Oh, and I had a request to syndicate my ever-so-scintillating Twitter feed, so... here it is:
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Sci-fi’s grand old man Forrest J. Ackerman dies.
( More linkspam )


We are a household of crabby women snapping at each other. Big fun.
The Great Flea Epidemic of 2006: Possibly the first time I've been able to say that I'm glad Lucky's not here for this. The poms spent the morning at the vet getting washed and shot and dipped and powdered and expressed and clipped and God knows what else. Meko, being blind, sticks to a few favorite places downstairs, but we've got to wash, steam and/or launder everything Sam's touched to keep the fleas from coming back, including but not limited to the couch in the front living room, the couch in the den, my carpet, my bedspread, and the cat. Bad Cat, by the way, just keeps walking around yowling for no apparent reason. S/he's not usually very chatty, but the last week or so, for some reason, s/he's just been walking around constantly going "MAO. MAO. MAO! MAOOOOO." Apparently the Cat of Indeterminate Gender is now also a Communist. Dirty pinko cat. S/he has no idea what's coming, by the way--rather than take THE CAT TO THE VET, my mother compromised by leaving the cat at home and begging the vet for some kind of neutron flea bomb. The vet responded with a pill that is guaranteed to "knock the fleas off." I'm not sure if the fleas are meant to be dead before or after they're knocked off, or how soon after ingestion this is going to happen, or what the radius of knocked fleas flying is going to be, and if maybe we can put the cat in the bathtub before this all goes down, but apparently it's going to be effective.
Also, I was promised that Sister Girl and her boyfriend would be gone at an Alabama game all day, and they are still here. Why are they still here? LEAAAAVE.
Music downloads: For some reason, I remembered that old song "Runaway" and decided to, uh, acquire it. I ended up with the original Del Shannon version (more atmospheric) and the Traveling Wilburys' version (less shrill), as well as a "psychobilly" instrumental cover (look, I'm just telling you what the label says). I saw a Bonnie Raitt cover but didn't get to grab it, and Shannon himself rerecorded it in 1986 or thereabouts as the theme song to a show called Crime Story, which, in fact, was the first time I ever heard it. Yes, I was seven. Anyone got any other versions? (I refer you to this article at the Dread Wikipedia as to which songs titled "Runaway" are actually versions of the Shannon song and not completely different songs written by other artists.)
I'm still working on the Lost recaps, by the way. A quick check revealed that the previous two were 4200 and 4000 words, respectively, if that gives you any idea of work going into it.
( Linkspam )
Mmm, cinnamon toast.
Not having that great a day otherwise--trying to work, but the Death Crud is still lingering and I feel all ropy and logy and sludgy and dried out. But by God, I've sat here in front of an open Word document all morning and all afternoon. Also, it's (checks weather.yahoo.com) 57 degrees right now (oh, that's a LIE. It's 70 degrees in this house if it's five. Hmm. Maybe this is because Sister Girl has the heat on again. GAH), and we all know that these are conditions under which I cannot art.
A pair of scrunchy brown ankle boots that I ordered on a deep-discount after-Christmas sale arrived today, though. I got a brown purse for Christmas and realized that, for some reason, all of my shoes are black (or sneakers). Thus, something in brown. They're a bitch to get on, but plenty comfortable on and easy to get off. Eeeee, scrunchy boots.
I hope no one reading this has narcolepsy, because I have bad news for you. Seriously, if you do, read this, because Teresa Nielsen Hayden didn't find out that Public Citizen had successfully campaigned to have Cylert/pemoline discontinued until she went to refill her prescription: "Xopher and I and god knows how many other people with narcolepsy, ADHD, and other tricksy neurochemical impairments are looking at THE END OF OUR FUNCTIONAL WORKING LIVES." And if you do use Cylert/pemoline, you may want to take the Narcolepsy Network's advice to write letters of complaint regarding the ban.
(God, I wish I had the power to disemvowel comments sometimes.)
Meanwhile, I have developed a sudden lip gloss obsession that has caused me to sit on my wallet hands to prevent myself from buying hundreds of them (woe unto sephora.com!). Particularly since I got a ton for Christmas anyway, and between Burt's Bees and Tutti Dolci, I should be set. (I think those two are actually on sale right now, as a matter of fact.) I really want some Mabel's Laundromat balms, but I think I'm going to dangle those out as a reward for finished work. I said I wanted to finish things, right? firei: "Don't know if you've seen this before and/or linked it, but, I thought you might be interested: Literati Lip Balm - lip balm for the literary community." EEEE ALCOTT APRICOT.
In other news:
Efforts to Find Miners [in mine explosion] Become Desperate. "The men, trapped 260 feet down by an explosion Monday morning in the Sago Mine, were believed to be about 12,000 feet past the opening of the shaft. By midday Tuesday, more than 30 hours after the blast, rescue teams had penetrated 10,200 feet, working their way on foot for fear machinery might cause volatile gases to explode."
TCU Freshman Kicker Found Shot to Death.
Scientists May Have Found Mozart's Skull. "The grave on that spot is adorned by a column and a sad-looking angel." As opposed to the IN YO FACE! angels you so frequently see in cemeteries.
Apparently Angelina Jolie really is pregnant. For those of you who care. I mean, I really like her. But it's not like we won't be beaten to death with the Saga of the Brangelina Spawn by the tabloids in the coming year.
Two Marie Antoinette pics.
Prince Caspian already under way.
Goblet of Fire: Best Animated Foreign-Language Documentary of 2005. *nods*ezaryu reviews The Book.
How do you feel about adoring fans, Unca Neil? The answer is typical gracious Neil Gaiman, bless him. On that Grateful to Be a Writer note, I'm going to take a stab at another hour of staring at the screen writing before starting dinner.
Oh my God, I feel like I was hit by a truck. The phlegm has settled low in my ears and is slowly sludging its way down to my chest. My throat is about 85% better, but I feel twice as bad overall as yesterday. I don't have time for this!
(And if you think I sound chipper, bear this in mind: it took me all day to write this entry.)
Which reminds me: my professor this past semester would bring this little thing that would plug into the wall and heat about a teapot's worth of water, and we would all make tea. But I don't really know what you would call it, and I suspect that if I Froogle "water heater" I'm not going to find what I want. Because I was lying in bed, hwonking and snorfling, and it occurred to me that I have everything in the world I need to make tea--tea, tea bags, loose tea, cups, teapots, a few packets of Equal, even a tea strainer--but no way to heat water that doesn't involve going downstairs. And since going downstairs to take the dogs out was a monumental effort, downstairs = bad at the moment. Help?bardintraining: "The Year in Pictures (but turn up your speakers anyway). Editor's Choice (graphic images); Reader's Choice."
Brad Renfro arrested. For drugs. On Skid Row. Awww.
RIP character actor Vincent Schiavelli. You may not recognize the name, but you would know the face--if nothing else, you might know him from the sideshow-carnival episode of the X-Files, "Humbug," where he had the weird Pouch o' Twin. I am sad.
Two song recs from Tony Pius: "I think I recommended Jonathan Coulton's luminous cover of 'Baby Got Back' [previously], but I have a new favorite from the Coulton oeuvre: 'Skullcrusher Mountain.'" (Sample mad scientist/supervillain lyric: "I made this half-pony half-monkey monster to please you / But I get the feeling that you don’t like it.")
From the No Shit files: Va. Man Who Killed 4 Had Mental Problems.
The Amazing McRachel sent me a GlossyGreeting with a sample of Cargo lip gloss in their Bora Bora shade. My God, it is awesome.
All "Lazy Sunday" all the time! Lazy Sunday lyrics (not working at this time, but check back later). NY Times article, which describes Samberg's difficulty in explaining "the chronic" to his mother. Apparently she had no problem with "SNACK ATTACK MUTHAFUCKA!," though. And then, to finish: t-shirts.
A sleepy, rainy Christmas Eve's day. Things have been way busier than I expected, though, what with all the shopping and baking and present-wrapping this week. Last night I went to my college friends' Christmas party at the Lovely Emily's apartment (this is the Dirty Santa swap we have spoken so much of). And there were some awesome gifts being fought over--slang flashcards ("Doctor, I have to give you mad props for that successful brain surgery"), various bottles of liquor, a hotly-contested pair of earwarmers, and a Deluxe Jesus Action Figure (my contribution. With glow-in-the-dark Miracle Hands!). I ended up with a completely awesome "Terry Pratchett starter kit" from Jerry, which included Good Omens and two other books, and seemed weirdly destined to end up with me although I doubt he bought it with me specifically in mind. But I like Neil Gaiman, I keep hearing about Terry Pratchett and keep meaning to read him and never have, and even Geoffrey said when he was opening the first present (the Jesus), "Ah, it's from Lauren, so it's probably a book." I declared loudly that the Pratchett books were an awful present and no one would ever want to take them from me (much laughter), and sure enough, I went home with them.
I also got an awesome pair of pink and magenta-striped socks from Valerie, as well as a beautiful perfume bottle. And speaking of perfume, three BPAL orders came in within two days: my Yule decants (mmmgingerbreadpoppet), and arpeggiodreams even threw in samples of Glitter, my discontinued favorite (yay! Thank you!), and Safari; my Naughty/Nice order (I was judged Nice, and got a bottle of Snow Angel with my t-shirt); and my Pink Phoenix/Three Witches/imp pack order from the anniversary update. So I am awash in pretty holiday smells just in time for Christmas now.
Mom also gave me a couple of presents early--in my family, Presents Are Not Opened Until the Stroke of Six AM (that hour being the earliest my parents were willing to get up when we were little). Meaning that, unlike a lot of people, apparently, we don't open them on Christmas Eve or anything. And as happens with siblings, there are apparently some perceived inequities in the gift-giving: Sister Girl's are more expensive (and I have the eBay invoices to prove it), so she has fewer. Thus, I get a few ahead of time, like the silver Lucy's vial pendant I wanted, and the Zen Nano (eeee! It's so tiny!) to even perceptions out. So now I'm going to try to load the software and get some songs onto it so I can curl up in bed and write in my diary (yes, I have a separate paper diary just for me. I think it's a universal truth of online journaling that the number of personal things you can talk about is inversely proportional to the number of people who read your blog).
Linkspam:
Tonight, Phantom of the Opera on HBO, for those of you who want to do a read-along.
Heh, fun with lip balm. Cheetos, Hershey, and Twinkies lip balm. I want the Jelly Belly cotton candy balm bad--that's my favorite flavor of jelly beans. And then over here, the awesome Mabel's Laundromat balms, in Princess and Goddess and Bitch, oh my.
Bush to continue domestic spying.
Judge Rules Against Pa. Biology Curriculum.
Parole Board Denies Ailing Kevorkian.
Pa. Community Celebrates Festivus.
Sold: Home With Original Uncle Tom's Cabin.
Penguin Baseball. I like the little "hwee!" sound the penguin makes. It sounds like it's having fun. (Tip: Click once to "pitch" the penguin; click the second time about the time it crosses the yeti's head.)
Author Annie Proulx discusses the origins of her 'Brokeback Mountain.'
The trailer for Mel Gibson's Mayan epic Apocalypto. I can't speak for the movie, but... it is not a good trailer.
Joss Whedon officially pronounces Firefly dead. Or does he?
Woman gets restraining order against David Letterman for sending her messages through her TV.
Dammit, you guys, I was counting on this not arriving until next year. Not that I could afford it anyway:
Description: Chronicles of Narnia: White Witch's Wand. Specially designed prop replica from Disney's The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.Wait, hardened by what?
Though she calls herself the Queen of Narnia, the White Witch isn't royalty...she's a tyrant. Having taken Narnia by force, she has ruled through pure, icy terror for over one hundred horrific years. A sternly beautiful woman, her frosty elegance echoes the coldness of her heart. Hardened by prick and power, the White Witch is more like the stone statues than she knows.
Mmmturkey.
I keep meaning to tell you a couple of stories about my mom, but I never quite get around to it. This may be in part because I can't figure out a way to turn "Mom happened to see Closer on cable and won't stop talking about it" into an actual story. The best part is that I'm pretty sure she didn't like the movie, but she spent about a week just not able to get over it and trying to repeat major chunks of dialogue to me, which NO NO PLEASE STOP YOU'RE MY MOM AUGH. She was really tickled by the way Natalie Portman would take Clive Owen's money and chirp "Thank you"--the part where he's asking what her name is. So she went around the whole week just saying over and over, in this tiny little voice, "Thank you! Thank you!"
The other one is actually a story, because it's a story she told me. When we were at Ixtapa having lunch, and I forget how we got around to this, she started telling me about places she'd had to go on business trips back when she still worked for Birmingham Steel (they have since closed that office). Apparently she was in Salt Lake City looking at something in Clearview, and it was too early in the evening to go back to the hotel and just twiddle thumbs for the rest of the night, so she and her coworkers went back into the city to get drinks. So they're at some bar, and my mom goes to the bathroom, and there is a woman so trashed that she's snorting coke in one of the stalls... OFF THE FLOOR. Seriously, drink in that horror for a moment. I mean, I have never been to a bar bathroom that was particularly clean, through no fault of the bar's--people drink too much, mistakes are made, lunches are lost. I'm just saying. OFF THE FLOOR.
So she comes back out, and she's about to report this to her coworkers when she notices a girl sitting on a pool table and the girl is with some guy and oh, hey, look! They're totally just having sex right there. Okay then! And she's pulling on one of her coworkers' sleeves to be like WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE when she notices this woman really obviously trying to pick up a guy at the bar. Like, in an "I do this for a living" kind of way. And Mom kind of looks at the bartender, for some reason, and he can tell that they're all not from SLC and are kind of scandalized, and he says, with an apologetic shrug, and I am not making this up, "Oh, she's a regular. Has to be--the schoolteachers don't earn much around here."
Gary Glitter Continues Fall From Grace.
Believers Flock to 'Crying' Virgin Mary.
Simpson-Lachey breakup spurs online satire.
Pride and Prejudice Heroine Addict icons.la_sonnambula: "As long as we are on the topic of the hotness of British men, there's a very funny article about American women's love of said men, America asks: cute, or British?" I think the Guardian syndicated this from an American newspaper, which makes it even funnier. Heh.
If you're still in an Austen mood, Eras of Elegance is closing their shop section, and so everything's on clearance. Might be a good opportunity to snag some Christmas presents.
Speaking of Christmas presents, the Zen gets resounding thumbs-up from everyone who commented. I'm thinking about compiling a Christmas list--not of things I want; hell, they might even be things I already have--of gift recommendations. Mostly because more and more people are turning into people who already have everything. If you have any suggestions, let me know--and please remember to check how late you can order and still have it arrive in time for Christmas, if it's an online vendor.
Find the bands. Hint: go through and ask yourself what things are literally. The giant spoon stumped me simply because I'd never heard of the band it was referring to, so if you're not sure what it's referring to, try the search box at Launchcast.
Back to my stupid paper due tomorrow. Sigh. I just keep telling myself--if the exam is Monday the 12th, that means I only have two weeks left. No matter how bad things get, it's only two weeks, right?
What you get when you sign up:Harry Potter and the Cover of EW. "'I felt the children were rather...oh, stiff,' says Newell, 63. 'My view is that children are violent, dirty, corrupt anarchists. I was very anxious that [the franchise] break out of this goody-two-shoes feel.'"
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