Trying extremely hard to be beautiful, succeeding in an obviously fake way, and possessing no real substance beneath the pretty.
I have a nerd notebook in which I write nerd notes about nerdy things. I wrote this about Avatar. I honestly don’t even remember writing it, but it made me laugh this morning when I discovered it while looking for something else in my notes.
My apologies to Avatar and James Cameron for the harsh comparison.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PC6n2ps6nxA&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6&border=1]
Watched this last night OnDemand and it’s been stuck in my mental theater ever since. I think this is one of the most wonderfully weird music videos ever made. All thanks to Christopher Walken.
Better stock up on the fava beans and Chianti now…
(Really, this was just an excuse to finally use this photo, from Empire magazine’s 20th anniversary photo shoot. I do loves me some Silence of the Lambs. )
Uh…so I have a lot of spare time on my hands lately. First, it was Puppy Bowl on Sunday. Why did no one tell me about Puppy Bowl before? I now randomly yell “Puppy Touchdown” for no apparent reason and now have something to make Toilet Super Bowl Sunday more palatable.
And today, while scrubbing listservs and updating code, I streamed this:
http://www.ustream.tv/flash/live/1/317016Streaming live video by Ustream
Could there be a cuter Webcam? I’m sure it’s got quite the short shelf life, but I’m enjoying it while it’s here. You should, too!
PUPPY TOUCHDOWN!
Yes, this is one of the several containers that my parents have in storage for me. Yes, every single bit of its contents could be tossed tomorrow with no serious repercussions…
…if having part of my soul recycled into dollar store toilet paper falls under the category, “no serious repercussions.”
Honestly, though, WTH am I ever going to do with calendars and TV Guides dating all the way back to 1995? Am I simply biding my time until I cross over into the age range in which it will not only become acceptable but expected for me to start decoupaging EVERYTHING in the house? I’ll just wile away my days, glugging sipping Captain Morgan and Dr. Pepper as I trim out Beverly Crushers and Dana Scullys for that extra special “Titian-Tressed Angels of Asclepius” medicine cabinet decoupage.
Okay, I need to stop, because that actually sounds fun…
End of the year. My brain is all over the place. Forgive me, denizens, if I fail to make sense.
Lots of flotsam, pushing at the edges of my noodly noggin, clawing for the chance to see the light of the lair.
If Scooby Doo had a sister, would her name be “Booby Doo”?
See that? That’s the kind of shiznit I would post if I had a Twitter account. Kind of makes you glad I don’t, eh?
My ImagiFriendsTM tweet. They tweet lovely, silly geekery that makes me giggle gloriously while glugging raktajinos spiked with rum. Don’t follow? Don’t worry. Spliff on this tweet:
Most people don’t realize Janeway’s voice is pure molten sex.
Oh HELLS yeah.
Award for most awesomest tweet of the year? Make it so. Even if tweeted in jest, it makes me that much prouder of my Janeway impersonation. Not that I do such a thing. Or would ever record doing such a thing for others to hear.
Heh.
Do any of you ever get the feeling that you’re only getting part of the picture when you come here to the lair? Like it’s a little window that doesn’t show you even half of what’s going on. In the night. In the dark. There’s a whole lot more going on in the shadows…you just have to wait for me to invite you deeper.
I’m not feeling fa-la-la-festive just yet. Where’s Dr. Noel when I need a little injection of holiday cheer? Oh yeah. Kirk found her under the mistletoe. Guess he’s decorating her Jefferies tube now. Where does he store that photon torpedo?
OMG, Trexual innuendo!
I’m usually surly around this time of year. I don’t know why. I suppose I’m an emotional Scrooge in some ways. Mmm, portmanteau: Scrooge = Screw + Gouge. Did I impress anyone with my word nerdery just then? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
I used to decorate my door here at work. Truth? I only did it for the Benjamins. Well, the door prize, really. I only won once though. Want to see the sexy that won?
He’s R
I was looking at a recent photo of “The Governator,” when something quite troubling struck me: When did Arnold Schwarzenegger start looking like Ronald Reagan?
Okay, so the above image has been given a little…assistance from me in proving my point. But I dare you to tell me all the places where Ahnold begins and Ronald ends. I know that both are former actors-cum-governors of the great state of KAHLEEfornia…but this is a bit ridiculous.
Of course, you could call me out on my hypocrisy right now, since it does seem that I’m poking fun at Arnold for looking like the 62-year-old man that he is. I am the one, after all, who railed against Mary McDonnell for all the plastic surgery she got while starring on BSG.
If it seems that I am being hypocritical, I do apologize. I think I’m more fascinated by the fact that Schwarzenegger has been cut off from the rest of his plastic Hollywood herd by his gubernatorial endeavors. Running California into the ground doesn’t leave much recuperation time for vanity stops with the plastic surgeon like the ones he used to make (or is there anyone out there who believes that his jaw shrank and shaped itself naturally?). So I admit that a part of me admires him for believing so much in his political objectives that he would leave behind his vanity. Part of me, though, wonders how difficult it must be for a man who once based his entire career on his looks and his muscles to have to actually look his age while all his counterparts move forward to their fifth, sixth, and seventh faces.
Ahnold’s political service will come to an end in January 2011, unless he plans to run for a congressional seat. There will be no “Presidenator” in his future, however, thanks to that messy Constitutional amendment about needing to be American-born.
I can’t help but wonder if, on January 21, 2011, there’s going to be a hot time at the old plastic surgeon’s that night. True, Maria’s been keeping the family sawbones busy with her slow transformation into Skeletor, but I suspect that the doctor is champing at the bit in anticipation of Ahnold returning with a valiant, “Come on! Do it! Do it! Come on! Peel me! I’m here!”
Okay, that was a lame ending that only Predator fans will follow. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to end it with some reference to “I’ll be back.” Again, sorry. Just look at the image again and think happy Ahnold thoughts.
So in all my excitement over “the most wonderful time of the year” for me, I forgot to mention my traffic altercation.
Friday afternoon, my boss came in around 3 and said, “Why don’t you go home early?” Seriously? Early Halloween treat!! Score! So I packed up my junk and happily headed out to Sammy for the commute. I had dinner plans later in the evening, but I decided that I would just burn up some time perusing the books at a Barnes and Noble near where I was heading rather than trudge all the way home. Any excuse to look at books, right?
Traffic wasn’t too bad on the Beltway, but I reached the exit to the main thoroughfare I needed to get where I was going and things started looking grim. Apparently, I’m not the only one who got to bail on work early that day, fo’ sho’.
So traffic is snooching along at a sluggish pace with spurts of total traffic light stoppage. At one particularly long red light, I kind of zone out a bit, staring out the front window while listening to a podcast. Then I feel Sammy lurch forward. I immediately think that I’ve somehow become so distracted that I’ve let my foot slip from the brake a bit. I strengthen my pressure on the brake, but I happen to glance into my rearview mirror as I’m doing so.
Behind me, there’s a woman sitting in her car, gesturing at me with a “homeless crazy” kind of frenetic energy. She then gets out of her car and starts marching over to my driver’s side window. That’s when I realize that the lurch was not my error; apparently, Sammy just got bumper-kissed.
I roll down my window, prepared to say something like, “I don’t think you hit me hard enough to get that worked up,” but before I can say a word, she starts yelling at me!
“Didn’t you see me?”
Um. Didn’t I see you what? Hit me?
So I put Sammy in park and turn on his hazards. The light is still red, but I want to be cautious. “Homeless Crazy” is still yelling, “Didn’t you see me?” in a huff that indicates she truly believes that I was somehow at fault for being one of the four cars ahead of her, stupidly stopped at a red light.
So I turn to look her in the eyes and state as clearly and obviously as possible, “You. Hit. Me.”
She suddenly just stops talking to me and turns to go look at her car. Not mine. Hers. I follow, look at her bumper and then mine. Nothing. No dents. No scratches. Not even rubber marks from her bumper caps. Nothing. I didn’t expect there to be anything. It really was the most incidental of taps. Definitely nothing worth the hassle of having to deal with her.
I look up, prepared to hear her ask her ridiculous question again, and I see that she’s gotten back into her car! I decide that this is probably for the best since I don’t really feel like dealing with her anymore and having her kill my Halloween buzz, so I do the same.
Only, as I’m putting Sammy back into drive and getting ready to go, I glance again into my rearview mirror. “Homeless Crazy” woman is snapping a photo of the back of my car before zipping into the next lane and passing me!
WHATHAFU?
Now, believe it or not, I’m actually quite used to seeing people snap photos of Sammy’s derriere. I have two items on his bumper and trunk that people find particularly amusing. In fact, the other day I nearly backed over a teenager who thought that it would be a good idea to squat down to snap a photo right before I started to back out of a parking spot. Don’t they even pretend to teach common sense in schools anymore?
I don’t think “Homeless Crazy” was at all interested in Sammy’s baubles, though. I’m not sure exactly what she was up to, but you can bet that I immediately called my insurance company. I refuse to have some nutter try to scam me or Sammy. As I explained the altercation, my insurance agent actually started to laugh. Good sign, right? So she made a note in my file and promised that if anyone contacted them regarding an “accident” involving my car, they would let me know.
So, there you go. I continued on to Barnes and Noble, where I roamed about longer than I anticipated (surprising, I’m sure) and bought a book of favorite scary stories as listed by famous modern-day scary story authors. Not a bad ending to this tale, no?
And hopefully, this really is the end of it. I’ll be sure to let you know if it’s not…
