Well, I just spent the evening with my ren and ref folks at a roast for my former boss, who’s jetting off the germany next week for a year. What a blast. I’m quite sure I was silly with my adviser, and a few other terribly important professors. But hey. That’s what happens when the drinks is free.
This is brilliant. Bin Laden and Bush meet in a chatroom. Break it down, man. Break it down.
God Angrily Clarifies ‘Don’t Kill’ Rule
NEW YORK: Responding to recent events on Earth, God, the omniscient creator-deity worshipped by billions of followers of various faiths for more than 6,000 years, angrily clarified His longtime stance against humans killing each other Monday.
“Look, I don’t know, maybe I haven’t made myself completely clear, so for the record, here it is again,” said the Lord, His divine face betraying visible emotion during a press conference near the site of the fallen Twin Towers. “Somehow, people keep coming up with the idea that I want them to kill their neighbor. Well, I don’t. And to be honest, I’m really getting sick and tired of it. Get it straight. Not only do I not want anybody to kill anyone, but I specifically commanded you not to, in really simple terms that anybody ought to be able to understand.”
I don’t care how holy somebody claims to be,” God said. “If a person tells you it’s My will that they kill someone, they’re wrong. Got it? I don’t care what religion you are, or who you think your enemy is, here it is one more time: No killing, in My name or anyone else’s, ever again.”
“I tried to put it in the simplest possible terms for you people, so you’d get it straight, because I thought it was pretty important,” said God, called Yahweh and Allah respectively in the Judaic and Muslim traditions. “I guess I figured I’d left no real room for confusion after putting it in a four-word sentence with one-syllable words, on the tablets I gave to Moses. How much more clear can I get?”
“But somehow, it all gets twisted around and, next thing you know, somebody’s spouting off some nonsense about, ‘God says I have to kill this guy, God wants me to kill that guy, it’s God’s will,'” God continued. “It’s not God’s will, all right? News flash: ‘God’s will’ equals ‘Don’t murder people.'”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ Worse yet, many of the worst violators claim that their actions are justified by passages in the Bible, Torah, and Qur’an.
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ “To be honest, there’s some contradictory stuff in there, okay?” God said. “So I can see how it could be pretty misleading. I admit itï¿½My bad. I did My best to inspire them, but a lot of imperfect human agents have misinterpreted My message over the millennia. Frankly, much of the material that got in there is dogmatic, doctrinal bullshit. I turn My head for a second and, suddenly, all this stuff about homosexuality gets into Leviticus, and everybody thinks it’s God’s will to kill gays. It absolutely drives Me up the wall.”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ God praised the overwhelming majority of His Muslim followers as “wonderful, pious people,” calling the perpetrators of the Sept. 11 attacks rare exceptions.
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ “This whole medieval concept of the jihad, or holy war, had all but vanished from the Muslim world in, like, the 10th century, and with good reason,” God said. “There’s no such thing as a holy war, only unholy ones. The vast majority of Muslims in this world reject the murderous actions of these radical extremists, just like the vast majority of Christians in America are pissed off over those two bigots on The 700 Club.”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ Continued God, “Read the book: ‘Allah is kind, Allah is beautiful, Allah is merciful.’ It goes on and on that way, page after page. But, no, some assholes have to come along and revive this stupid holy-war crap just to further their own hateful agenda. So now, everybody thinks Muslims are all murderous barbarians. Thanks, Taliban: 1,000 years of pan-Islamic cultural progress down the drain.”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ God stressed that His remarks were not directed exclusively at Islamic extremists, but rather at anyone whose ideological zealotry overrides his or her ability to comprehend the core message of all world religions.
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ “I don’t care what faith you are, everybody’s been making this same mistake since the dawn of time,” God said. “The Muslims massacre the Hindus, the Hindus massacre the Muslims. The Buddhists, everybody massacres the Buddhists. The Jews, don’t even get me started on the hardline, right-wing, Meir Kahane-loving Israeli nationalists, man. And the Christians? You people believe in a Messiah who says, ‘Turn the other cheek,’ but you’ve been killing everybody you can get your hands on since the Crusades.”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ Growing increasingly wrathful, God continued: “Can’t you people see? What are you, morons? There are a ton of different religious traditions out there, and different cultures worship Me in different ways. But the basic message is always the same: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Shintoism… every religious belief system under the sun, they all say you’re supposed to love your neighbors, folks! It’s not that hard a concept to grasp.”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ “Why would you think I’d want anything else? Humans don’t need religion or God as an excuse to kill each otherï¿½you’ve been doing that without any help from Me since you were freaking apes!” God said. “The whole point of believing in God is to have a higher standard of behavior. How obvious can you get?”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ “I’m talking to all of you, here!” continued God, His voice rising to a shout. “Do you hear Me? I don’t want you to kill anybody. I’m against it, across the board. How many times do I have to say it? Don’t kill each other anymoreï¿½ever! I’m fucking serious!”
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ Upon completing His outburst, God fell silent, standing quietly at the podium for several moments. Then, witnesses reported, God’s shoulders began to shake, and He wept.
As Cool as I Am
You tried to make me doubt, to make me guess, tried to make me feel like a little less,
Oh, I liked you when your soul was bared, I thought you knew how to be scared,
And now it’s amazing what you did to make me stay,
But truth is just like time, it catches up and it just keeps going…
Well, now you can get Lord of the Rings ICQ!
Let’s see how this would have gone:
Sauron25: wre the hel is my ring?!?!!1
bilbo452: hw wood i no?
XXGandalf: piss of
frododo: is some1 following us?
samgamgee: ya, u got a nife in ur shoulder, d00d
Sauron25: WRE THE HEL IS MY RING??/??
elrond56: shut up
AragornArathorn: i wanna fuck that elf chick
elrond56: ????? you dono’t deserve hr ass
boromirstud69: I want that ring, its cool
Sauron25: WRE THE HELL IN MY DAMM RING>??!?
glimi1974: what girly man wnts a ring anyway
galadrielfox: I have a drink for you guys if you want
merrymerid444: ow! I fel of a horse!
pippin555: me to! theres a big tree in my face
merrymerid444: shut up already, tree
sarumanmulticolor: i rok
XXGandalf: do not. Im dead
sarumanmulticolor: i no, ha ha ha
Sauron25: wRE the hell is my ring?! give it back!
faramir15: i think i might die
pippin555: maybe not
gollumgollum: i like shiny things
frododo: shut up
samgamgee: can I kiss your leathery little feet, frododo?
frododo sure is hot around here
gollumgollum: im hungry
merrymerid444: im tired
XXGandalf: I’m flying
pippin555: me to!
frododo: I’m missing a finger
gollumgollum: I got the shiny ring!
gollumgollum: o no
gollumgollum: its really hot
aragornarathorn: so is she
elrond56: sauron25, you shut up for good now
elrond56 logs off.
bilbo452: by by!
Wil Wheaton isn’t the only famous person who updates the world via the internet. Ian Mckellen gives us a bit of a look into (gasp) The Lord of the Rings. I’m terribly jealous of this statement in particular: Whilst Saruman and I were facing off once more, I asked Dan Hennah (art director) if I could one day take home a couple of the fake-metal lizards which served as door handles in Orthanc. He smiled quizzically as he often does and as I left for Wellington Airport last week, Peter and Fran presented me with a hefty wooden box containing the lizards, which are now settled in at their new home in London. Among a few further precious mementoes are an Alan Lee original pencil drawing of Gandalf (another gift from the Jacksons) plus I confess hanging in my study the large keys to Bag End’s round front door which, if anyone asks, I shall swear were given me by Bilbo Baggins before he left Hobbiton forever.
1 eggplant, sliced into 1/4-1/2 inch slices
oil (whichever is handy)
Oil a cookie sheet.
Preheat oven to 350.
Dip eggplant slices in egg, and then dredge them through flour so their well covered.
Lay them out flat on the pan. Fill up the pan with the slices.
Stick them in the oven until…well, I don’t know, until they look cooked through on the top, and brownish underneath.
Flip them, and let them brown on the other side. This takes about 12-20 minutes, about. Better that they be overdone than underdone, though.
When they’re finished, pull out an oven-safe dish, like some corningware. Layer eggplant in dish with some tomato sauce and cheese. I usually get about four layers total.
Here’s a Lego film of The knight’s of the round table song from the Holy Grail. Heeeee….the things you can do with lego….
Eric says, “you have plenty of guts. :)”
Hildegarde says, “disemboweled, I’d be a sight to see, alright.”
Former Muslim Reza Safa Talks with Pat Robertson About Islam
Pat Robertson asks a former Muslim, now a born-again: We’ve been listening on television to people like Peter Jennings of ABC and he had people saying that these Muslims are very peace-loving people and that there’s nothing in Islam that indicates war. Tell us what Muhammed actually taught in the Koran. Oh, where would we be without Pat Roberston? Who would ask the hard-hitting questions?
A hundred years in the future, trees will be put in museums, and people will think of it as ‘gross’ that they simply /grew/ all over the place.
Whales once lived on land
Whales evolved from strange wolf-sized creatures that lived on land in modern-day India and Pakistan more than 50 million years ago, and their closest relatives today are cows, camels and giraffes, experts say. Remarkable fossils found in Pakistan suggest the whale’s distant ancestor was Pakicetus — a prehistoric mammal that had a long, dog-like snout, powerful hind legs and spindly ankle bones that enabled it to run on the tip of its toes.
Coooooool….I don’t know what it is about this evolutionary stuff, but I find it fascinating. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when Bob Macdonald of Quirks and Quarks starts in on such a topic….To what are you closer related in your salad, the lettuce, or the mushroom?
I had another strange dream. First, I should tell you that when I get into a dream that scares me, I seem to be lucid enough normally to be able to get out of it…sometimes I can just stop the dream and wake up, sometimes I can just start in on a new dream, but normally what I can do is just change my relationship to the story, meaning, the storyline changes from first person to third person. This means it’s still a scary dream, but I’m just in the audience, instead of a player. This dream is as strange as it is, I think, because of this ability I seem to have developed.
Okay, here’s the scene: we have a very ordinary woman. In the beginning this woman is me, but I’m not clear where I stopped being the woman. Very early on, because from the very beginning I was clear that this was going to be scary.
Our very ordinary woman lives a very ordinary life, except for one thing. She has these experiences, or delusions, or dreams, of being abducted. (This is probably what freaked me out and made me insist on being in the audience on this one. These abduction memories were terrible.) She’s not really sure what to make of them. She goes back and forth on whether they’re real. In the dream/experience, she is taken from her bedroom by a strong, bulky person who’s face she doesn’t quite see. Or she doesn’t remember. And she’s taken to this strange, dark, red-lit, cramped space, with a strange white glow near the ceiling. And horrible things happen there. Rape, torture, I’m not sure. But she’s terrified, emotionally scarred by it. She’s had therapy, she’s been to abductees groups, she’s read books on the subject. She’s written poetry and create works of art based on her experience. She is something of a local celebrity for these, but no one really knows about the abductions/delusions themselves. She uses the imagery as a basis for art, and they are powerful to everyone who sees them. She had hoped that by creating them she would rid herself of the need to dream, to hallucinate, whatever. But it doesn’t stop.
And this is all background information, in the strange way that dreams just let you know things. On the day in question, we see our protagonist in her stunningly average day. She wakes up in her second floor apartment, makes her breakfast, reads a book. She watches some tv. Makes lunch (a cheese sandwich.) She goes shopping, stops to talk with some neighbours on the street. As I watch this, as the audience, I feel more and more fascinated by her and her ordinariness. As I watch her, I realize that I know everything about her. I know her name, her favourite colour, her parents names, their jobs, her credit card number, her high school grades, everything. And all this knowledge is so compelling that I’m lured out of the audience. I see her walking across a field. (It’s actually the playground of my elementary school.) I smile at her, walk up to her, and say, “Hello, Amelia Jane Perkins Smith. You’re 5’8, your favourite colour is blue, you got a B+ is grade 10 English…” and so on. She’s startled, but flattered. For some reason, she doesn’t find this creepy. We talk. I tell her that I feel as though I know her. I must be a fan, I’ve done my homework. She’s pleased. She’s not a nationally acclaimed artist, just a local name. She wants to know all about me. So I tell her. We talk and talk and talk. We have coffee and talk. We flirt. We’re really enjoying ourselves, it’s amazing knowing someone that well, and never having known them. We keep talking, walking down the street. I tell her that I live just near here, we should head over to my place, perhaps I’ve offered to make dinner. She smiles, she’s thrilled, she’s never felt such a connection with someone. I walk up the steps to my brownstone building, walk in the front door. There is a large, maple bannister and staircase. We realize that live in the same building! How could we not have noticed? She lives on the second floor, there’s brown-carpeted landing in front of her door, with the sun shining on it, we can see it from the front door. (Her apartment, in this dream, is always filled with sunshine.) I lead her under the staircase, she didn’t know there was a door here. This is where I live. I open the door, and she walks in.
It’s dark, with a single red lamp, wood panelling, with one small window against the ceiling, with a white sheer. It’s very cramped, dank, smelly. And suddenly she realizes. This is the place in her abduction dreams. I close the door behind me. The reason I know so much about her isn’t miraculous at all. I’ve been stalking her for years. I’m her abductor.
I had the oddest dream last night. And I’m choosing to write about it just before I head off to bed tonight. But it’s been rolling around in my mind all day, so I want to record what I can make out of it…
It begins in a swimming pool. I don’t remember the story that goes with that, but I’m in a swimming pool, and I realize suddenly that an ancient ex of mine is there. I haven’t seen her in years. But I’m not sure that this person in the dream is the real, thing…but it did have her shoulder-length, luscious, glossy brown curls (which she had up until we broke up and she decided to get really dykey). I was swimming when it occurred to me how devastatingly attractive she was, how time had passed, how I had run into her when I was totally unready to deal with the prospect, and damn, how attractive she was. I think that’s what I started flirting. Pretty seriously. Pretty intense. I’m not sure she knew it was me, but she liked me.
Part 2: scene: a small, oval-shaped room with chairs along the far wall, and an oval table filled with little tidbits in the middle. My long-disappeared ex is standing in the room, while others are sitting. My ex is now a man. Really, a man. Well, perhaps more like a 17 year old boy than a man, so sort of still LIKE her other self, but now male. And, to top it all of, s/he’s wearing a suit of armour. What’s peculiar about all this (well, other than the fact that my ex is switching sexes before my eyes) is that I’m just as attracted to her/him as I was before. Possibly more. And the conversation continues. I remember distinctly touching his/her breast plate and being very conscious of her/him being a man. We continue flirting shamelessly. Things are progressing rapidly, we’re looking for private spots to have a rendez-vous, and s/he is looking increasingly worried. S/he says, “I should tell you….from the waist down, I’m a woman.” And I’m deliciously relieved suddenly. And…then I wake up. With a cold nose on my face, because I’m in Guelph and my dog wanted to greet me with his typical joyous morning hello.
I thought this was the strangest thing. She did have the glossiest, most lovely curls, though. She really did.
The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.
Audre Lorde was wrong. In some cases, the master’s tools are the only things that can dismantle the master’s house, as we saw when American airliners destroyed the World Trade Center and took thousands of lives. Suffering around the world doesn’t stop the average american from pulling on his nikes, withdrawing money from a bank machine, filling his gas tank and heading for mcdonald’s. Most people in North America are blissfully unaware of the fact that, for example, Afganistan is in the throes of a civil war. Protest doesn’t break through the glass between the promised land of the United States and the rest of the world. Violence, bloodshed, starvation, not even American bombing of civilian targets makes the news. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine how it must feel, being the ant being stepped on by the giant, screaming, crying, begging for mercy, and being utterly unheard. In this case, our tools, our toys, or wonderful inventions and advancements, are the only things we really see, the only thing with the power to set us above the rest, the things we value more than all else. We love cheap oil, which powers our tools and toys, far, far better than non-white lives. It is the things we cherish which always, inevitably, hurt us the most.
Is this an apology? No. It’s not even an explanation. Horrific as it is, the terrorist action of the past week is arguably the very defintion of postmodern war. The powerless take the tools of their oppressors, and even the bodies of the oppressors’ citizens, and turns them into weapons. All the progress, the luxury, the industry, the decadence, and ease that marks North American life, looked at from another angle, is a series of weapons, loopholes, targets and unlocked doors for the nations of weak, helpless, faceless, starving and paunched men, women and children around the world. They may not have money, AK47s, jet fuel, a stock exchange, or an atomic bomb, but they have the will to hold a knife to the throat of a pilot and no qualms about dying in the event of success.
We still don’t know who was responsible for flight airplanes full of passengers into the World Trade Center towers and into the pentagon. But was does seem fairly clear is that the purpose wasn’t just massive loss of life, but a symbolic strike at the heart of the American Machine; the economy, the military. Now, Osama Bin Laden isn’t the only person in the world who’d want to be involved in something like this. The US has had it’s hands in all kinds of pies over the last few decades, creating many docile nations with livid citizens. Who can we blame? Who should we blame? Who should we target? Who dares to poke at the sleeping bear?
We’re used to a definition of war that seems almost ludicrious in the face of the horrors we have now been made aware of. Around a highly polished table, men in suits covered with metals rub their sabres, sip their tea (pinky fingers pointed upward at the vaulted ceiling) and exclaim, “I say, old man! I believe I shall declare war on your this afternoon!” What do you do when the people who are determined to destroy you have no tables, no sabres, no tea, and their declarations of war have been ringing in your ears for decades, but you never really heard them?
violent_blue says, “you okay?”
wu says, “i guess”
violent_blue says, “i can’t even imagine what it must be like there”
wu says, “i thought we were in the midst fo war”
violent_blue says, “we may well be.”
wu says, “i think there isn’t one person who isn’t in a daze”
wu says, “i can’t even think about those people in the towers”
wu says, “buried in the debris”
wu says, “i can see the hospital rooms from window”
violent_blue says, “there are a lot of police and firefighters missing”
wu says, “yes”
wu says, “you can’t imagine how many plain clothes police there are. they are coming out of the woodworks”
wu says, “i can hear the fighter planes”
wu says, “i dont really feel a thing right now”
I can hear those figher planes…what song is that? U2? Argh…..
Is the United States bombing Afganistan?
One Response:I can’t turn away from the news. The jingoism is driving me crazy. This is an attack against US, for God’s sake, not democracy itself. Can the rhetoric, because no one’s good enough to get it right. I actually prefer watching Adolph Guiliani and Governor Pataki talk about it, because they’re shying away from the “threat to American ideals” bit (for the most part) and concentrating on the massive, massive rescue effort that is underway to control the chaos and the disaster in lower Manhattan.
When the dust settles (literally), I just know that Shrub is gonna do something stupid. Yes, we’re going to have to do something, but he’s not the person I want to call the shots right now. Even worse, he might come out of this as some kind of hero, just because he’s in office right now. Whatever peope are able to do to handle the situation, he’ll be able to claim credit for his leadership. Man, I bet they couldn’t get Colin Powell on the phone fast enough this morning.
Another: I think I’m still in shock.
I can’t get the pictures out of my mind: watching people leap to their deaths, choosing between being immolated alive or crushed by falling. I saw one woman, and I know it’s impossible, but I could have sworn I heard her scream. Its something you can’t imagine. I never thought I could imagine.
Everytime I see that footage of that plane hitting the second tower, I twitch.
The thing is that as we looked out the windows of the office, trying to comprehend how a plane could possibly run into the World Trade Center, we just thought it was a horrible, horrible accident. But watching that other plane come in defied belief. And then it just crashed right in. Fire. Smoke. Horror.
There really aren’t words.
I can’t find the words.
But not now.
And from Mr. Kottke: Some personal thoughts (I want to get these down to read later):
– I have no context for this. Challenger times 1000. Comparable to Pearl Harbor, but I didn’t live thru that.
– All this talk of America vs. the world by our politicians is making me sick and uneasy. This is a human issue, not an American, democracy, or a freedom issue. Someone attacked us all, all of us on the Good Earth.
– I’m so scared right now. I don’t want to hear any reports of Americans grabbing the nearest Arab and beating the crap out of him or her. Don’t do it. Please.
Apparently another element of the WTC just went down…building 7, it’s been burning for some time…
This image probably needs no introduction…it’s all anyone’s talking about today.
You say, “some guy they interviewed on the street in NY…”
You say, “he was saying, ‘there are still bodies falling out of the sky'”
violent_blue says, “oh god, cnn tv is talking about the woman that called from the bathroom of the hijacked plane”
Hildegarde [to violent_blue]: “oh god”
violent_blue says, “they have a pic of her”
violent_blue says, “apparently she called her husband”
violent_blue says, “how fucking sad.”
violent_blue says, “and they’re totally interrogating this guy about details”
You say, “the husband?”
violent_blue says, “and she wasn’t even supposed to be on the flight, but it was her husband’s birthday and she wanted to get home to be with him”
violent_blue nods at you.
wu says, “thats fucked up”
violent_blue says, “barbara olson”
wu says, “fuck”
wu says, “i can see them bringing bloody people”
wu says, “outside my window”
You say, “oh my god”
Tom over at Menucha Blog says about fan sites: There is a function for any fan page. Yes, I know this. People like to know things about their favorite personalities in the media, and to feel some connection. We all like connection. Also, In this day and age, knowledge is all the rage. We like to know things that we couldn’t possibly have any use for, but things that might come in handy at the next social gathering we attend. If you can’t say anything nice about yourself, then say something nice about Charlize Theron… or a part of her anatomy… or her career. Whatever.
He then goes on to add his own fan site details: does it make us know something about each other? Is it useful information? In a fan site, it’s typical, what’s the point of it? Since Tom did it, I thought I’d follow suit. (Blogging is, after all, a form of celebrity.)
Height: 5’6 and a bit-ish
Weight: the relationship between myself and gravity is very, very private.
Hair colour: brownish
eye color: random (bright green first thing in the morning, greyish most of the time, and occaisionally blue, depending on what I’m wearing.)
place of birth: Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Birthday: August 2nd, 1974
Rochelle’s favourite things:
place to visit: my bathtub
colour: yellow and pink
tv show: The star treks, Blind Date, Queer Television
food: chish and fips, cheese of most varieties, guacamole. I only order stuff in restaurants that I can’t make myself, so if I order a sandwich I usually spend the time kicking myself, unless it has grilled portabello mushrooms on it, or something complicated. I’m trying to go easy on the carbs too, and, again, since pasta is so easy to make, I prefer not to order it. But damn, there’s nothing like a good fettacine.
Band: Those ouchless clear elastics that make your braids look like their staying braided miraculously, though i can’t use them any more, as I have no more hair.
favourite thing to listen to: the radio. CBC radio one, This American Life (NPR), anything with reasonably decent talk.
favourite music: random. Whatever the people I love are listening to, unless they listen to something I can’t stand.
CD in the player right now: Shrek soundtrack.
Favourite books of all time: The History of the World in 10 1/2 chapters, Green Grass, Running Water, The Robber Bride, Not Wanted on the Voyage, How we Survived Communism and Even Laughed, Our Lady of the Lost and Found, The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Edible Woman.
Favourite Historians: Katharine Park, Lyndal Roper, Deborah Valenze, Clarissa Atkinson, Jane Abray
Favourite academic monographs:The Holy Household, The Reformation of Ritual, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, Local Religion
Favourite virtues: Honesty, integrity, nobility of spirit, decency, mercy, kindness, strength to avoid cruel and unreasonable behaviour
Favourite vices: blogging, MOOing, iced tea, Hogaarden, body shop salt body scrub, oversleeping
Folks: dad, Victor, currently not speaking to the celebrity in question because she’s not flawless; mom, Heidi, rock of the ages, joy to behold, 8th wonder of the world; sister, Melissa, artistic genius, crazy woman who only had two (count’em) wedding showers, resident non-hair-brushing expert.
That was fun. Did we learn something?
What does your name say about you?
This is what they say about me….
You make impersonal decisions quickly, but not so with personal concerns. You like to think things over carefully, but tend to be indecisive. You have a great deal of loyalty to those you love. You have much inner strength. You are clever, inventive, imaginative and youthful. You enjoy socializing. You work hard to achieve material success through your own efforts. You can be quite inventive and quite curious. You have a diplomatic flair to your nature. Equality and fairness are important to you. You must learn the lessons of self-worth; learn to love yourself before you can love others. You need to learn to be expressive. You are a person who cannot tolerate being misunderstood.
You want to be productive and feel useful, and enjoy helping solve problems. You like to be busy and not waste time. You have a need to be up front. You are compassionate, highly imaginative and creative. You have a need to be up front. You have a lack of confidence in your mental abilities and do not like being forced into giving your opinion.
Apparently I really have a need to be up front. 🙂 (Is this why I blog so faithfully?)
Did You know that Wil Wheaton keeps a blog?
This guy kills me. Get this:
You know what I did at the beach? I peed in the ocean. I just wanted to get that out of the way, because it’s something that everyone does, and I just HATE it when people act like they don’t. Like girls who insist that they don’t fart. Give me a break.
blue found me this fabulous site, and after showing it around, it turns out that Wonder Yuka is enamoured and might even get one! The story: Helga, our friendly neighbourhood farm hand, gets attached to the cows who then are led off the slaughter. One night a horrible thunderstorm hits. She writes, when I went out to feed the cows, I found them beneath a split and blackened tree, all dead. Six little calves huddled together a few feet away. As I led the orphans back to the barn, something inside me changed. The years of accepting sad reality were over. If these little guys had survived an act of God as powerful as that storm, they sure weren’t going to be killed by an act of man, not if I could help it!
That’s how the cow sanctuary began.
Trouble was, I wasn’t a rich heiress. I was a farm worker making minimum wage. These calves weren’t even mine. They belonged to the man who owned the farm. How was I going to save the calves?
I exchanged six months’ wages for the lives of those calves. Never was money better spent, I thought as I hugged them. But what next? They were growing fast and would soon weigh at least half a ton each. No matter how hard I worked, farm wages weren’t going to be enough to feed them. “How? How? How?” filled my thoughts.
The answer came to me as I lay in the straw snuggling with my cow family: I’d make life-size stuffed cows for others to snuggle the way I snuggled with my real cows. And with that, Helga’s Cowches were born.
I decided to enjoy a little This American Life this evening. Thank God for streaming radio. Tonight’s chosen episode: Living the Dream: There’s a deep impulse in American culture that says that you can make yourself into anyone. Today, three stories about people who tried to do just that.
Bad Girl Swirl
Things to do with your old Bridesmaid dresses: Throw a bridesmaid beauty pageant for your friends, with prize categories like “most reflective”, “biggest butt bow,” and “all-around ugliest.”
Things to do with photos of your evil ex: Write embarrassing sexual stats on back, laminate, and trade with all your friends. Mail off to inmates in local prisons with a touching and titillating letter of introduction. (Include your ex’s return address and phone number, of course.) Spread one inch apart on ungreased cookie sheet and broil on high. Bury in backyard with a dead fish. Drain toilet and superglow to bottom of toilet bowl.
How to clean under the bed:
What you need:
* Endust, Pledge, or other aerosol dusting spray
* a long haired cat or small fluffy dog
* pet comb
What you do:
* Spray fur of cat or dog with Endust and bowl pet under the bed until all dust-bunnies are picked up and clinging to pet.
* comb pet’s coat thoroughly.