back to sleep. That Mr. Knightly in tonight's "Emma" wasn't nearly as good looking as I would like. Way too much forehead. Not fond of Emma anyway, she's almost as insipid as that one in "Mansfield Park" with the big teeth. Okay, if I can't get back to sleep in half an hour, I'll get up and do some reading.

4:30 - Getting that new computer at work - remind myself to look again for any files I forgot to back up. Don't think about WORK! Go back to sleep. I think I already sent that e-mail...Do I need to pee?

4:45 - Okay, give this another 20 minutes and if I don't go back to sleep I'll get up and get stuff done. Maybe I could do a few minutes of cardio - a little bonus workout, since I'm so restless. But then I'll be luggage at work all afternoon when I finally crash.

4:55 - Shit. If I go back to sleep now I can still get a couple of good hours before the alarm goes off. Come on. Damn, that cat is the loudest bather I've ever heard. Okay, maybe a workout and I can make a sandwich for my lunch, maybe gurgle up a blog post or something.

5:15 - Did we leave the toaster oven on? Should I go down to check? Do I need to pee? What's the next Austen thing on Masterpiece Classics? Sense and Sensibility? Did I like the Emma Thompson version? Don't like Hugh Grant, but Alan Rickman is always good.

5:30 - Wha...? Was I dozing? Thanks, purring kitty, for waking me up. Almost got five minutes there. Why do you need to be on my head? Don't yawn in my face - too late. Ugh.

5:45 - Remind myself to follow up with that student who's about to get kicked out for lack of progress. Don't think about work! Don't start composing that e-mail now. Do I need to pee?

6:00 - Okay. Relax - don't move that foot, if the cat wakes up she'll want to play. WHY HAS ALAN RICKMAN NEVER BEEN CAST AS MR. KNIGHTLY? Or has he in some production I don't know about? Hmmm.

6:00 - ZZZZZZZZZZZ....Wha? Jesus! Those recycling guys come by earlier and earlier every week. Beep, beep, beep, SLAM! We must be the first area on their route. I'd hate to have their job.

6:30 - ZZZZZZZZZZZ.....

7:00 - ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ......

7:20 - Buzzzzz. GAHHHHHH! Snooze button.

7:30 - Buzzzzzz. Oh hell no. Snooze button.

7:40 - Mffff! Cry, cry. Up.

Don't wait up

2008-03-20T06:47:00.000-07:00

Pogues, Boston. Tonight. Meeting best mate and drinking enough before the show to put Shane to Shame. Or at least enough to invite Ab Fab comparisons. Sadly, I'm the short one. (Ha!)

EEEP!

I'm off.

An Update, by 'eck!

2008-03-14T16:45:00.000-07:00

The Carrot, 1699

Willem Frederik van Royen

I just got an e-mail from an old friend which started, "How's it goin', you bitter old slag?"

You all feeling the love? I sure am.

Hey, how about that clearly insane woman who sat on a bog for two years, huh? I know it's old news by now but I somehow can't get over it. How does one even DO that? How did she sleep? Was she never cold? Bored? Was there a TV in there? Some books? A change of clothes? Did no family members, coworkers, or friends EVER wonder where she was? The boyfriend must have had a second bathroom, otherwise steps would have been taken, calls made, alarms raised, much earlier than two years. Right? RIGHT?

HOW THE HELL DOES ONE SIT ON A TOILET FOR TWO FRIGGING YEARS? Did it not FEEL like an incredibly long time after only a day or two? An HOUR or two? Is this bathroom some kind of weird rip in the space-time continuum, that two years felt like...I don't know...20 minutes?

I have to stop worrying about this or I'll have nightmares. I'm sure of it.

It's kind of freaking me out a little bit.

Oh well, my 3+ weeks of no booze ends tomorrow. Beginning around noon or so, I'll be imbibing like the pro I once was. Thanks to my weakened alcohol resistance I should be well polluted by the second period of the Bruins game. For all I know, I'll spend all day Sunday in the bog, but I trust I'll be out long before my legs atrophy and my butt fuses to the seat. Cross fingers.

Happy Friday, my spiky little hedgehogs. I'm off to see the Wizard. The Wizard of Bo(oz)e!

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Don't think I won't cut a bitch.

2008-03-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

So the greatest thing that's happened to me in a long time is that I got satellite radio in my truck. No longer do I have to choose between obnoxious DJ's (and their pandering to the bad tastes of the masses) and unwieldy and cluttersome CD's (which nobody wants me fiddling with in traffic anyway).

So far, I've got about six presets - The Verge, for new and emerging artists, Fungus for punk and ska, X Country for good alt country, WITHOUT nasty MOR post-9/11 country shit, a Latin station for a change of pace, some classical, etc. But the one station that I fell in love with right away is Fred, the "classic alternative" station. For the first few weeks, I was absolutely head over heels. It was like someone took my record collection, threw it in a blender, and pressed 'random play.'

Oh Fred, you knew my heart like no other - no, wait. Fred, you knew my heart like that morning guy Ty on WFNX in the late 80's. Now THAT guy had my number.

However, as with all things you fall in love with right away and then begin to notice they're not living up to their promise - like low fat ice cream, say - Fred is beginning to wear out its welcome. It's like it's being programmed by someone who wasn't really there when this stuff was new and cool, or got the entire playlist off of one of those lame top 40 compilations by Ronco.

They play WAY too much New Order - not NEARLY enough Joy Division.

WAY too much Love & Rockets - not NEARLY enough Bauhaus.

WAY too much General Public - not NEARLY enough English Beat.

WAY too much Big Audio Dynamite - not NEARLY enough Clash.

WAY too much Police, Depeche Mode, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Tears for Fears, Devo - not NEARLY enough Buzzcocks, Jam, Madness, Pogues, Cocteau Twins, early Ramones, Sex Pistols, Siouxsie and the Banshees...

But the main point of this post is to say to the programmers at Fred, and I think I can safely say for just about every member of my generation:

NOBODY WANTS TO FUCKING HEAR 'LOVE SHACK' AGAIN. EVER.

One last giggle on a Friday afternoon. I thought Medbh would get a rise out of this:

Lost Blogging Predictions of Nostradamus

2008-03-02T12:56:00.000-08:00

Nostradamus Blog Predictions Part III Gaius and the Hanged Man Tarot Card

"Fire and smoke as from a mightly spliff - from a long night of the soul,
He shall be reborn unto himself
And call himself gheyus.

Hangs upside down, childlike, coins fall from his pockets -
Suspended on the tree of wisdom, inebriated unto buggery.
Torrents of anger and raillery - wise in dissoluteness.

Come and 'ave a go, if you think you're 'ard enough.

Indeed."

Open blogger window...begin typing...

2008-02-27T11:00:00.000-08:00

WELL now.....another eon has gone by since I last updated. I won't apologize for the quiet. You lot have better things to do than wait around for me to regale you with my slightly slanted views on life and marginally literate ramblings.

Let's see, let's see....what's going on with me these days, you may well never care to ask?

Well, for one thing, I'm still spending a lot of time taking care of Luna, the high-maintenance, low-vigor kitty, in her convalescence. She's doing great - looking good, feeling good, eating, playing, cuddling - but she still needs to be separated from the other two cats. So she's still living in her own apartment in the basement, and I spend as much time with her as I can, playing, cuddling, jamming meds down her ungrateful throat - and since my computer is not in that part of the house, and I'm too busy at work to do much more than the occasional comment on some other blogs - this little corner of the internet has been dormant.

In other news, I'm also on day 13 of another no booze, no coffee liver detox. Just like last time, the healthy bloom returned to my cheeks within only a few days, and I've been able to get my sorry-white-dimpled arse out of bed at 6:30AM a few work days a week so I can jump on the elliptical for a bit before going to work. It feels fucking MARVELOUS, let me tell you.

Skin - luminous.
Energy - like that annoying flip-flop wearing toy rabbit with the drum.
Digestion - clockwork.
Weight loss - oh, it's happening.

On March 15, however, SPOUSE and I have Bruins tickets, so in order to enjoy the hockey in the spirit with which it was intended, I will end my healthy little detox by starting my day with a bellyful of Dunkin' Donuts goodness, and greet noontime with as much beer as is humanly possible to consume for the 1PM puck drop. Mmmmmm.....coffee and beer....it's like a speedball, only legal. Huzzah!

Gearing up at work for my busiest time of year. Dragging at least 40 exhausted, foot-dragging doctoral students through the last stages of the program, and getting them graduated, despite their running out of steam and unpredictable faculty advisors and thesis committees. So between early March and late May, I'm a bag of thesis processing, faculty nagging, data massaging, list producing, assholes. I should get an honorary doctorate, hear me?

I've got a couple more Nostradamus blogging predictions in the works, but time and inspiration aren't always happy bedfellows and rarely come at the same time. Hee. So I hope to have one or two up by the weekend. Maybe. Maybe not.

So...there it is. More soon, I hope.

Oh, by the way, the blogger formerly known as ******* is back. He's Gaius now. Must have crawled out of a government facility someplace, and doesn't want them to find him. I, for one, welcome him back. Even though he is, frankly, a bit of a cunt.

More Lost Blogging Predictions of Nostradamus

2008-02-08T18:51:00.000-08:00

Nostradamus Blog Predictions Part II

Fatmammycat and the Ankles of the Apocalypse

"And also in the second month, she of the delightful ankles will eschew all form of potent drink, causing her temple to glow with the fires of healthful energy.

And lo, this shall be the first sign of the apocalypse.

Her associates grow fecund and are bereft of all thought besides those of their issue, and on each fifth day she shall enfame unfortunate gingers for the derisive laughter of her followers.

And her image shall be given a darling matching purse to go with her little hat and collar."

Nostradamus and His Lost Blogging Predictions

2008-02-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

Nostradamus Blog Predictions - Part I

Twenty Major and the Order of Phoenix Park!

"In the Northern Isles on a misty day of the second month, a tome of potty humor will be born of a drunken rambler. Surname of twice ten, never was there a more smoke stained idler in his province.

And great shall be the cuntification of the many.

Famed in the realm of ether, by equally sodden arse-sitters, he shall inspire such silliness by the lamed hare-woman, who needs someone to buy her Photoshop as this prediction took ages to manufacture. "

Oh my god how dreary.

2008-02-06T12:25:00.000-08:00

Gonna eat you, fishy. That'll wipe the smile off yer face...

Used to go ice fishing from time to time as a child. Wasn't like this, though. Sitting over a hole with a stick and a string, freezing your arse off, waiting for something to bite.

Oh, no. The way my family did it was classic ADHD ice fishing. We'd take this big honking ice auger, drill 7 or 8 holes in the ice, about 10 yards apart, in random pattern. Then we'd put these traps over the holes. The traps were these odd wooden contraptions with a spool of fishing line and a flag that would get triggered when something yanked on the lines. Then we'd get on our snowmobiles and ride around like crazed hillbillies, trying to lose each other off the backs of the things, while looking around at the traps from time to time in case a fish bit and triggered the flags to go up.

Then, when we were bored with the whole experience, or tired of racing around the ice on our Ski-doos, or half frozen to death, we'd take whatever fish we'd caught, and go home.

The whole process, from drilling the holes to being bored and cold enough to want to go home, took about 2 hours.

(Hey, it's COLD in Maine. I bet most of you couldn't handle much more than a couple of hours on a frozen lake in northern Maine in February. Mr. Beer & Hockey excluded, probably. See, he's Canadian. The rest of you go ahead, try it. See how long it takes you - be it the cold or boredom, something will make you regret being born, as the wind wipes your facial features clean off.)

Then the dead fish would stare out of the freezer at us every time we opened it - until such time as we got sick of looking at them and tossed them. I don't remember eating them. But then, I probably didn't stick around if I knew we were having fish...the smell of gutted fish in the kitchen used to put me off eating and I'd wander over to my friend Jay's house, where something not so nauseating was being served. Like poo on a stick, for example.

Random thought: D'you know what doesn't go together? It's jelly belly sours and tomato juice don't go together.