anagramofbrat: (team tatro (2012))
I made the Boston Run* by myself this evening, as I had the flex time in my schedule and the kids needed to be picked up a day early.

I do and I don't mind the drive out. On one hand, it's a long drive and I love those. Just me, the road, whatever music I want on the radio and a lack of self-consciousness about singing along to it. I don't get too much road time anymore, and it's starting to show around the edges - I'm getting a lot of the same problems I used to have when I was first beginning to drive back, not to mention my eternal squirrelliness about left turns - I pretty much drive like Zoolander models. Part and parcel of not really driving much anymore I guess, but it bothers me that I've gotten visibly rusty at Actual Driving. But I digress. It was a chance to drive, yes. On the other hand, it's to a destination to which I only go because I have to, along a route that frankly makes me want to drink afterwards, and it is, when you come down to it, about five hours total in the car.

All that said, the end result is worth the aggravation, which is getting to hang out with my two favorite small people.

About two thirds through the trip back, we usually stop at the Wendy's off of Rt. 2 in Gardner for something vaguely snacky, either because the kids didn't get dinner before pickup or because the grownups in the car got hungry. It's just become sort of a thing now - we'll sometimes change it up and stop at Friendly's, but most times we end up here and the kids have come to expect it as our normal pit stop, to be skipped only if no one feels like eating or going potty. Tonight I had to wake them out of dead sleeps to go in and eat; their sleepy grumps over their food amused me enough to take a picture.

Photo by anagramofbrat

Of course once I looked at it, I realized I'd taken an almost identical one before. I looked it up when I got home just to prove I wasn't crazy.



Yep. Not the same booth, but pretty much the same picture, same car-weary grumpies, same kids, minus almost three years. Wow. I kinda want to take another picture of them three years from now at Wendy's. For science. Or something.

Every so often I'll get a picture of Kidzilla where she either seems older than her age, or there's some hint of what she's going to look like when she grows up, and I'll just kinda sit and look at it and just marvel at how damn quickly time flies, how fast they are growing up, and lastly, and maybe more poignantly, how long we've all been doing this. I mean, I've known them both since Kidzilla was small enough to still find her toes fascinating and possibly tasty, but that's sort of different from being an active part of their lives and doing my little bit to poke them here and there into being whatever people they end up being. I mean... this was about how big they were when [livejournal.com profile] cell23 and I became A Thing:



Needless to say they're a wee bit bigger now, but my gods, where the hell did the time go, seriously.

The other thing all this reminded me of was my own childhood and how much of it was spent in the backseat of my mom's car. I was amusing Kidzilla over her chili** by telling her tales of driving to Ohio to visit my grandmother, and just what a desolate wasteland I-80 through Pennsylvania is, and how I always knew we were getting close to Grandma's by the change in gas stations (is SOHIO still a thing?) and more relevant to my interests, the sudden appearances of Bob Evans. Oh Bob Evans. I realize it's the midwest equivalent of Friendly's and therefore probably terrible, but 5-14 year old me still has a soft spot for their chicken soup with the fat noodles. Anyway, the thing that made her eyes get all big was the idea that we'd spend all day and almost all night in the car just getting there. Certainly put 3 hours into perspective, anyway. 'Course, they spend most of the trip asleep...

Anyway. They're tucked into bed finally. It feels weird having them here on a "school night" everything about today is telling me FRIDAY and it's not. Tomorrow morning I have to get all of us up and out the door - Me and [livejournal.com profile] cell23 off to work as usual, but first I'm driving them to their Pepère's to hang for the day. But then, kid weekend, progress as usual.

Time to shower, sack out, and pray it'll be a bit warmer tomorrow morning. Least I don't have to be at work at ass forty five.



* I keep wanting to make Kessel Run jokes every time I say this. Problem is I haven't yet found a way to make River sound anywhere near as cool as the Millenium Falcon. I could say that I make it in less than 3/4ths of a tank of gas, but in the age of hybrid cars that's just not impressive. I suppose it's impressive that Teeny Weenie Blue Car of Nondescript Doom has racked up almost 160K worth of Boston runs over the past four years and change and not fallen apart yet.

** Holy crap! She's outgrown kids meals! That's a super new development. Does this mean we finally get to introduce her to the wonderful world of Beyond the Mac and Cheese option on menus???
anagramofbrat: (spanking the princess)
First off, had my physical this morning. Other than, you know, digestive disorder, all systems seem to be normal, and Kathleen was excited to see me after I pretty much disappeared for a year due to lack of insurance. Tomorrow I have bloodwork and a pelvic, so it's going to be the Day of Insert Uncomfortable Things Into Andees. *waits for obligatory snark from [livejournal.com profile] cell23*

Speaking of uncomfortable insertion, I've been poking obsessively at this bead project. This is to be expected, since I have both time and Other Things To Procrastinate From, and since I can't really do jack all with it until my test vials arrive tomorrow, I think about it a lot. This has led me to do a bit of game playing (Always nice to prove to yourself that you can still get to the Space Shuttle in Tetris and also that your Skate or Die play-through is still embedded in your muscle memory after all these years) but also some reading on the Game Boy's release and its game library, only a very small corner of which I'd ever really explored. There are a lot of games people remember fondly that I never got into as a kid - even now I kinda O_o when people wax nostagic about Legend of Zelda or Final Fantasy. Not my kink, I guess - I was always more of a side-scroller girl, and the more I shed my initial disdain for it, the more I grudgingly admit that had Pokemon come out a decade earlier I would have been all over that shit. (I'm afraid to start now - I may never come back. Bad enough I've discovered the Not!Pokemanz in World of Warcraft. Plus there is still waaaay too much ex-boyfriend taint all over the entire concept to ever really be comfortable playing. Pun intended.)

The reading has also dredged up some fun apcrypha, like the Game Boy Camera. I remember thinking it was kinda dumb when it came out, but now that I'm reading about both it and the software that came with it? It was actually pretty groundbreaking for its time. It was the first camera meant to be used with a portable device, and the forerunner to cellphone and modern game device cameras. Sure, at the time it never really got past a niche/novelty interest, but for what it was it was an impressive little thing. Hell if you google "Game Boy Camera" on image search, well. Some of the pictures people managed to get out of it were actually pretty decent for postage stamp sized four color black and white images. (Alas, Neil Young was not one of them - the image he used for the cover of Silver & Gold is about as craptastic as you'd expect.)

I poked ebay, of course, like you do. They're actually still available for as low as $8. I may pick one up later on down the line. But in lieu of that, and without having to figure out how to get pictures from point A (ancient hardware) to point B (EPEEN) I decided I'd throw a few pictures of myself into photoshop for shits and giggles. The results were surprisingly nice:



Right? Depending on how fast I can crank out one of these things, I might do some based on photographs. I mean screen shots are fun and nostalgic and all, but they are kinda riding the line between fan art and copyright infringement. (*cough* like most things you find on Etsy *cough*) Of course, once I'd been playing with those and then with all the thinking about video games in general I've been doing, something awesome/horrible happened in my brainmeat and subsequently my Photoshop. Can you spot what's wrong with these screenshots?





Again - depending on how this project goes I might do some of these too. Goodness knows between actual screenshots, ported screenshots and photos, I've got enough material to keep me seeing in chartreuse for years.
anagramofbrat: (beads)
Bead shopping is SUCH a royal pain in the ass.

There's only one company that makes the beads I work with: Miyuki. You would think this would make things simpler, but no. The main problem is that currently Miyuki has about 1500 distinct color/lining/finish combinations. The good thing about this is that you're pretty much guaranteed to find exactly the color/lining/finish you want. The bad news is that you have to really dig through that vast catalog in order to find what you need (which normally is fine but sucks balls if you're after something specific) and after several days of doing this, I can say with authority that there are no online catalogs out there that make this sort of search helpful or easy. Not even the actual company's website//sample materials. Don't get me started on the horror of disorganization Miyuki's sample cards are, I'll start foaming at the mouth.

There's also the problem that there really is no way to tell what a bead color is going to look like online. Honestly even when you have it in your hand, the only way to really tell if you've nailed the color in question is to actually work with it, especially if you've got transparent beads. Those colors change and shift depending on thread color and surrounding beads. So yeah, talk about fucked six ways from Sunday when trying to plan a project.

Anyway after about five days of grueling research, a trip and several phone calls to Northampton Beadery (pretty sure [livejournal.com profile] renegadethumper's sister now thinks I'm completely batshit insane), and maybe about a dozen online bead catalogs that have all made me want to punch their designers in the throat, I think I've got my four colors for the Game Boy Project. These selections have been duly sent off to both [livejournal.com profile] harinezumi (who is in Japan right now and did say he was heading down to Asakusa-bashi) and the Beadery. Whew.

The next thing to worry about is the time this damn project is going to take. While I was tempted to buy the next loom size up from the one I already had, I've decided against it for a couple of reasons; 1) the beads by themselves for this particular piece is going to run me about a C-note. (This is NOT a cheap hobby, y'all.) 2) Finishing loomed beadwork is a royal pain in the ass. You pretty much have to stitch each warp thread back through the beads, which is not only annoying, but I inevitably break a few beads towards the edges because there's too much thread going through them. Sigh. At least that's the problem going with The Witch. Also these pieces are going to be at least twice as big on both sides and... yeah no, thinking about doing that much casting off is making me die a little inside. So I'm going to go with square stitching the whole piece. The advantage to that is no warp threading, no big awkward loom to carry around, and since each bead is sewn in individually it means a stronger piece overall. The disadvantage? It's going to take fucking forever because again, each bead is sewn in individually. So what, big deal, right? Um yeah, a 160x144 pixel screen shot doesn't sound like much untill you actually do the math and realize that equals 23040 beads. My wrists and eye sockets are already aching just thinking about it. Also considering the nature of the project, much of this is going to be bloody boring to do, due to the limited color palette. Most of these are going to be interminable blocks of whichever shade of puke green is called for just because there isn't much going on graphics wise in any given screen shot:



That is a soul-withering amount of chartreuse I'm facing, no matter which game I start with.

Anyway, nothing to be done with any of it now except wait for the Beadery and [livejournal.com profile] harinezumi to get back to me regarding prices. Its not like I don't have Real Projects that need finishing in the meantime. *cough* *job search* *cough* *The Witch* *cough* *thank you cards* *cough* *wedding announcements* *cough* *writing* *cough* *sigh*
anagramofbrat: (spanking the princess)
A little while back [livejournal.com profile] wrpigeek put a note up on Facebook saying he was selling his original Game Boy and a crapton of games, including a bunch that made me scream MY TWEENS THEY BURN WITH NOSTALGIA (*cough* both Castlevanias *cough*). Long story incredibly short, as he was swinging through the area a couple days later he brought the whole lot over. "Wedding present!"

YESSSSSS.

So we've recently gotten around to putting batteries in the thing and firing it up. This morning on impulse I tossed it in my purse to play with on the bus to work.

Photo by bottledgoose

I was expecting to just burn off the hour it takes me to get to work with some mindless fun, but it instead turned into the profound intersection of nostalgia and history and memory and I ended up with interesting collection of feels as I played, starting from plugging in my headphones and hitting the switch at the top. Watching the Nintendo logo descend from the top of the chartreuse and green screen, then the "boo-DWEEEEE!" startup noise. The small square wall of text that serve as credits to Tetris, listing the copyright date as 1989.

That's when I looked up. I was on the 31 to UMass at the time, and it then dawned on me that I was holding a game device that was older than 98% of the passengers on my bus + the driver. (UMass buses are driven by students.) Yikes.

The music started and the screen with the onion domes came up. I hit start, was aurally assaulted with the familiar 8-bit chirpiness of "Korobeiniki," and for the next 45 minutes I was 12 years old again, trying to meet the challenge of playing all six B games at Level 9 so I could see the little pixellated music dudes play Tchaikovsky's 'Trepak' before I got off the bus. It took more than one try, as it's been a pretty long while, but I did successfully work my way through and got all the musicians, the bonus dancers and the Space Shuttle takeoff at the end. (There might have been a "YES!" *fistpump* at the end there.)



Because that isn't the most random end screen to a game ever, and yet? Still awesome somehow.

Along the way old things buried in the synapses fired and were recognized. How one fuckup on level 9-5 tanked the entire game. How the blocks often didn't rotate quite fast enough and the resulting exasperation. The way the "bass" channel in the soundtrack briefly became louder than the rest of the music after the game was paused and unpaused. The weirdly shocking revelation that I was not playing with a device with a backlit screen so I often had to adjust either the contrast at the left side or my position in my seat so I could actually see the screen. The baleful red Hal-like glow of the battery indicator and the ghosts of panic attacks past as I struggled to finish a level/game before the light faded entirely. Remembering exactly why both my thumbs are crooked. (Controllers were anything but ergonomic back in the day.) Even the weight and heft of the machine was something - modern tech is so light and sleek and streamlined that something that is rather beefy in comparison while still being no heavier than a decent sized book felt... somehow more satisfying. A steak as opposed to a beautifully arranged salad, if you will. (Ron Swanson would approve.)

It also made me miss my mother something fierce.

Somewhere (and as god is my witness I will find it someday) in my boxes and albums and other forgotten storage of old pictures is one of Mom, lounging in a nightdress and caftan, playing Tetris on my game boy like her life depended on it. Tetris was her JAM. To the point where she she got much stricter about enforcing NO YOU DO HOMEWORK TIME NOW and YOU ARE GROUNDED FROM GAME BOY so she could have some play time, which I thought was a total douche move when I was a kid but as an adult that has two small children part time who abscond with All The Devices whenever they are here I TOTALLY GET IT NOW lol. I also remember having no one at school believe me when I told them my mother played Game Boy because these were the days when video games were something parents were more likely to believe were satanic or something so the idea of someone's mom playing one was beyond freaky. But yeah, Mom couldn't really fathom side scrollers or shooters or see what I saw in them, but puzzle games or Wheel of Fortune she was all over. It makes me kinda sad she missed things like Facebook and by extension things like Words with Friends and Bejeweled and yes, even Farmville. She would have massively enjoyed all of it.

Anyway. After experiencing the dopamine rush of clearing the last level and watching that space shuttle blast off (and level 9 height 5 remains a right bitch to this day), I had the following two thoughts: 1) I really really fucking miss gaming in general. Between the Return of the Warcrack and the brief forays back into Insert Mario Title Here my brain is all "Oh yeah! This stuff? Why'd you quit? It was good for you!" And it is - it's kinda interesting how my focus improves after sitting with some kind of game. I think its the positive feedback of achieving small goals: clearing levels, getting to the next checkpoint, getting achievements. COurse that's also where the addiction lies, because then you're all like "Just one more level/try/checkpoint/cut scene" and the next thing you know an entire evening's gone poof. But in small doses? It's a good thing for me. Games seem to provide that small degree of unbiased outside feedback I often require to continue something, and that effect often spills over into other endeavors.

2) A year or so ago I made some plans to make my next big bead weaving projects based on classic Game boy screenshots. There are several reasons why this is a doable project, the main ones being a four-shades-of-chartreuse color palette and a 160x144 image can be easily replicated on a loom. Or if I didn't want to bother with delicas, I could theoretically do it with perlers, though an entire Gameboy screenshot may take up the entire oven. O_o. Anyway I went so far as to pattern out one of the end credit scenes from Castlevania II: Belmont's Revenge a while back; maybe post-wedding I'll see about doing that and a few screenies from other games as well. The Space shuttle and the full dance from the end of Tetris, not to mention the onion dome start screen would be good ones to start with. Goodness knows I'll need another creative project on the hook after this wedding is over and there will be this large void of craft projects needing to be filled.
anagramofbrat: (brat)
I have gotten sucked into the AAAGH MY CHILDHOOD trap of watching Sesame Street vids on Youtube due to a friend posting "my name is you" on FB and OH MAN did it go downhill from there. Captain Vegetable. The Haircut Song. The Ladybug Picnic. "One two three FOUR FIVE six seven eight NINE TEN eleven twelve." And then there are the Yip-yips.



I find it impressive that this has been making me laugh nigh unto peeing myself for more than 30 years at this point. Seriously, the blue one goes "OHHHH! Chicken!" and I just lose my ever loving shit. Jim Henson, man.


In other notable news, I had dinner with [livejournal.com profile] htl_1126 tonight at the Hangar, which essentially is like us going to church to catch us some boneless chicken Jesus and we hadn't done it in a while. So much food, oh god. And endless "ha ha I'm drinking for 3" jokes. So glad to see her though - way too long!
anagramofbrat: (47 st. paul's pl)
RoyRoy's birthday is today. I'm still all WTF because I took this picture of him almost exactly 20 years ago:



This is him now:



...yeah, I'ma be over here in my rocking chair with my Geritol and my Dentugrip.
anagramofbrat: (brat)
Roy Jr's birthday is in a couple of days so I figured I'd scan a few of his HAY LOOK I'M TWO pictures and stick them on his Facebook timeline. I ended up scanning quite a few more after poking in my old photo album and finding some good ones. Most of these are on FB or Google, but I'll repost my favorites here.

big ass pictures ahoy )

WELLP so ends today's traipse down memory lane. I should probably shut down now. Sky's a rumblin'. Whoohoo, storm!
anagramofbrat: (what is love?)
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For not having gotten my license until age 30, a significant portion of my childhood was spent in the car with Mom, from back when i was a wee bit stapped into the torture devices that passed as the first five-point car seats to a little kid passed out in the massive backseat of her land barge of a 1983 Cadillac, to finally moving up to the front seat and serving as her copilot on trips until i went off to college.

To say that Mom loved to drive is an understatement and an oversimplification. Looking back, most of my memories of her being relaxed, calm and even happy are when she was behind the wheel, letting the hum of highway under tires soothe the anxieties that constantly plagued her. It was only later when i got licensed myself (later in life and in fact, at the same age she did) that i understood her constant, well, drive to be in the car, and the near zen-like state of mind she entered after about half an hour on the road. Years later, it's become one of my more effective self-soothing behaviors, especially over long distances. I also seemed to have learned more of my pervasive driving habits from her by osmosis, seeing as while i didn't get my license until well after her death, i still catch myself copying them. Good in the defensive driving sense, bad in the family lead foot and sudden explosions of dockworker profanity at other drivers' jackassoirie senses. I swear, all my Mom's pretenses of being a perfect lady died when the key slid into the ignition, which is probably why while i knew better than to repeat any of it in her earshot, i was swearing competently and creatively by the fourth grade.

As to where we went, at the risk of sounding like a car commercial, the destinations never mattered as much as the journeys, or that unique sense of both consternation and relief that occurs after you're back home putting the car in park and preparing to return to real life. But it could have been a run as short as from Brooklyn to Manhattan to get me to school, to NJ to visit my aunt and later my sister, and when i was younger, stretches all the way to Ohio, Virginia, Michigan and Illinois. I seriously remember more of the trips there and back rather than actually being there.

Its funny... She and i certainly had our share of mother/daughter differences to the point where even on days like today i actually feel somewhat guilty for not missing her nearly as much as i feel I should. (Lets me frank, if she were still around she would be micromanaging my wedding to the point of driving me to tears.) On the road, though, is one of the few places where i do. I used to have her picture dangling from my rearview mirror, actually, with the inscription "Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly" on the back. Figure I've been her primary passenger for so many years... she'd return the favor if she could. (Backseat driving the entire way.)

Happy Mothers' Day, those of you who observe it.
anagramofbrat: (brat)


This terrifying image is one of the stage sets for the ballet Nutcracker, designed by Maurice Sendak. His designs and sketches for the show were incorporated into a handsomely bound edition of the actual story "Nutcracker" by E.T.A. Hoffman, which I received as a Christmas present as a kid, read a couple of times and refused to open again for a couple of years because all the very... toothsome... illustrations utterly terrified me.

(As an aside, this was also my first audiobook - six cassette tapes worth of Christopher Plummer (!!!) reading the story and scored with Tchaikovsky's suite.)

Maurice Sendak's books and illustrations continue to terrify me now that I'm grown, but it's a more delicious sort of terror, the sort that remembers what it felt like to be scared of the monsters in the closet or under the bed, but now knows they either don't exist or are harmless.

He will be missed. :(
anagramofbrat: (queen bitch)


You are The Empress


Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.


The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.


The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.


What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.




a) no surprises here.
b) man, remember when every other entry in your friends page would be one of these? It's quaint seeing one now.
anagramofbrat: (Maleficent)
The weathermen have said to expect 1-4 inches of snow for the last three days. Other than a sprinkle that was gone by 10am? no snow. Temperatures dropped and errthang, but nothing fell from the sky. At least it sorta feels like winter out there - other than the freak snowstorm around Halloween we haven't really had any winter weather of note this year.... which of course means we're going to get five feet around beginning to mid-April. I'd not be surprised if we got snowed into PAX.

Anyway. So life, not much really to report at the moment. I've been fighting off a chest cold for a little over a week; today I'm ready to declare the battle lost. Mostly because I can; I'm done with today's bell performance (which went much better than previous ones) and I've got nothing planned for the rest of the day. I did want to get productive things done with the time, but considering how I feel right now, I'm declaring fuck it and reserve the right to hide in my nice warm bed with library books and the iPad relentlessly consuming media and occasionally whining pathetically at [livejournal.com profile] cell23 to get me things so I don't have to move. Considering what the last couple of days have been like with regard to social, family and wedding stuff commitments, I'm not too surprised my body is all "No, seriously, bitch, lay down and rest a spell."

Course, I can't complain, other than being punctuated by coughing the past couple days had their really good moments. Friday I spent running around doing wedding shit (more about that in a separate entry because there is a LOT of blathering to be done about that) and yesterday I spent first up in Athol at [livejournal.com profile] cell23's uncle's birthday brunch, and then later we went to Moti's for dinner and all I can say is oooooooh, Persian lamb stew nom nom. After that there was the Bon Appetit Burlesque's Love/Hate Show and, well, boobies. Also there is something incredibly happy about ending your day by being sassed (and then hugged) by an adorable drag queen in a wedding dress. I seriously have more than a little bit of a crush on Hors D'Oeuvres, I'm not even going to lie.

It was during the second half of the show that I (and indeed, everyone else in the audience) heard about Whitney Houston. this got long. )

Anyway. About that lying down, resting a spell and feeling miserable... Waiting to Exhale has been on my Netflix queue forever, maybe today's a good day to actually watch it.
anagramofbrat: (brat)
...when you realize how much of your fragile little psyche was shaped in childhood by commercials? Yep, had one of those this morning when I put The Preciousssss on random at work and Bobby Darin singing "Mack the Knife" came up near the top of the list.

"Mack the Knife" is a pretty awesome song. It's kind of a gateway drug into the messed up little world of Bertolt Brecht, if you're inclined towards interesting pockets of music geekery and not so much into pop/jazz standards of the early sixties. The problem is that if your brain was at a certain stage of malleability/development around 1989 (which mine was) and you watched probably too much TV than the experts deemed healthy at the time, this is probably the first thing you think of when you hear it:



A big scary moon face wearing sunglasses that's only slightly less creepy than the Burger King. Who can't lip synch to save his life. (RuPaul would be telling him to sashay away after three bars.)

I have similar problems with Beethoven's "Für Elise" because of yet another steller ad from Mickey D's.



I still know every single one of these words. There's a fleeting wish for a little brother included with that so I could spitefully deny him french fries. Hands off, they're mine, all mine ALL MINE!!!!!

Well, I suppose I have [livejournal.com profile] cell23 now, but he buys his own goddamn fries.

You know what else I still know all the words to after all these damn years?



Man, the McDLT, talk about taking a person back. :P I remember having the little plastic record of this back in the day and thinking it was just CRAZINESS that they could etch things on a skinny strip of vinyl and your record player would totally PLAY THEM. CDs were still expensive space tech at the time.

I suppose a greater comment about the impact of advertising on children can be made here considering how far up into the delicate nooks and crannies of my brain the ads from one company in particular (and one pushing fast food at that) have lodged themselves and remain long after I've grown up, but I'm not making it right now. Instead I just amusedly shake my head (and my fist) at how McDonalds has warped my fragile little mind and to some extent my music taste.

I will note, however, that I now have a POWERFUL craving for McNuggets.

*snrrk*

Jan. 17th, 2012 10:11 am
anagramofbrat: (brat)
So during Morgan Freeman's Cecil B. DeMille award montage on Sunday's Golden Globes, they sneaked in a clip from his stint on The Electric Company:



NEGL, I let out this sound that was somewhere between a scream, a giggle and a squee. I totally remembered this song, even though I was probably a little younger than I was in the icon the last time I saw it.

Okay, the awesome that is Morgan Freeman aside (and no, no one was tickled, damn it) what the hell was with children's educational programming in the 70s and the whole vampire thing? was there a study conducted that showed little kids learn better if the lesson is delivered in mock-Transylvanian? Or, like everything else, should we stick to blaming drugs?
anagramofbrat: (47 st. paul's pl)
Oh New York. Something special erupts out of you during the holidays that actually truly warms the hard to reach subcockles of my jaded little heart. I think it's gazing up into the face of a 30+ story high rise and counting fourteen visible Christmas trees, seven menorahs, sixteen atrociously lit up windows and nine balconies that have more lights and inflatables on them than entire neighborhoods in Massachusetts. Or maybe it's the inexplicably omnipresent tree stands every four blocks or so because some folks are crazy enough to want to haul a heavy ass genuine Douglas Fir up to a seven story walkup. No, really, I know people do it - you can tell by the garbage piles outside of said walkups the week after New Years. Or the people like our neighbors who manage to stuff lights and creepy motorized Santas in every front window, drape lit garlands from the roof and have a giant bright-ass train festooning their porch every year. (The punchline? They're Jewish.)

Seriously New York during Christmas, man. There are reasons why I'm incredibly happy to be actually home this year for it.

Needless to say I've arrived home safely. Actually the last bit of the journey was made nicer by sharing a subway ride with a Smith student I know from the store who happened to be on my bus down and who needed to get to Coney Island so I told her to ride with me since that's my line. Dad has done his requisite fussing, showing off of his new toys (he's finally replaced his giant ass flatscreen), and I in turn have teased him about catching him coming in the house from a date, impeccably dressed to the nines. The cat has not left me alone since I came in The House and is now curled up on the bed with me purring like an idling tractor trailer. I much prefer this to having a portly kitty trying knead my ass with sharp-ass feet. Ow. Stop loving me with pain. Or if you have to, take me out to dinner first! Sheesh. Also can totally hear the ghost of Mom's Bitching Past up in here because Dad got a real tree for the first time in about 20 years. It's gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but all I can hear in my head is "needles in the carpet" this and "fire hazard" that and "what did that mad fool have to get a real tree for anyway" blah blah blah. Rather than be annoying it's actually kinda making me smile. Dad always did love himself a real Christmas tree. Of course he never actually deals with putting it up or decorating it or taking it down, which is probably why. At least he got a reasonable height one and not a sticky seven or eight foot monstrosity like he used to insist on getting. If you have to get on a freaking ladder to put the angel on top, your tree is too damn tall.

I think Dad is happy to have Christmas at home as well. He's been making noise about restarting the treating the women of the family to brunch and perfume at Saks tradition again, which we haven't done since my second year at Smith because Mom got sick right around then. 'Course, I'm not a perfume or makeup person so I usually spent those trips finding about the least visibly feminine thing on the lobby floor as my treat - one year it was a teddy bear (which I still have) the next, bath gel, the next a cute Captain's hat from the menswear department (also which I still have). Not even gonna lie, I'm already scheming how to spin my girly treat into something else from the neighborhood - the American Girl Place is next door across the street (though after having experienced The Smell Of Pink last month with [livejournal.com profile] cell23, I'm a little wary of going in there) and the LEGO store is down the block. Jesus H, that's so me. 33, grown ass woman, and what do I want for Christmas instead of perfume? Toys. Le sigh. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna grow up. Maybe I should bite the bullet and actually get makeup though. I am getting some kinda married in the spring and after accompanying various folk shopping for glorified face paint for the occasion I should probably take the opportunity to not have to pay for it. And I do like M.A.C. products. Preferred brand of drag queens. Or so I've heard.

Tomorrow Dad is monopolizing my day, but since we're going downtown to the financial district and then to J&R like we used to when I was a kid, I don't mind. I won't ask him to take me to Burger King though. Even if the same one we used to go to all the time is still there. J&R though, uh oh. Taking me to J&R is like giving a small child four double espressos and turning him or her loose in Toys R Us and/or FAO Schwarz. Seriously between the computer/electronics, movies and music departments (both as in recorded music and as in instruments and accessories) that place is a block of nothing but pure retail Andee-crack. NNNNNNNGGGGG.

*sigh* it's gonna be a busy week.
anagramofbrat: (this too shall pass)
September 26, and I've just completed the morbid and yet somehow cheering ritual of paging back to this time 2008 in [livejournal.com profile] kjpepper and rereading the entries (and comments!) chronicling my emergency abdominal surgery and the subsequent hospital stay, all while thoughtfully rubbing the seven inch scar the experience left. This year it's finally been softening up from a hard line of scar tissue to something that feels like, well, skin; there's only a little bit at the top that still feels all weird and lumpy. I guess that's where they began the incision. One hell of a treasure trail, as predicted.

Other than shaking my head and reminding myself that pretty hardcore painkillers not only make for seriously funky hallucinations/dreams (all of which I remember quite clearly) but amusingly fucked up LJ posts (It's like drunkposting x >9000) I guess I'm mostly amused/amazed at how relentlessly upbeat I was about the whole thing. Well, once it was pretty clear I was gonna survive it, anyway - the 2-3 hours right before I actually had to have surgery was probably one of the more terrifying and painful experiences I've ever gone through in my life, and worse, I had to go through it alone. But yeah, considering that was a pretty dire point in my life in pretty much all directions, I have to hand it to three-years-ago me for staying positive despite everything falling apart around my ears and in my fucking body. I kinda wish three-years-later me had retained the knack, but I'm relearning. Sorta.

It's funny, from a certain point of view, 2008 sucked sweaty monkey balls between the two hospital stays for seriously life-threatening nigh unto "no seriously, why am I not dead?" emergencies. (And that was just medically - everyone around back then well remembers the emotional drama going down simultaneously.) On the other hand, and this is the bit of perspective that I keep losing, I survived both times, and that is pretty badass. (As [livejournal.com profile] cell23 pointed out the day I came home, I out-badass Houdini for not dying of peritonitis.) I guess that's why I don't mind this particular morbid ritual every year around my "surgiversary," nor do I think it's unhealthy that I do it. Gods... I need the reminder about how strong I actually am and don't give myself nearly enough credit for. Especially these days when my health is kinda freaking me out. It's nice to know I've gotten through worse... not exactly unscathed, but well enough.

It also means holy shit, my birthday's in two weeksish. What.


Showertime, then I think I need to kill a serious chicken craving. HALLO LEFTOVERS.
anagramofbrat: (ORLY? (Hex))


HOSHIT BITCHES. The first two seasons of ReBoot are streaming on Netflix. I may have to have myself a little marathon while I wait to watch my southern vampire story for the week.

[coolstorybro] Hexadecimal might have had something to do with me realizing I wasn't quite straight back in the day. I have a massive ladyboner for her to this day. The masks! That voice! The walk! The fact that for a very long time she was the only female character on the show allowed to have two boobs!

I should dig up the pictures of me cosplaying her one Halloween back in high school. Thems some funny shit.

Anyway, it's beastly hot in the upstairs so I'm going to take my beadwork downstairs and curl up on the couch until it gets bearable up here.
anagramofbrat: (beads)
Sorry about all the bead blather lately, I've been pretty much literally thinking in pixels for the past couple weeks.

cut for pictures and crafty blather )
anagramofbrat: (click)
So I now have this combination printer/scanner/copier thing sitting on top of my tower courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] stormslegacy. I spent a little bit of time tonight first weeding though a Diamond Comics box full of pictures I have been meaning to put into albums for at least five or more years and scanning some for the MSFC facebook group I mentioned earlier. I've also thrown out quite a few - some I don't want to see ever again for obvious reasons, some were simply bad shots, most... I know ostensibly there was some reason I had doubles made of every goddamn picture I took in college but as I winnow through these stacks of pictures and weed out the dupes, I've concluded that whatever it was, it wasn't a good reason. (It was probably honestly because it was free.)

But yeah, um. Wow. If anything this box is all the evidence needed to prove that my friends have always been utterly wacky creative types and none of them (especially not [livejournal.com profile] harinezumi - yes, I still have the pics of you in seriously bad drag) should ever run for political office. Also wow. We were all so goddamn... young... fifteenish years ago.

Speaking of young, there's also this.



Like [livejournal.com profile] bellarisa couldn't resist pointing out, yes, I have one of those faces that hasn't really changed since the Carter administration (Which I was alive for, thank you, this picture was taken during it). Just less baby fat these days. And more hair/yarn.

Bedtime now.

Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! ~~ Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today!

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