Went and saw 9 yesterday with Lee. Got there half an hour early, saw the line and went "oh, hey, why are all these people here? There are no interesting movies playing." (Gamer looks lame, District 9 has been out awhile, there were four kiddie movies, and let's not even discuss The Time Traveler's Wife.

Actually, no, let's, because I love making mockery of things that are overnight successes for dumb reasons like 'Edward Cullen is shiny and the perfect cardboard man.' I understand Asimov has a point with science fiction not actually having to be its own genre (after all, I've read the Robot books and it's not like the Honor Harrington books aren't just Horatio Hornblower with spaceships for the first five books). But I wikied it. (I wiki everything. It's a drug.) It's some boring romance where the steamy penultimate sex scene is when she's 18 and he's 40-something. (For those of you who don't wiki everything, he's unglued from time and keeps bouncing back and forth- always showing up with nothing but his birthday suit- in time, usually in his personal timeline. (Means his wife met him years before he met her, because it was old-him meeting illegal-her before young-him met college girl-her when they were both in the proper spot for their timelines. It's a genetic disorder, which means the female lead gets to have tons of natural abortions (whoops, miscarriages), because apparently fetuses can time-hop too. Moms not included. (It actually makes me wonder which parent he got it from and whether a pregnant woman would hop around with the baby. This is likely not discussed in the book, because it's about not being master of your own destiny, since the traveler finds out everything from the wife and she finds out the necessary dates from him.) There is huge angst about the miscarriages and he gets his tubes tied, pissing her off, and making her jump the bones of one of his pre-tied-tubes selves that pop into the future to make with the bavymaking. (And of course that pregnancy sticks, but I forget if that just meant junior started jumping later in life. It ends with him showing up someplace in winter with snow and getting frostbite in his feet and him having to gnaw them off and then he hops to someplace where he cannot run away because he has gnawed off his feet and is hit by a car and dies. And her story ends with the just-before-the-whole-frostbite-thing version of him showing up at her deathbed to say goodbye. (By the way, perhaps you should wiki that, because less of half of that was bullshit.)

Anyways, no major movies out (though the 9 theater was crowded because it was opening weekend), so we figure everyone hit the movies because it was overcast and drizzly and not good weather for doing outdoor activities. (Oh hey, speaking of The Time Traveler's Wife still, the hair on the guy in the poster looked familiar (though the name meant nothing because the actor wasn't hot enough to check up on IMDB when whatever movie I was watching with him in it was playing. Lee went "blah, blah, blah, standard male haircut", to which I say "you haven't ever seen Stargate: Atlantis but for commercials, but I bet you could identify Joe Flanigan solely from a cropped picture of his forehead and up." To which she says I have a point and rattles off some movies this guy's been in (like Troy and some other boring movie I have also avoided, and she was surprised I'd avoided Troy, since she watched it a couple times while we were still loving together. Mad skillz.) But I still have no idea where it is I've seen him.)

Anyways, 9 was bunches of fun, even if I did keep getting flashes of "is this what Cyborg 009 would look like it if the guys who thought up the Terminator stuff remade it using sock puppets and Henry Selick?" (This sentence will not make any sense to you without having seen Cyborg 009, Terminator, Wallace and Grommit, Coraline, Nightmare Before Christmas, and 9. And even then, only if you are me.) It even had an all male voice cast, with one token girl. Admittedly, she played the hero, so that's an upgrade from 009's useless love-interesty twit who was just good as binoculars. I will take twelve of the little ones with the flashing eyes and adorable hoods, and one bone helmet with built-in dangle earrings. Please hold the bodiless doll head attached to potato-bag snake.

I spent most of the movie trying to figure out the voice actors. 9 was easy enough- because I be a huge Elijah Wood fan, and 1 had a most commanding 'I am eldest, I know best' speech that could've come straight from Saruman's mouth (because I still don't know who that actor is) and the only other movie I'd heard 7 in was Labyrinth and the actress is 20 years older and doesn't sound the same (maybe if 7 had been a whiner I would've picked up on it). I was disappointed the dead sock puppets couldn't have their souls put back (at least the ones who still had their lifeless bodies lying around), but it was a heartfelt shiny goodbye scene.

Lee and I had actually driven out last weekend to Pensacola to see the new Miyazaki movie (Pongyo, or something like that. In my head it's the Little Mermaid anime). I got to her place late, so dawdled getting out, and we were fifteen minutes late. The counter girl informed us that the movie was no longer on her screen and she couldn't sell us tickets. I debated buying a ticket for a different movie and just going to the Punjab show anyway, but she had an ornery look on her face, and I hate the Pensacola theater and wasn't upset at all to not have to give them money. We went to Steak & Shake instead.

The current topic making the rounds of the blogs seem to be religion. I don't have strong feelings on the matter, so for the most part I've been sitting the debate out. But I got bit bored, so I thought I'd throw in my ha'penny.

I grew up vaguely Catholic- Mass most Sundays, funny ash spread on my forehead yearly, abstinence preached every so often, but no vigils or confessions to sit through. I don't understand confession myself, but I imagine it's a lot like going to the psychiatrist, only cheaper and with less advice and more 'you should be ashamed of yourself.' And that's basically Catholicism there. You should be ashamed of yourself. (Which made the revivalist tent meeting portion of Laura's Confirmation really weird me out. I thought maybe we'd gone to the wrong church, because I'd never had to clap before. (Laura, btw, was upset when we said it was weird and that she liked the song. What's that got to do with what we were talking about? I'm all for mixing in newer music with the 'Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again' music they always say, I just want to know where the clapping came from. Is it because that church had a bunch of converts from the revivalists?)) And while I can't say it's a deciding factor, it is one of the reasons why I take myself so seriously and don't really like to cute loose and have fun. (Some people are adrenaline junkies. I'm one of those people who takes a shot every year and complains about the rush the entire time, even though after the event I'll go "I suppose that wasn't as bad as I expected.)

( Not really beta-read typing continues )

So even with internet access, my iidea of up-to-date Hollywood news is "anything that happened after November." Which is at it should be, because they're a bunch of assholes who don't deserve my undivided attention.

Anyway, anyone here a fan of Avatar: The Last Airbender? I've seen the first couple season and wow Nickolodeon, where did you find these people? Great characters, plot, scenery, and funny jokes. It's everything I wish all my tv shows were, except for the fact the cast is under the age of twenty and animated, so there is some guilt over wishing I'd find a nice boy with (insert any character here)'s (insert any interesting 'good for picking up chicks' characteristic here, ie body/temperament/eyes/sense of humor). But who cares?

So I did hear mention ages ago someone was considering making it into a movie. (I vaguely remember going, "but doesn't this show have a finish line? Avatar learns firebending and defeat's Zuko's dad and saves minor characters/learns important life lessons along the way? Why would it need a movie?") So recently I came across something along the lines of current status of this movie.

1. It will be live-action. Goodbye pretty scenery and exacting hand motions, hello Power Rangers' karate and CGIed backgrounds with cardboard cut-out buildings.

2. Because making the four nations Inuit/Eastern/Islander isn't culturally diverse enough, the casting and setting will be more 'culturally and ethnically' diverse. (Reporter went to casting call here. (Link found by fellow irate Avatar fan here.(CLICK TEH LINKS LIEK WHOA! SHIRLY THIZ NOT SIREUS!)))

3. All main characters will be white.

4. Like with most movies with children in them, a state of disbelief will be needed to see the guy my age as being 16. (Guy playing Zuko, on his character: "He's, like, an evil prince." Okay, not a direct quote, but the evil prince portion is. (The law says you are an adult why?) Even worse? Guy playing Sokka, on his being cast: "All I need is a tan! XD" (Your parents did not beat the racism out of you why?))

5. M. Night Shyamalan is directing. (While I enjoyed Lady in the Water and portions of Signs, is anyone else confused by the director of choice? It's like asking Stephen King to write the script. Sure, he's good at his job, but his name itself is a connotation that this will be a creepy movie. You could try pulling a Harry Selick and just put on the poster "From the director of Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach, we present Coraline." No wait, all your movies are creepy. You were hired why? To draw your fans to a movie they would otherwise avoid because they're too cool for kid stuff? (Nevermind that the fact half the main characters haven't quite hit puberty, Avatar has stuff for people of all ages to enjoy. I'd rather watch Avatar than On Golden Pond, but I can still appreciate actually casting a distinct anti-established Hollywood age. (See earlier post concerning Watchmen and Carla Gugino.))

So, anybody who's a fan of Avatar should probably just plug their ears and sing "la-la-la-la-la, I can't hear you" any time someone mentions this film. It has unfortunate things written all over it.

(You did click those links, yes? Does anyone know where I can get me some lederhosen to be authentically Belgian, which is, like, right next to the Netherlands, which means they're my historically accurate traditional costume as well? Or would it be dirndl for me?)

So I watched Watchmen Saturday. As a big fan of the comic book, I hated it. As a big fan of cheesy movies, I enjoyed it muchly.

For those of you who haven't seen it yet, I suggest renting 300 first. (To quote the poster, "From the acclaimed director of 300, Zach Snyder" blah, blah, blah). Note the gratuitous gore and sex. It will be repeated in Watchmen. He hasn't made many movies yet, but he already has a signature. (It leaves me distinctly unimpressed. As porn goes, it's pretty good- though leaves me embarrassed to be viewing it in a crowded theater. As gore goes, I prefer Tarantino. His beheadings were silhouettes.)

As most people here have either already read Watchmen, I'm not really going to discuss the plot. We all knew going in it would end up being retarded because Watchmen wasn't about the plot. It was about the details, the off-topicness of lengthy excerpts from books and comics and the character drama and flashbacks to minor characters who end up being tiny cogs in the great machine that destroyed the world. All of that flavor text- all of what made us love Watchmen would obviously have to go, because otherwise it would be a twenty hour miniseries. So the plot is a couple of retired (and not-so-retired) vigilantes investigate a murder. Things happen. Thirty major cities get exploded by the doohickey that made Doc Manhattan and the truth gets suppressed. The end. (This is not what happened in the book. I like the evil alien invader actually created in secret by Veidt's unknowing minions who get exploded for it as well. But that story is filled with too many pesky details.)

( Major non-linear discussion of said movie continues. )

So talking cell phones with Dad right now. Apparently Margret broke hers and had to have to replaced? That's a new phone, you ditz, how did you break it already?

Anyways, he mentioned that he only calls people when he has something he needs to ask or whatever. Not much of a conversationalist, he is. And apparently he's annoyed with the twins for never answering the phone when he calls them. (I cannot vouch for how true this is, since the only time I've seen him call Laura, she answered the phone. Margret the ever-busy is probably the guilty party here.) So hey, you two, you see the home number, either pick up or call back when you're not busy so Dad won't feel like you're blowing him off. Because he's the one who's paying for that phone and that comes across as more than a little ungrateful. Especially seeing as how Mom just had to swap in her phone upgrade to replace the phone you broke.

Also, to repeat, Margret, you do know you lose your military ID and thus, its health care benefits when you marry? That's a who-knows-how-long amount of time where you aren't covered. I understand the marraige before posting is neceessary for joint-spouse, but you also need to get coverage for that break in time so that, should anything horrible happen- like your car getting t-boned by an eighteen-wheeler and you getting put in traction for years and no longer in the good health necessary for a military career- you need to have something to cover medical bills. Because you sure as hell can't afford it, the parents can't afford it, and mooching is not a way of life you want to get into.

So kindly do some research, maybe get some paperwork together, and let Dad know you're not blowing off his justifiable paranoia. Because that's his big issue about you getting married before your commissioning. Big mystery solved, now get to work communicating with him again. And I'd like to point out that this huge passive-agressive, nonconfrontational fight could've been avoided if you had just asked him why he was upset about you two trying to set the day pre-graduation, instead of bitching like a little girl on your blog or to your sisters or to your friends. Communication is the key to maintaining a good relationship.

/rant

I like multitasking. Perhaps multitasking isn't the right word for it. I like reading a book and watching television at the same time. Or watching movies while doing my cross stitch. Drawing while holding a conversation. Things along those lines- though reading while holding a conversation is even more difficult than you'd imagine. I say this to talk about my current activity's background noise (ie, the TV show I'm reading to)- Babylon 5. I bought Lee a couple of the seasons she owns, and others have bought the rest, and I have missed them since she moved. I never actually finished, and I'm obsessive enough that if it's been too long, I start things back at the beginning rather than at where I left off. (This is a recurring problem with Dune. I've pretty much got the first memorized, but I've never gotten past God Emperor, which I'm told is the beginning of a downward spiral into authorial madness and it's no wonder I finished. But dammit, I want to see how it all turns out.)
( Television show discussion follows )

I occasionally go to a karaoke var Saturday nights with a group of friends. One woman I go there with is married to a transexual. I forget what was said, but she's a bit loud when drunk, and she stated quite clearly over the the sound of tone-deaf screeching that she was not a lesbian. And was rather insulted when the rest of us gave disbelieving smiles. Because her spouse has the medical bills to prove she's female, even if the driver's license still says Michael. Before the surgery I'd flip-flop my pronouns about her- because she still went out as a man, since she was working on base at the time. But she's got a new job, new face, and different hormones. She's a girl, so that makes them lesbians, right? Except no, they're both more interested in men than women and simply occasionally pinch-hit for the other team. (Thus making their marraige- both pre and post-op- rather unusual.)

As someone who doesn't pay much attention to that sort of thing, I'm a little confused by how upset it had made her. And it rather got me wondering about how you would define straight, gay, and bisexual. I know many people who would be rather upset to be labeled bi, when they consider themselves straight or gay. But do the terms define sexual activity or merely attraction? The Kinsey scale is pretty clear about it, but for those of us who don't have personal history to go by, it makes things difficult. Because while I can easily tell if I find someone attractive or not, there's still the fact that it's not sexual. For example, I spent ten minutes staring at April's breasts last night. Partially because I'd had two drinks within the hour on an empty stomach and had trouble focusing and she was right in front of me and partially because they were bouncing everywhere and it was rather hypnotic. I can appreciate nice curves, but I don't want to have sex with her. So would that make me bi or straight?

And apparently it's the bisexuals who are least accepted in general. I know I made a crack about the MTV show being about an equal-opportunity slut, but that's what they're considered- by both the straight and queer communities. (Or else 'gender-confused.') Like, if you're not with us, you're against us. Why can't it just be you like it both ways? There ought to be a checklist. Gay, straight, and other. Because bisexual doesn't really cover things like transexuals, or straight guys in drag. And what's so damn important about labels anyway? Am I seriously so odd for not caring what gender you're doing in your spare time? It seems such a stupid thing to worry about.

I frequently get invites from Richard for his Orlando GLBTQ group. Really couldn't tell you exactly why- it's an eight hour drive for it. But I could make a couple guesses. Maybe my disinterest in sex (with either gender) comes across as a closet case. It could also be the women's college I went to. (Lesbians aren't as hot as you think, you pervs. They're normal looking people.) ... You can take the girl out of the women's college, but you can't take the women's college out of the girl. I'll be getting double-takes for it twenty years from now. I'll admit they've got a higher percentage of foreign students than your standard college, but may I point out that it was a five minute walk to a MARTA station? It was a far safer section of Atlanta than other universities there had.

Thus ends the soap box. Questions, comments, general update news having nothing to do with this post?

Interesting times this holiday season. I visited Carmen after Christmas (dropping Laura off along the way, since FSU band doesn't get the same days off everyone else does, apparently). Accidentally left my trunk open after I grabbed my bag out of it (even though I double-checked because I'm paranoid like that, so really, no idea how it was left open...), and went to start my car to leave (two days later...) and ta-da, dead battery. So got to meet a couple of her (sort-of) early-riser co-workers. (A pair of youngish twins from Ireland, who I could probably tell apart if given longer than twenty minutes to meet them.) Double-checked with father about length of time I ought to give battery to charge to make sure it didn't die on the way home in Nowheresville, FL. Because I only had half a tank left, and that's definitely not enough to get home from Gainesville. But it's enough to get me to Tallahassee apparently, so woo-hoo, car did not die again. Sooner or later, will have to replace battery, it's going on two years old, and it's been slower to start my car of late. Probably not holding as much of a charge as it ought.
*
So a couple of days after that, get a panicky call from Lee saying "hey, come pick me up, my car's broken." Luckily, it's just a flat tire. Unluckily, it's New Year's Eve at night, and driving over was something of a hassle. Would've been more of a hassle two hours later when the drunks started leaving for their New Year's parties. (Which was actually the only reason I was still wide awake and dressed. Usually I'm getting ready for bed, but E. convinced me to come with her to one. I'm always up for free food.) Have issues getting her jack to work (sucker's rusted shut) so I dig E's out of her car (whose car I have stolen because it was blocking mine in the garage). E's has some sort of goop all over it and the tire. *Very* unpleasant. (BTW, I think Lee still has the jack in her car. Could be a problem.) Lady cop stops by to see why we're peering over her owner's manual using the trunk light and my dying flashlight. Get to watcher her swap out the blown tire with Lee's spare, only to discover Lee's spare is flat. ... Crap.

So I loan Lee my car so she can get to work, tell her to either buy a tire or call a tow truck come the second (since few people are open New Year's.) She buys a tire. I should've specified tire with rim. (It's not like I've actually changed a tire before. My knowledge is solely theoretical, and it's solely based off what I've learned from where I work.) Get back out there after work, park in front of her car this time, only to discover I've parked in sand... Fantastic. Now, not only do we a three-wheeled tire that we can't put a new tire on because we're a couple of goof-ups, but we also now have my car stuck six inches down in sand it's dug up trying to get out. Helpful guy in truck stops by and says "I'll be back with tow cables" and I continue to try and seesaw my car out. Finally manage to do so as he shows back up. (Personally, I think my car picked up on my irritation over the fact that she waited until it was late in the day- and thus cold and dark and after fracking store hours- to do the car thing. But she'd been packing and probably hadn't slept in two days, so I can't blame her for wanting a nap... Doesn't stop the illogical rage though. And my car didn't want to become my target. Because I probably would've taken to kicking tires to vent.) All the tow companies we can think of are closed for the day, so I reclaim my car and drop Lee off at the apartment. Bring her over to the repair place the next day, where they punch her in the wallet. Repeatedly. Not certain what she did with the tire. Probably returned it to WalMart.

Note to self, when I finally get out of here, move to city with good public transportation system.
*
So she finally manages to make it out of town (even with her moving company problems), except her timetable's so screwed up that now, instead of the two of us cleaning up the apartment, I've got to cart out the leftover furniture and clean up. Don't feel like doing this in the dark, so it's weekend work. Get some done one weekend, get the rest done the next weekend. Rent a U-Haul to cart off the smelly couch and the dresser (which E appropriates, because her 'no dresser' experiment has gone horribly bad, clothes-wise. (For awhile there it looked like she had no carpet, just a crapload of fabric swatches.)) Finally finish up and head back to the house, to see I've missed a call from Lee. Call her to find out she'd gotten a call from the rental place because someone (just what is Charles' title, anyway?) had stopped by during the week and seen it was a mess.

I'm glad he thinks I can afford a day off from work to clean up a place he could never bother doing any repairs in. Let's discuss my doorbell situation. Four months into moving in, my doorbell stopped working. However, it continued to ring at odd times for no particular reason we could discover. Finally figured out everytime someone visited apartment G next to us, our doorbell rang along with hers. (In December, people moved into B and spent twenty minutes listening to all the tunes theirs played. (I hate small children.) Guess who's bell rang as well, every single fracking time theirs did?) Fantastic, someone set up a wireless system here. Call to leave messages about this a couple times, then give up on it. It's probably just as well, since he doesn't make a very good electrician. The metal rack in the laundry had serious voltage running through it for ages, before they finally called an actual electrician to fix it, instead of continuing to try their fucked-up in house fixes. Good thing our hangers were plastic.

So you'll pardon me if I don't care if he was annoyed about that. He never had time for us, I'm not losing pay to clean it up. If it had been summer time when we moved, I probably would've done it after work. But guess what, there's no light in the public rooms. I'm not working in the dark. Also am annoyed about the fact he wanted the washer and dryer out of there. They couldn't have brought it up *before* I returned the U-Haul? (Which had still been hours before Lee's missed call.) The people moving in are going to need them, too. (Probably want to squeeze more money out of them. Buy a package washer/dryer deal.) So got that done last Monday, made one last turn of the place, and returned the keys. Doubtful about the deposit being returned- I couldn't get out the weird stains on the carpet where Roscoe apparently knocked pink stuff over. Not to mention all the blinds he destroyed in his need to peer out the windows to stare at birds and lizards. To be honest, I don't even care about it. Lee can try and argue some of it back out of them, but I'm washing my hands of it. Too much bother.

Note to self, need to change air filter in central air system. (Yay, central air. No more huddling under three blankets to try and keep warm.)

My internets is broken! Fix it over the phone! Frakking Monahan store wouldn't know RAM from a motherboard, and they keep bothering me to somehow magically fix it, sight unseen. Like I've got Tech Support training. Reboot your computer, maybe you hit something funny. If that doesn't work, restart your modem thingy. It's that blue box that says Sprint on it. If you can't find it, it's not my problem, you didn't need the internet anyway. Let's not even get into the Bossman not getting the printer to work and overloading it with fifteen copies of the same document because maybe he just didn't hit print.

Considering how little work there is to be done, shouldn't this time of year be *less* stressful? And that's just work stress, nevermind all the stress with the parents about the moving.

My mother, bless her, tends to squash everyone else in the conversation. It's not like she means it, she just equates conversation with 'me talking always'. (Which gives me a whole set of other issues with speaking, as Lee will attest). I just wanted to do something without her butting her nose in. I know she means to be helpful, but she always ends up running the show. (I don't have a strong personality, I don't need her running roughshod over it.) And she's not too good on the follow-through. Just look at all the house jobs she's left mid-task to start something else. It annoys the hell out of the rest of the family, is it any wonder I didn't want her trying to pull that shit on me trying to find a place to live? Yes, I need to apologize to her for blowing her off, but shouldn't she apologize to us for all the times she's blown *us* off? She runs on Marcie-time, and I wanted out by new year. In Marcie-time, that would've ended up being my birthday. Like when she wanted E. to go see a place over on Hollywood, then thinks a good time would be 0730, which is when E. needs to be leaving for work, not adding another forty minutes of driving to the other side of town during the morning traffic jam. (Not to mention the tweny miles over the speed limit she was going in a town famous for its speeding tickets...) Mom may not have to be at work until noon or whenever, but E. is struggling to keep her her boss happy, she doesn't need to add 'tardy' to her list of defects.

Anyways, Dad needs to get off his hypocritical high horse.
Maybe I should've moved to Navarre, so she can never visit me just like she never visits her widowed father. (Of course, then I'd be bothered by Aunt Diana ten times more than I already am.)

Speaking of Diana, just because I'm masochistic and easily guilt-tripped doesn't mean the sibs should completely blow off their grandfather like that. Your definition of Christmas apparently contains self-centered and selfish, and considering how much the man has done for you over the years (can I say cruise trips, anyone?), spending a couple hours over dinner with him is not going to kill you, you skanky whiny little bitches.

For those of you not in the know, I've spent the last three weeks apartment hunting. Lee's moving out to Texas (and I was going to go with her, but I don't *like* Texas. The only natural disaster you don't have to worry about is tsunamis, and for a paranoiac like me, that's something to worry about.) and I really don't need to be living on my own, so E. and I (plus April, oh jeez. Already I'm worried, because if you think I'm picky about my food, you haven't met her. I'll try new things. I'll mix my vegetables with my potatoes. Let's not talk about the fact she's been house hunting like she's buying, not renting. Perfect ain't gonna happen, honey, now get your head out of the sand.)

So, house hunting. April's mother works for a realtor, so she can look in their system for everybody else's three bedroom places, not just the one's her employer has. So April spent who knows how long looking through places and sent E. a group of fifteen or so to look into. We looked through, axed all the ones too expensive and went to view the outsides before bothering to call the listed numbers to view interiors- because I'd rather not live in crack alley again. Also, no kids. They keep playing in the street and I'm paranoid I'm going to hit them.

So a lot of the past few weeks has been calling numbers, being told we had to pay three months rent up front, no overnight visitors, no pets, blah blah blah, you're young, single females who will have wild parties, don't call us, we'll call you. Also, don't hold your breath.

It's been a major hassle. Even more of a hassle is the fact I'm the only one with good credit. E. doesn't have any (because she refuses to get a credit card, which I completely understand, but it's either that or take a loan out that will get her a credit score) and April's mother did something weird to hers back in high school. They do have good rental history, unlike me, since I don't think I'm on the lease for my current residence. I might be.

So last Monday, I went enough is enough. First place to agree to rent to us, we take. Because I'm getting sick of the run-around and the unreturned calls, and I'd like to be in a new place by the end of the year.

My mother, in the meantime, is trying to be helpful (read poking her nose in without asking) and looking around at places. In crappy neighborhoods that April is definitely going to axe immediately that even I'm kinda squeamish about. And she keeps finding townhouses in Shalimar. I don't want a townhouse- people with kids live in those areas. I'm going to hit someone and go to jail, I know it. I don't want Shalimar- she stops by randomly already and it's six miles to where I am now. Everything in Shalimar is within a mile. She'll powerwalk over or something. Every weekend.

The current place I'm looking at is townhouse, though. I went over to look at fully intending to say no. Because it's $1200 and a townhouse that doesn't take pets. However, the owner is willing to bend on the price and let us pay the security deposit in installments (the first time anyone's allowed that), isn't going to bother with the credit checks because he already knows our problem there (even called current employers for verification of working there and is just as worried about April's 'pending the need for more employees' job as we are), and comforts me with the fact he's an anal-rententive neat-freak who thinks his garage floor needs mopped before anyone can move in. That means when stuff breaks (because sooner or later it will), he will actually fix it. We'd just have to make sure to vacuum before we call him.

Accepting the over-priced *townhouse* apparently hurts my mother's feelings. April's willing to cover the extra hundred E. and I are quibbling over, and this neighborhood has a bunch of single spinsters living there (who I've met), not young families with half a dozen kids playing basketball in the street. So yes, I am okay with it. I didn't ask for her help, and frankly, I'm tired of the whole thing. He just has to mop his garage floor first, and the place is ours. He also has to plant some shrubberies so we don't run over drainage pipes, but the place doesn't need to be vacant for that.

I am kinda hoping ERA calls about the other place, though. It doesn't have stairs that you need to carry furniture up.

And Carmen thinks she hasn't updated in forever...

I plead temporary (read: permanent) addiction to computer games as my excuse. Besides, anything terribly interesting that happens gets posted by Lee, since, well, living together. Such as the recent addition to our household of the conehead kind.

Well, It's not so much an addition to the household so much as an extension of the klutziest cat I've ever had. (Well, lived with, since he's Lee's cat...) Roscoe has gotten much more sedate with the addition of the satellite around his neck. Poor dude keeps scratching at it, which means he's not allowed to run around with it off for fear of tearing open his stitches. He's currently sleeping under my covers and making sleepy noises every time I go over and poke my hand under to make sure he hasn't suffocated or something.

Speaking of scratching and stitches, giving Roscoe his ear medication in the morning was something of a hassle yesterday. Five drops seems simple enough, until you take into account that the radar dish doesn't hinder head movements too much, which means there's nothing to grab onto to hold his head still. Combine his thrashing with awkward positions, and I accidentally hit his stitches and he decided he had enough of that and thrashed a panic attack that left my pants torn. Huzzah. Which meant I had to break out the emergency pants (read: tragic pale blue pants accidentally washed with bright red, never-been-washed shirt leaving said pants pink in certain (read: all) lights, complete with bloodstain looking spots from previous run-ins with strange liquids that had formerly just looked like dirt stains (which they were). They also have funny yellow speckles on one thigh. No idea where those came from.), since that evening was supposed to be laundry day for pants (as was all out of clean work pants). (The laundry plan didn't work out anyway, as Tuesday was the rescheduled date for dinner with aunt and grandfather, since previous date was washed out after got sick of waiting in rush hour traffic for life flight to clear out. Three hundred feet in an hour does not a happy driver make, so E. and I called off and went to IHOP instead. Very cold there.)

E. has gotten a Nintendo DS, along with a spiffy little game by the name of Puzzle Quest. It's basically the RPG version of Bejeweled, and am seriously contemplating buying a DS solely to play this game. (Along with Brain Age, which looks like fun, because I'm fond of smart-making games.)

Have gotten onto a strange reading fix of late- I'm currently bouncing between Jane Austen (because I am somehow a sucker for romances written in the nineteenth century, when everyone was genteel and never really touched, much less had sex) and Anne McCaffrey's older sci-fi novels. (Back when she was interesting and not writing a bajillion sequels. (And zomg, my internet spellchecker is trying to tell me that's written bazillion. Is bazillion seriously a number, or is it just a word used so freaking often it's made it into the slang dictionary?))
Am currently sulking about it all, since these books can only be found on the internet and in used book stores, and there's only two within decent driving distance (since the one on Beal closed, the liars- they're in the phone book, but I drive past there everyday and there's some crafty store there now) and I can only find one store and while they did have some McCaffrey, I've fixated on the Brainship books and the only one I've found is The City Who Fought. I used to own The Ship Who Sang, but I haven't seen it since E. was in middle school. (She probably loaned it to someone, the bitch.))

Furthering the off-track loaning comment, I've somehow become a lending library. I'm not certain whether to be proud (Whee, I'm a library! Bestest thing ever!) or annoyed (Mine! Rar!). So if anybody's in want of something, drop me a line and an updated mailing address. (I'm sure I have everybody's, but I also never delete old emails with addresses, which means I've got four different addresses for Stephen alone, one of which is in Florida and we all know when last he lived here.)

Along those lines, I'm transitioning over to a new email address (csc.elfhawk (at) gmail.com) since my yahoo address is again being bombarded by spam. (I kind of miss the 'enhance your dick' spams, since they were funny. Now I'm winning lotteries, vacation trips, and shopping sprees, if only I fill out this simple form...) So update thine address books. I will sooner or later get around to sending an email as well.

I need to get my scanner hooked back up. It's been sitting in the living room for over a month, and I've been having way too much fun with pens to not inflict it upon you. (Lee is awestruck by my trees. More struck than awe, to be true, but hey, any attention is good, right?)

Nothing speaks louder about a culture than its advertisements. And it seems our culture hasn't changed dramatically over the century- just the technology. One hundred years ago, you could read adverts for opium, telephones, and buggies. Today you watch commercials for Prozac, cell phones, and Jeep Cherokees.

And sex. Boy do PR people want you to have sex. Erectile aids (Viagra and the like, supposedly for Erectile Disfunction, but really just for guys who don't believe in foreplay), STDs (I'm so sick about hearing how 80% of people with Herpes got it from their partner), lubricants (omg, two within a single hour! Why aren't they showing ones for condoms too?), diet foods (all I have to say is wtf??), lingerie (women may wear it, but it's the guys who want to see it), Girls Gone Wild videos (who at least don't claim to be something they're not)... You name it, someone's paid to have someone else think up a commercial for it to put on television for your enjoyment. Possibly the only channels not resorting to this are the 'childrens' networks- Nickelodeon, Disney, Cartoon Network. Even the History Channel isn't safe anymore.

In another twenty years, you won't even have to watch Pay-Per-View to get porn- your commercials will show sex for free. And considering how many cracks I hear about time, your three minute commercial break -where half of the commercials will be scantily-clad women trying to sell you used cars/make-up/Viagra by writhing and holding strategically placed phallic symbols and the other half will be "Hi, my name is Tammy, call 1-900-FREE-PRN for a good time"- is all the time needed for a quickie.

I blame the movie industry.

I'm also curious to see what comparing the statistics concerning the increasing number of children on medication for non-life threatening illnesses (such as ADD and depression) and the growing number of school shootings would prove.

And what kind of fools drug their own children for being hyperactive instead of just playing with them? Stop buying them XBoxes to stop them from bothering you and then taking them to therapists because they won't talk to you. Fuckers.

Some people just need to get the fuck over themselves.

Just because they are too stupid or too lazy to spell is no reason to impose their way of spelling on the rest of us. The only place I want to see 'through' spelled 'thru' is when I'm buying fast food, and that's solely because I know how space is limited on signs. Same with 'night' and 'nite'. Misspelling rogue as rouge gets you a whole different word, and a completely retarded sentence, rouges being sneaky creatures that they are, in their rogue lipstick.

Asshats.

As one may or may not have picked up upon, I am a Neil Gaiman fan. Recently it has come to my attention (via my latest acquisition- or possibly second to latest, as I do not recall if I got the Neverwhere DVD before or after the Sandman Companion) that I have been mispronouncing his name. In my defense, I am a native English speaker and thus little used to pronouncing things the way they are spelt. (Spellt? Spelled? I'm sure you see my problem.) Little, for example, would have an extra vowel sound of of some kind if it were pronounced the way it appeared written. Or else would have to be written littil. (Which brings to mind Mattel (which, I suppose, ought to be Matel) and sometimes fennel, and thus I am happy it is not spelled (whatever) that way.)

I've been pronouncing it guy-men, by the way. Something my most favored of authors said in the Companion told me that Gaiman is pronounced exactly the way it is written. He received an award from GLAAD for positive portrayals of gay and lesbian characters. "It was the only time a room full of people cheered simply for the correct pronunciation of my name." Gay-man. And immature being that I am, I giggle every time I see his name, if only because he said he never got teased for it in school and I must make up for all those lost oppurtunities.

( Further musings upon Gaiman in general, and the Endless in specific. )

There was some 50s war-ish movie on the television earlier. (War because it was set in the Philippines during WWII, ish because, while it didn't have Elvis, it certainly wasn't actually about the war.) I know little about the Pacific War. My interest in the Second World War has always focused on Europe. The main reason for that? That's what's taught in school. Island hopping, Iwo Jima (because it has a famous flag photo), and Pearl Harbor (huge duh there) are all that's really taught about the war in the Pacific. I picked up odd stuff- the Death Railway, Australians actually being in the war, Nanking, the Sandaken Death Marches- over the years through movies and references in books I've read. I've spent the morning on Wikipedia, reading up on the Japanese and their actions during the war.

Did you know that the Japanese, grand totalled, killed more civilians than the Germans? They preferred bayonets. They especially liked pregnant women, because then they could get the child as well. If you weren't Japanese, you were scum. If you were a POW, you were less than nothing, because there is no honor in surrender. (Apparently there is honor in kidnapping young Korean and Chinese girls- from seven and up- and taking them to the front lines to be prostitutes. I'm sure in some sick, sad world, this makes a great deal of sense.)

POWs in Germany had a 4% chance of dying before the war was over. One reason is because Germany followed the rules of the Geneva Convention. (You know, soldiers above the rank of segeant don't do manual labor, those who are doing labor get extra food and water, don't *kill* the POWs...) Also, POWs weren't Polish/Jewish/homosexual/Russian/black civilians. POW camps in Europe were much safer than concentration camps. Japan didn't sign the Geneva convention. If you were lucky, you only got dysentery. If you weren't lucky, you might end with with these guys. (Afterthe war, we granted them amnesty provided they shared the information they discovered. So did the Soviets a few years later. We're not any better than the Japanese in that respect. They should have been hung.)

The Rape of Nanking is called the Nanking Incident in Japan. It's not taught in schools, and wasn't even recognized by the government as happening until the mid 1970s. They're still arguing about how many died, and say that since there's no documentation of rapes, they didn't happen.

Germany admits its sins. (Though the Poles have problems with it, because they were a conquered people that took great pleasure in turning in their 'different' neighbors so that they could get their shit. One young Jewish woman went to her uncle's clinic after the war only to discover the neighbors had taken the building over and said they had always owned it and threatened her with harm if she continued to press. So, yes, the Poles don't like bringing up their involvement in the war beyond they were part of the 4 million non-Jewish deaths in concentration camps. They were victims, too. They didn't do anything wrong. Honest.)

Back to the point. Germany admits its sins of war. We've got footage as back-up in case they try to say it didn't happen. By now it's in the history books, and that means everyone knows, provided they didn't sleep through class for many years. But nobody teaches the Pacific except for what happened to American soldiers during actual battles. (Do the history books even mention there were POWs?) The Japanese don't even teach what they did during the war. (The Sino-Japanese War was them defending themselves against the Koreans, who for some terrible reason, wanted independence. Golly, what an astonishing idea.) What assassination of an anti-Japanese Korean empress? What virulent disease-infested animals released into China? What abandoned Korean/Chinese/Filipino villages? What prostitutes? What dead POWs?

What code of honor? Death before dishonor? You had no honor in that war. None at all. And your leaders killed themselves before they could be brought to account. What does that tell you? Those were not honorable suicides. They were cowardly retreats in the face of their own sins.

I'm not saying that Americans are pure as the clean snow. But we allow dissent a voice.

Now discuss.

Here's something which I have been following in only the vaguest of senses. It crops up on Fox News sometimes at work (those times when Bud's there and we can't watch the history channel ). And I have no idea whatsoever where these people get the idea that because some imprisoned murderer/gang leader writes a few children's books that speak against joining gangs, he must be a good citizen and taken off death row. If he really showed any remorse for his actions, he wouldn't still be going by his fucking gang name. Some famous actor- Clooney maybe- was on the news saying that it's not that they don't think he's innocent, they just think that he doesn't deserve to die. What about the four people he killed? They didn't deserve to die either. Who kills a guy for $120 when you've already got the money and he's on the floor, helpless, hmm? I guess that guy deserved to die because he didn't hand the money over fast enough. So fuck the children's books. We've got more by hundreds of other people, 99.9 percent of which are not by convicted murderers. Because who wants their kids reading a book by a convicted murderer?

I still say the punishment should fit the crime. Even better, do the same thing to them what they did to others. See how they like it when the tables are turned. Really would make you think again about disobeying the law. Stab someone forty-seven times and leave them to bleed to death now, fuckers.

...

I have issues. They're usually hiding under the soapbox, not standing on top proclaiming themselves, but apparently they were in a more social mood today. Err. Not that they're very socially-acceptable.

Anyways. Opinions, people?

The Abyss was on Sci-Fi today. I only caught parts of the last half of it, with Dad interrupting me going "hey, here's a a good part" or "I almost cried at this part" and "no, they're not blowing something up. They're making something *not* blow up" and unhelpful stuff like that.
( Ranting continues )

This is actually still a quiz post, but as I tend to ramble on continuously when given the writing utensil and half the chance, I decided to split it. That way there can be short giggles over the previous post, and bitching in this post. Because I am snarky and bitter and bitchy, and everyone knows it and puts up with it, but still likes to point out how completely pessimistic and small-minded about the happier emotions I can be.

I happen to like being unhappy. This is why Zoloft commercials annoy me. There's obviously something wrong with me if I want to be the frowny-faced rock. I have to be the smiley-faced rock. I smile. It's just not my natural state, no matter what impression I've managed to give you. I've got a dark sense of humor, and I take myself very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that I'm the first person in line to make fun of me for not liking drawing the attention of the crowd like my friends do.

A cynic is a frustrated idealist. I've apparently been frustrated for a very long time.

Which doesn't bring me back to my point, but I'll get back to it anyway.

You Are An Iris

You are a unique woman who needs a lot of novelty in her life. An inspiration seeker, you often have to change scenery to recharge. You don't deal well with structure or rules. You need to do it your own way. Your ideal relationships are free and flowing. No one can tie you down.

( And the bitching continues. )

The straw, she breaks the camel's back.

I have a shitty job. I love its mindlessness, don't get me wrong, but it's not air conditioned (a fact most would hate more than me, but I put my limit at continuously 90 degree weather indoors with no breeze), it's dirty (and don't think I don't know that you don't give a single thought to the person who's got to clean up after you when *you* stay in a hotel), it's thankless (we're overworked and underpaid and under-fucking-appreciated), it's tiring- and I do mean physically exhausting (before taking this job I could stay up until midnight, wake up at five, and be perfectly awake. Now I'm lucky if I manage to make it to ten and crawl out of bed barely coherent at six. I've driven home and started to doze off at red lights- and let me tell you, am I glad that my route home has many parking lots to make pit stops. Putting in multiple ten hours days within a week will do that to a person.), and I'll be damned if I roll over and play dead like I usually do.

I'm passive-aggressive, yes, and I'll handle a great deal more shit than most would solely due to this fact. But I'm not about to explain to my friends that, even though I'm the one who persuaded them all to go, I won't be able to attend DragonCon because the new girl who's been here ONE FUCKING MONTH has requested that ENTIRE FUCKING WEEK OFF. Funny, I didn't see the notice on the board with her so-called request. Funny how you made me put up notes for certain days I needed off, when I asked about it. Odd how you told me that if I wanted vacation days, I'd have to wait until my year was up to actually make the request. If she made her request a month before I did, it wasn't in writing and if it's not in writing, it's not binding.

Not to mention you get vacation time after a year, not a month. I don't fucking care if your mom has been there longer than me. She can have the week off- not you. Do the time, get the time. So what if your brother's graduating boot camp? Just because it's a fucking long drive to Ohio and back does not mean you are entitled to more than your usual two days off. Jeez, if I'd known I could've asked for a week off last year for DragonCon, I would've skipped town and bugger the fact that laundry'll be short for a few days.

I haven't seen some of these friends in *months* and that was only a couple of fucking days, and it will again be only for a couple of days. They're more important to me than this shitty job- or any job, for that matter.

Here's my notice, assholes. Go hire someone else to shit on. It's not like your employee turnover rate isn't ridiculously high anyway.

And if you should actually be so dimwitted as to offer me my vacation days back, fuck you. That's not only unfair to me, you're rescinding on your promise to her. And you're not changing my mind.