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It’s appropriate that the Sea of Tranquility is located on the Moon: within site but forever out of reach…like Michaelangelo trying to touch fingers with the Old Man “Dammit! Stretch! Reach!”
Life in general feels like that right now. In exactly 20 days I have 12 papers, 3 presentations and 3 final exams coming home to roost. You know, if it weren’t for all the damn busy work these professors load on me to justify their existence and make it appear like they’re doing something, I might actually learn something.
I’m screwing around tonight. I should be outlining a paper or four, performing analysis or some such crap, but I’m on strike, for the next 12 hours anyway. I ordered pizza, I’m drinking wine (I make it a rule not to drink the last month of term), and I just discovered my next Future-Mr-Inmate-If-I-Wasn’t-Happily-Married-Husband-Man in the form of Nathan Fillion in a crazy little show called Castle. And dammit, where has that been all my life?
Tomorrow it’s back to work. Crazy like a fox. Nose to the proverbial grindstone. The next couple weeks are going to be the most hellish I have seen yet. But it will pass, hopefully my GPA doesn’t take too hard a hit, and then I’ll settle back into my summer time bubble and try to enjoy a little down time.
For the next 12 hours I’m just trying to remember how to float. And breathe.
An oldie but exceptional goodie from the brilliant mind at Indexed
The pooch shot out the front door last night, when I forgot to close it fully, and promptly darted across the street to see if the young rapscallion pup was out to play.
I tiptoed into The Neighbors’ backyard to retrieve said pooch when I heard music. Poking my head up enough to peer into the window, I saw it.
My alien neighbor family was singing and laughing around the piano. Executive Polo was leading the singing with what looked like a damn smart cocktail in hand. Skort Mama was knitting-yes knitting– while listening to young Sally and Bobby play a duet while harmonizing with dear old dad.
I never would have believed it had not my other neighbor caught me sneaking out of their yard. I had barely begun trying to explain my voyuerism when she pointed to their window: “Yeah, strange, isn’t it?”
Sister, no truer words have been spoken…
I’m always surprised at people who complain that TV shows and movies are too violent and weird when the nightly news regularly seem to blow both out of the water.
Is it just me or does it appear the world is getting progressively more twisted? A serial bunny killer is loose in Germany. Feet are washing up in Canada with shoes attached but not the foot’s owner. Or this guy who faked heart attacks to get out of paying restaurant bills and cab fares?! And another female soldier is missing from Ft. Bragg, NC (what the hell is going on down there there is a constant stream of female soldiers being murdered?).
And unfortunately, I could go on from there.
Whatever, dude, blow up some cars and and bring on the cops looking at dead bodies on the tube. At this rate, it is entirely more benign than what’s actually going on in the world today.
Geek that I am, I love physics. I particularly like quantum theory when it bleeds over into other worlds we might not associate it with. I was listening to NPR about the current situation in Burma, still horrendous, and how while the Military powers-that-be there are more than willing to accept our aid, they still will not accept expert help in disaster relief distribution. Maybe they saw the coverage of Hurricane Katrina, I don’t know, but that would more explain their exclusion of the US, but the fact is, they won’t let anyone in and supplies are being horded.
So this got me to thinking about Schrodinger’s Cat, a theory in quantum mechanics. In short, there’s a cat in a box with a vial of poison that will be released under specific circumstances. Assuming the circumstances are met, the cat will die. However, if you do not open the box to check on the cat, then the cat remains forever in this state of duality that the cat is both dead and alive until such time the box is open.
Schrodinger’s Cat opens up an interesting dialogue on ethics for me. See, once the cat is in the proverbial box, in my mind anyway, the cat is already dead and this is Burma in a nutshell: the Junta there believes (or want to anyway) that the people to be fine and outside help is unnecessary. They play at Schrodinger’s Cat in that they keep the people in Burma in a permanent state of limbo, being both alive and dead as the theory suggests. However, there’s a fly in the ointment, we’re talking quantum mechanics here, there’s always a fly in the ointment, and in this case namely it’s the Copenhagen Interpretation.
The Copenhagen Interpretation, in its own and separate nutshell, is that nothing exists until it is measured. Quite simply, the Junta is in some serious freakin’ denial. They don’t want to know how many people have died, they don’t want the international community in their country to assess how bad things really are there. They’d rather have the cat forever be both alive and dead to suit their dictatorial purposes. The people aren’t dead, they aren’t in need, and their country is fine so long as no one outside their own perverse and diabolic circle looks at it.
It is now estimated that probably over 80,000 people have died due to this disaster and over 2 million more are at risk. This is the same country who last year during the Saffron Revolution called out for international intervention and the world answered back with a big fat deaf ear.
If ever there was a time for a little war and revolution, you’d think this would be it.
Personally, I hope the cat is alive, although I’m not betting on it.
As long as I can remember, I’ve always been a magnet for weirdos, psychos, hooligans, mental cases and generally bizarre encounters. Why that is, I can not answer, but the fact of the matter is if there is a complete whack-job in a 50 mile radius, chances are they are standing right next to me.
I attract freaks like I attract cats. I’m allergic to cats, the cats know it, so they glom onto me. What the freak thing is about, I’m not sure. And it’s not because I’m nicer than I let on. While it’s true I can and will talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime, I’ve also got an itchy trigger finger when it comes to pulling the plug on a chat gone too far. I’ve had some real doozey conversations over this. Sometimes it feels like all I have to do is say “hi” and someone is unpacking their big bag of bonkers on me.
A few examples from my highlights reel:
The stalker who used to sit at my bar (back when I worked in one) and would stay there the entire evening drinking nothing but milk and starring at me.
Or this stalker guy in my in my neighborhood in Detroit who never said a word to me but would randomly hand me balloon animals whenever I encountered him: library, gym, grocery store… I never did learn if he could speak.
The time I was rear-ended by a van full Mennonites while I was wearing only a towel and a bikini. Way long story, and completely weirded me out.
The nutty chick I encountered at a Mennonite Beach Party (believe it or not, it was a different time and different place from above and an even longer story) who handed me a 24 inch ceramic rooster and a box that was decoupaged with a couple hundred 1 cent stamps that she somehow thought I could get to her “Uncle Bob”.
I think I write about this one before: the drunk dude who tried to explain to me that redheads are descendant from orangutans.
The homeless guy who used to follow me to the ferry boat yelling at me to “get home to my kids”. When I explained I didn’t have any, he replied “well go get some and make me soup!”. I made the further mistake of asking if the kids were for the purpose of making the soup or if the two requests weren’t mutually exclusive which sent him well into the deep end of an ocean of crazy.
And, sadly, these aren’t even the scary examples.
So I gotta ask myself: what makes a person a freak magnet and how do I turn it off? It’s not that I don’t garner amusement from these little encounters, hell, I have some rather fond memories of my milder freaks. But when it seems to happen all the time and without end, I gotta wonder: am I giving off a smell or something that attracts these loons? Is there a blinking neon sign above my head that reads “Blue Light Special on Freak Talk, Aisle 4”?
Case in point: last night at the store, a guy follows me out and gets an eyeful of my car. He starts going on and on about the car. How he loves it, how he wishes he had one just like it, how he needed to first move out of his mother’s attic and get a job, and a life, and his license back, and a pet puppy first…all the while, walking around my car molesting it with his hands…..eeeeeeeewwwwwww……..
Which reminds me, I need to go wash my car tonight.
So what is it with me and these people? Is it a redhead thing??
I got caught in traffic entirely too long behind one my biggest pet peeves: a person who believes in angels. A minivan from Ohio was blocking my lane and had angel stickers all over the damn place with the proclamation “I Believe in Angels!” in bright pink lettering taking up her entire back window.
I can not tell you how much it offends my sense of adult-femalehood that grown women get all caught up in that cutesy, pink crap. You might as well also proclaim “Barbie is my Co-Pilot”, “Holly Hobby for President”, or “Faeries Do it Better”. Maybe I’m being too harsh here, but does anyone else find this kind of sentiment as exasperating as I do? The further infantilization of women by other women. As if the fashion industry with their puffy sleeves and tights isn’t bad enough?
And this childlike notion of angels really seems in contrast what I was taught about them in Catholic schools as a child. Michael, the warrior angel, Uriel, the angel of death, and Gabriel, the this-news-is-going-to-scare-the-beejeebers-out-of-you Fedex delivery angel. I was taught to see them as solemn and sometimes damn scary beings to deliver the word, to deliver a victory, or to deliver you into the next life. Angels always seemed to me like serious business, so how did this notion of them become warped and twisted into pretty-pink-ribbons-and-bows-tchotchkes planted on the windowsill?
And break it down from a “religious” point of view: doesn’t it supplant God or even Jesus by advancing such proclamations? So you believe in angels, what about the Big Guy? Amusingly, this belief in angels seems rather pagan, as if these people are trying to go back to a polytheistic approach to the world, which is more than fine by me. Bring back The Old Gods I say, the more the merrier. Let’s bring back Zeus, Thor, Odin, Athena, and Neptune. They can duke it out in the Thunderdome.
I’m going to start countering this insipid “angel lifestyle” by proclaiming my belief in Valkyries. Nordic Warrior Maidens who, on behalf of Odin, come down to claim the most worthy slain warriors from the battlefield for the feast in Valhalla. The Corpse Goddesses, kind of “angel” like only they whoop ass and give you wine and food for your troubles. Nothing pretty or pink about these shield maidens, they’ll kick you in the teeth.
I’m already expecting a crap load of hate mail for this entry, but here is is. So bring it on all you angel lovers! I’ll put my carrion-eating raven Valkyrie up against your plush-pink stuffed animal angel any day. My Valkyrie rides a wild boar, what do your angels ride?
Cowgalutah who is doin’ time in, wait for it, UTAH!, memed me. And since I am feeling ever so charitable this holiday season and since this is a topic I think I can really dig, here’s my go at it:
The Rules: I like this one because it is fairly simple. Write down things or people who make you suspicious. It could be a hundred things it could be nothing. I could go on, and on, and on with this, but I’ve kept it as short as my attention span.
Things/People I am suspicious of:
- I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I am suspicious of religious fanatics of all denominations. In fact, True Believers in general tend to creep me out unless it is the true belief in the Monroe Doctrine or the Prime Directive.
- People who have “Precious Moments” figurines in their homes. I think those things come alive at night when those people sleep, crawl into their ears and eat their brains.
- People who proclaim to “believe in angels”. I think they must have “Precious Moments” figurines in their homes.
- Anyone who can’t name the Speaker of the House, the Minority Whip, the Secretary of Defense and at least 3 foreign leaders.
- Anyone who is constantly on a diet.
- Anyone who doesn’t drink, eat chocolate or consume coffee. Unless you have that weird enzyme defficiency or an allergy.
- Anyone who wears white pants without getting them dirty.
- Women with too much plastic surgery. Actually, I think they just freak me out.
- Men who wear pinky rings!!
- Men who claim they “really respect women” but then only date pop-tarts, blow-up dolls, and other inorganic material.
- As much as I love it there, Iceland makes the list because it is too clean, the people are too nice, it’s all too perfect and it all seems too Stepford Wives-ish…
- Did I mention “Precious Moments”? I don’t like the way those things look at me.
- Anyone whose business title includes any of the following words: Congressman, Senator, Alderman, Councilman, President, Speaker, Justice, Judge, Officer, Secretary of (Insert Title), Mayor, or Presidential Candidate.
- People who have decorations for every single holiday (unless it’s for Guy Fox Day!), especially those inflatable ones that park on the lawn…oooooh, creepy….I don’t mind admitting I have nightmares about those things.
- Anything containing the ingredient Soylent Green…
Okay! Now the fun part. I am enlisting the Eriepressible Emma, Eatin’ Vegan Melissa, and Fretting Andrea Frets as the tagged would-be memers! I think their responses should be enlightening, amusing, terribly witty and together will cure Restless Leg Syndrome . Don’t let me down, sisters! I believe in you!
Maybe you’ve heard about this, you probably haven’t, but a Saudi woman who was viciously gang raped by 7 men and has been sentenced to 200 lashes and 6 months in prison on top of this horrible violation to her person.
The backstory is that the young woman was alone in public with a man who was not a relative. Additionally, she was enagaged at the time, so for all intent and purposes, she was considered married, and the act of being in public with this man is elevated to adultery. Under Islamic law, this entitles the courts to sentence her to these lashings and imprisonment.
Naturally, human rights organizations are going ape shit. There has been little to mention of this in the American press and the last I heard of it was a week ago when Hilary Clinton called on the Bush administration to speak out on the matter, to which, the administration demurely replied that they will not protest an “internal Saudi decision”.
In a somehwat related matter, across the pond in England, the government is going head over heels to bat for an English woman teaching in the Sudan who has been sentenced to lashing because her students named a teddy bear Muhammed in her classroom.
Apparently, in the US, it’s perfectly okay for Saudi Arabia, our “Partner in Peace”, to torture, terrorize and victimize women so long as the Saudis keep selling us oil and buying arms from us (a $20 billion dollar deal was signed just this last summer in case you didn’t know). The Bush administration seems to conveniently forget that most of the 9/11 hijackers were Saudi and that the “Royal” family is well known to sponsor terrorism.
My answer to this of course would be to give these $20 billion of arms directly to the Saudi women to start using against the misogynistic, sadistic, patriarchal , rat-bastard, society of Saudi men. Maybe then a little justice will be had.