Where does Santa poop?

So it's two days until Christmas, and I'm really excited! This will be my first year to celebrate most of the holiday with someone else's family. It will also be the first year I get to watch a bunch of little kids open their presents early on Christmas morning. Did I mention I'm so excited!

Thinking about that, however, has made me ponder other things, like Santa Claus. I was listening to the Skepticality podcast, and this week they're talking to a 7 year old who doesn't believe in Santa. He's got some excellent points. Why don't we ever see Santa making DSs and Wiis on TVs and movies? Why do poor kids get fewer toys? Where does Santa poop? I remember how I discovered Santa wasn't real, and I wish now that I'd asked the same questions as that little boy.

I can't remember exactly what age I was when it all went down, but I do remember the situation. Now, I've always been a nosy child; prone to snooping for presents in my mother's closet. This particular year, I found not presents, but wrapping paper. This in itself wasn't a big deal. After all, I'd done my fair share of wrapping gifts, and was perfectly willing and able to accept that my parents might keep their wrapping paper in the closet.

However, bright and early on Christmas morning when I went to look at the bounty from the fat man in red, I noticed something...disconcerting. All of the presents from "Santa" under the tree were wrapped with the paper I had just seen in my parents' closet. I don't recall how I handled this information, but I can almost imagine myself trying to explain it away. "Oh, Santa is just very busy, so he brings the presents to my parents and they wrapped it for him." But eventually I had to come to the conclusion that mommy and daddy were, in fact, Santa Claus.

Of course, as long as I kept getting presents, I didn't care who gave them to me; I was a wee child after all. It makes me wonder, though, what I'll do with my own children some day...

Thoughts on privacy

I just read an article snippet about the founder of Facebook deciding to make his profile entirely open under his site's new Privacy rules. I'm sorry, but if I want to share everything about myself with everyone I've ever known, I'll just use Twitter. There's never been any real illusion of privacy on Twitter, but you don't see me posting pictures of wild parties on twitpic (or Facebook, really). All I know is that a lot of people put their phone number, address, job title, etc. on Facebook, and if we assume most people are idiots when it comes to computers and protecting themselves, it stands to reason that a lot of people are going to have problems unless they pay VERY close attention to who is on their friends list.

Maybe I'll just remove every single bit of pertinent information about myself from Facebook. You won't get to know who I'm dating, won't get to know my favorite quotes, and won't know where I work. I'll remove all links to my outside websites except maybe the podcast, and forget about tagging me in any more pictures. In fact, I think I'll just keep my pictures elsewhere! You can see my name and my email address, and that will be all.

On the other hand, what if every single person on Facebook shared every single bit of pertinent information with the world? What if we flood the internet with a glut of personal information a la Myspace? Would the incidents of ID theft go up or down? Would there be more underage stalking? More regular stalking? I'm torn here. You've got a company who has all of your info stored on its server space and wants you to share it with everybody, so you react by removing stuff you don't want everyone to see. It's almost like Facebook thinks it can control the info you put online by scaring you into deleting things.

So either I allow them to control what I post online, or I try to find another place for all my friends to plan parties. So far it looks like Facebook wins, because I think I am the only one who loves Google Calendar as much as I do. God I love Google Calendar....

A note

Oh my love, Winter, how I've missed you these long months. I can barely recall the last time you kissed my cheeks rosy, or my fingers tingly. When did you last energize me with your icy touch? Too long. Too long since I felt your frigid breath ripping through my threadbare leggings on my morning walk. I can't believe you're finally back. Your gusts, remonstrate me, sting like a slap, and bow my head more effectively than a scolding parent. As quickly as your anger comes, it goes, and the crisp coolness of your apology assuages all ills. When you're around, Winter, I feel alive. I've a hurry in my step and a warm blush in my cheeks. I love you, my darling Winter weather. Please, please don't leave me...

A conversation

My status message: Motion on the table to change October to Rocktober. All in favor say Aye; all opposed go jump in a lake.

Friend: Too late...it's already Beardtober
Me: that just sounds retarded. beardtarded
Friend: Beardmazing, you mean

Oh, Internet...you are so adorable!

Moon Conspiracies

Two posts? In one day? What's going on here?

If you didn't already know, NASA launched a missile at the moon to try and find out if there is water there. Results aren't in yet, but the conspiracy theorists are out in great force. Here's an example sent to me that includes a magical poll at the end where you might win a BlackBerry Curve. I'm not sure I'd click on that link if I were you...


Another USA Conspiracy Behind NASA Moon Bombing Oct 2009 -

NaNoWriMo

I'm so excited! I have a wonderful idea for a novel, and it's less than a month until I get to write it! I have been spending a lot of time away from the 'net when I'm at home, and as much as I miss updating this all the time, there'll be plenty come spring when work becomes boring again. We've got a lot going on right now, so I'm still going to keep this brief.

I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month this year for the first time. There's no real prize for winning, except the knowledge that you wrote 50,000 polished words in a month, and are well on your way to entering the publishing process. Hooray! Anyway, haven't forgotten the blahg here...just had lots of fun fun happy time things going on! Plus, today is Friday, which, as you know, is the best day.

Mr. Storytime 1

Jump. Jump. Do it. Jump.

Forest Winkley took a deep breath and fell, not jumped, from the 25th floor of a high-rise office building. Sudden dread caught in his throat, and he realized that if yesterday had really been a dream, or just a fluke, he would soon be a boneless puddle. After he fell from the roof of his 4 story condo last night without a scratch, he'd spent some time morbidly researching what SHOULD have happened to him, and why, perhaps, it didn't.

Eyes closed, he counted to ten. Nothing but the wind and his heartbeat. Forest waited to hit the ground; knew that he should be getting close, but as quickly as the dread had come, it dispersed. The wind stopped rushing and started calmly blowing. He had stopped falling again.

The side of the building off of which he had fallen overlooked a wide alley, used mostly by delivery trucks and hobos. Upon opening his eyes, Forest discovered a young woman staring up at him, gape-mouthed, from about four stories below. In her shock, she had dropped everything she'd been carrying. Every fiber of his being seemed tense as he called down to her.

"Excuse me, but did you happen to see what stopped my fall? I think I might be stuck." She closed her mouth and blinked a few times.

"No," she said slowly, "but if you were trying to kill yourself, you didn't do a very good job. Um...do you want me to get a ladder or something and help you down?"

Forest pondered this for a moment, then nodded, "I guess so. That might help."

"I'll be right back, I promise!" she called. Ignoring her dropped backpack and purse, the girl ran off toward the street. This gave Forest time to reflect on his situation. His first instinct was to try and swim, as he had last night. The air was still air, but his hands dragged through it like sand. He kicked his feet and was met with sandy resistance. Same results as before. Using this method, Forest slowly maneuvered himself feet down and began to reverse-swim his way to the ground, hands cupped and pushing up, feet pointed, just as he had last night.

When he had been at it for about 15 minutes, the girl returned, as promised, with a ladder. "Oh!" she said, surprised, "Wow! You figured it out!"

Forest smiled, "Well, sort of. It's very slow going. Do you think you can pull me to the top of the ladder? I can probably climb down from there." With a bit of effort from his swimming and her pulling, Forest managed to climb to the ground. He was out of breath by the time he got there. He waved his arms a little, expecting the air to feel like sand, but the air was normal again, providing as little resistance as the first 21 floors of his descent. The girl smiled at him.

"Hey, man, I'm glad you didn't splat on me. That woulda sucked. My name is Dory Mathers," said the girl. Forest got his first good look at her. She couldn't have been more than 13, judging by her clothes and facial acne levels. Cute kid, he supposed, but what was she doing in this alley at 2 o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon?

Realizing he had created an awkward silence, Forest said, "I'm Forest. Forest Winkley. It's a pleasure to meet you, young lady. What brings you to this decidedly creepy alley at 2 o'clock on a Tuesday?"

"Well," she began hesitantly, "I guess you could call it instinct. My mind wandered in study hall and took me with it. I ended up here. I can't believe I brought all my stuff, though; that's just weird." Forest followed her gaze to the left, where her dropped backpack and purse had unceremoniously ejected their contents: things from a student's life including books, spirals, pens, and a deck of cards. Dory squatted and began shoveling things back into the bags. She was done before Forest could bend to help.

"I sure wish I knew what was going on," he remarked, glancing back up at the ledge, "I'm glad you were here to see this, Miss Dory." Forest instantly regretted calling her Miss. It was a force of habit, what he called anyone younger than 20, but somehow he didn't think Dory fit the profile of a Miss. Maybe a Ms...

She smiled, though, and wasn't offended. "Yeah, me too. Way more exciting than science flashcards." Dory went to the ladder and folded it up. "Wait here while I go return this to the sign-hanging guy. I told him it was for a science project for school." She ran off without waiting for his reply.

There had to be an explanation for all of this. Forest knew he couldn't keep diving off of buildings to gather data, but he didn't know how else to empirically measure something that wasn't there until he fell in it. Looking up, he saw only air. Reaching his hands as high as they could go, he felt only air. Climbing on a nearby dumpster and jumping down, he felt only air. What the hell was going on? He sat on an overturned milk crate and assumed the Thinker position. It was time to start at the beginning and figure this whole thing out.

Observation 2: Happy people

Why hello again! I would like to let you know that Mr. Blorpy is blorping well. His blorpiness knows no bounds. He blorped in front of a yappy baby Yorkie and scared it so bad it peed on its master. I laughed for about twenty minutes.

But anyway, I really wanted to talk to you about all the happy people I keep seeing. I'm probably one of them, but I feel my happiness is more a mild contentment than a syrupy ridiculousness. What do you think?

I'm not saying the ridiculously happy people are BAD, but the old me would. The content me just smiles mildly and says "aww." I mean, I think being happy is great! But I feel bad for unhappy people, because they have to look at the happies all the time. And believe me, when you are unhappy, that is all you CAN see. Constant reminders of how unhappy YOU are comparatively speaking.

Therefore, I would like to start a mildness campaign. Let us all be mildly happy. Stupidly happy people can give some of their happy to the unhappies and solve all our problems! Yaaaaay milditude! Oh no! My expression of milditudinous joy may be interpreted as ridiculous happiness. The mildpolice will get me!

Wait...I think we've seen this movie before...

Observation 1: On Frogs.

A friend asked me to document things in a blog. I remembered that I have a blog, and that it's been a long time since I posted anything on it. So!

While I was in the pool at our vacation condo on South Padre Island, my friends and I saw a teeny tiny frog hopping about on the concrete. Someone drunk decided it would be fun to pick him up and put him in the pool, but we eventually talked whoever it was out of it. Chlorine is probably bad for teeny fwoggies. That incident reminded me of home, where I have not only my Maizieface, but also a new pet that is not really a pet but more of an observational delight.

About a month ago, I met a little frog. I named him Mr. Blorpy. My dog probably wants to eat him, but for now she just sniffs at him a little. Mr. Blorpy would, if I picked him up, fit easily in the palm of my hand. Of course, it's not like he'd stay still long enough for me to catch him, but maybe I can trick him into my hand with a food of some sort. Well no, that wouldn't work either...he has that sticky tongue thing.

Anyway, the first time I saw my darling Mr. Blorpy was in the stairwell where I take Maizieface out for walkies. He was right at the foot of the stairs looking up at me. It was 6 am so I just stood there on the stairs and looked at it for a while. Maizie was already at the door, having jumped right over froggieface, and when she realized I wasn't opening the door for her, she turned and looked at the stairs. "HEY LOOK! A THING TO SNIFF!"

So I hopped over the hoppyfrog and pulled Maizie out the door before she could eat him. Poor little guy...he'll die in that stairway, but I'm not going to touch a frog. I don't know where he's been!

I kind of forgot about him for awhile, because I tend to do that, but then a little later I saw him again! This time he was sitting in front of the door and tried to hop inside when I opened it to go out with Maizie. She didn't see it, but I did! I tried to block him from coming in, because, I mean, he is a frog and does not need to be in the building, but he blorped on in anyway. I used my feets to blorp him back the other way and shut the door before he could try to get in again. Maizie came back and snurffled at him again, but he hopped into the grass and disappeared. I see him from time to time, sitting there on the sidewalk, but he hasn't been back to the door. There is no shortage of bugs for him to eat, no shortage of water, and plenty of bushes for him to hide in, so I expect my darling Blorpy Mc Blorperson will be around for a long time. Here's to you Mr. Blorpy. I love you.

It is a musics.

In light of recent busy-ness, here is a list of songs that make me hyper. I guess I should warn that there's naughty language in them?

Some links...

...to describe things lately.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdhLQCYQ-nQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SfOA2M5bEY

I'll start posting again eventually!

Just Hands

Melodies flowed from her brain to the fleshy tips of her extremities; queued up and ready to pour themselves into the aging baby grand piano. Countless years of preparation, and all she had to show for it was a sparsely-populated, dimly-lit hospital conference hall--not a proper venue for anything but lectures and motivational speeches--and a small audience of skeptical doctors and bored, dying patients.

She closed her eyes and watched as the grand staff and its lengthy measures unfolded before her like a crumbling scroll of ancient magic. A breath, and then she began. Her warm, pink skin dipped cautiously into the notes of the first staccato eighths, gaining confidence as a swimmer adjusting to a cold pond. Her journey followed a winding path, ominous yet bathed in sunlight. Her mind's music told the story of her memories, poco a poco. Playful tremolo major thirds and an impish allegro tempo marked joy, marked love, marked beautiful bright times of innocent youth; measures filled with mystery, discovery, and growth. She slowed to an andante, leading the music to a dark place filled with minor thirds and melancholy mezzo piano memories. These tones led her into the hospital; into new levels of negative emotions.

At the diminuendo end of her sadness, a single sob escaped from somewhere in the room. Smiling slightly, the pianist bowed her head as if nodding off to sleep, raised her arms to the keys once more, and unfolded her story's final chapter. Back into the reverie of memories and lost time went she, playing at last the hope-filled memories leading up to her performance. These were the secret meetings held in hushed whispers, the half-dreams half-nightmares of drug-induced sleep, and the warm touch on her face all of which led to today; to the song already in progress. Octave chords played forte and staccato eighth notes repeated from the beginning rang triumphantly through the room and spelled out the culmination of a lifetime of solitude, silence, disability, pain, and hope. The final lilting tones faded out into the corners of the room, and the pianist's eyes fluttered open.

She looked at her stricken audience, then down at the warm, tingling things on the ends of her wrists. "I wonder what I could do with more than just one pair of hands..."

Animal magnetism

Last night, I formed a theory about dogs and, to a lesser extent, cats.

Hypothesis: Dogs and cats, when laying down, have the ability to change their density based on mood, or, are able to increase the pull of gravity on their bodies at will.

How I came up with this theory: Each and every time I plunk Maizie onto the bed for sleeptime, she takes a few steps and lays down right in the middle of the bed. Now, normally, if two people were sleeping in the bed, this wouldn't be a problem. I'd be on one side, person 2 would be on the other, and Maizie could fit easily in the center. However, since I sleep alone, I sleep in the middle, and as we know, two things cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Since I am the master hu-man, and she is the pet, I frequently decide it is she who must move, not me. Time and again, however, I cannot move her with my clearly week legs. I push, I shove, and generally try very hard to get her to move. In the end, unless she moves on her own, I am stuck trying to maneuver my legs around her in a comfortable way. Now, when she is laying on the floor and wants a cuddle, I have no trouble at all picking her up. When she is on the couch, cuddling, asleep, or playing with her rawhide chew, she is the fabled Immovable Object. As for cats, I have heard similar stories from cat-owning friends, so will include them in the

How can we test this? I don't know. I'm not a scientist. We'll science a way.

Tabemassho!

Mr. Max no nihonshoku wa zutto oishii to omoimasu kara, ashita no bangohan wa sugoi desu. Soshite, restauran wa seikaku desu. Watashi wa edamame to oyakodon o haraimashita.

Okay, how badly did I butcher that? I can't remember most of my Japanese, but I think what I tried to say was "Because, I think, Mr. Max's Japanese food is the best evar, I had a really awesome dinner yesterday. Also, the restaurant is authentic! I had edamame and oyakodon."

Can anyone correct my cobweb-ridden Japanese language memory? That seriously translates like a high school "how I spent my summer vacation" essay. Oi.

Last night I discovered a delicious restaurant in Irving called Mr. Max. You walk in and it's almost like transporting yourself to Japan; to the little ramen shop nestled between the business hotel and the depaato. For parties of 4 or less, seating is available at the counter, and if you have a group, you can sit on the floor (they have an option for putting your feet under the table). The cook is Japanese, as is the wait staff, and they even have a small karaoke room if you care to partake! Be warned, however, that all the songs are Japanese.

No white person's journey to an authentic Japanese restaurant would be complete without a white board full of Japanese language daily specials, and the overwhelming feeling that everyone is staring at you. I assume this is for two reasons:

1. Why the hell is a white person coming into a tiny place like this when there is a Chili's down the street?
2. Let's make their experience that much more authentic by making them feel like they are actually foreigners and this is actually Japan.

In spite of the eyes-staring-at-the-back-of-your-head effect, the place was quite delicious, and if it wasn't in Irving, I'd go more frequently. In fact, if they transported it downtown, I'd eat there for lunch every single day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Actually, come to think of it, I imagine the reason they stared so much was because of the following conversation:

Waitress: Here's your oyakodon.
Me: This looks amazing. Arigatou gozaimasu
Waitress: do you want a spoon?
Me: *looks confused* No no, chopsticks are fine.
Waitress: *stares from distance*
Me: *picks up bowl to eat*
Restaurant staff: *jiiiiiiiii~* (stare noise)

Yeahhhhhh.

Anyway, I can't remember the rest of what I was going to type, so here's a badass music mashup. I can't describe it any better than the title of the blog post from whence it came "I've just been falcon punched in the ear." Ciao!

Super Mash Bros. - Meet Me At Fantasy Island

The king is dead!

Long live the King! ... of Fighters. Yeah, this weekend taught me two things: I am pretty bad at fighting games (no hard feelings, hon), and I still hate Sundays.

I also learned that my tolerance for amount of anime watched in a day is apparently a full 2 seasons. Twenty-six episodes of Eureka 7 yesterday. Twenty-six, people. I wanted to be out doing something; anything. Buuuut due to my crippling loathing of Sundays, I stayed in my apartment almost all day. I did discover, however, that Uncle Julio's makes a delicious brunch. I had fajita soft tacos with eggs, potatoes, onions, and beef with a little bowl of fruit. So tasty... SOOO tasty.

Anyway, I really don't have much to say today...but It has been a week since I posted so I thought I should at least say hello. Hello! ::wave::

My, but that's a big, blue....

...Dr. Manhattan. I saw Watchmen Friday night after constantly plugging my ears to all the midnight show viewers. I have read the graphic novel, but had not read a single review of the moviefilm. Now I have seen it, and I will simply say I liked it. If you want further details, let me know.

Anyway, after I finished recording the podcast on Saturday morning, Jim and I had breakfast at Panera. They had hot cross buns! Holy craps! I will absolutely REQUIRE to know how to make those. So delicious.

Jim headed home after that, and I headed out to Ft. Richardson for my very first official camping trip with friends. In spite of my general uselessness, I had a ton of fun. Maizie came too and mostly stayed out of the way. I think she really enjoyed our little hike through the old fort grounds. I climbed around on things and took pictures of people being silly. We played a huge game of Apples to Apples and all was right with the world.

Maizie slept all day yesterday; she was quite worn out. She does not have the boundless energy of a young dog, but boy was she having fun sniffing things while we were at the camp site. I'm still pretty tired, but am very glad I went! I'm so buying my own tent for the next time though. I want one of those tents that just magically pop up, though. I don't think I'm coordinated enough otherwise.

I'm having trouble staying awake at work. Hoo boy. Happy Monday!

Further proof...

...that I win at Instant Messaging.

DSCarmon: Erin, how are you today?

I'd like to talk to you about Cthulhu.

Erin: I'd love for you to! But first I'd like to give you a free audit, courtesy of the Church of Scientology.

DSCarmon: ahahahaha

Go ahead. Try to deny my awesome powers.

Don't drink it alone

I was just informed that my Saturday evening plans include a nice bottle of wine! According to the internet, this coming Saturday is Open That Bottle night. Basically, you're supposed to find that bottle of whatever that you've been stashing for a "special occasion" and make a special occasion out of opening it. Examples I heard on NPR's "air" podcast included an old widower drinking the wine in memory of his deceased wife, a woman who had saved wine for her son's wedding since he was a baby (he was in his 30s and not even dating), and a couple who tried to recreate their first date with pizza and their special bottle of wine.

Cheers, everybody, and here's hoping my story is interesting, too :)!

Sunday night at the Oscars

Last night, I went to an Oscar-watching party at the Modern. It was free, and I had my picture taken on the "red carpet." They tried to make it as authentic as possible by asking us where our outfits came from. I think I said "craigslist," but It might actually have been Macy's or somesuch. I honestly don't remember.

They had contests with prizes if you stuck around, but I ended up leaving about 9 pm. A couple of disappointments:

• Hellboy 2 should have won best makeup. Benjamin Button was almost entirely special effects.
• I think it is somewhat sad that Tina Fey was the only comedic actress they could get to go along with Steve Martin. Not that I don't love her, but she hasn't done any films recently, only TV, right? Surely there's a comedic actress that's done some popular/good comedy recently?

Anyway, I'm really sleepy today, but in a good mood. Also, EEEEEEEEEEEEE MY KINDLE SHIPPED! EEEEEE!

Recession-proof

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The numbers are in and videogames win. Amid the wailing and gnashing of teeth in the retail sector, a clear trend has emerged. Allow me to expound.

When I was in high school and college, when I finally realized I was destined for nerddom, I played videogames because I had overprotective parents who did not want me to go out late with friends. I developed an intense love for console-based JRPGs. I played them through every chance I got. I have an old photograph of myself wearing my prom dress while playing through an old NES Legend of Zelda game. I lived and breathed videogames when I wasn't at school or at a volleyball game. In fact, I'd say at least 80% of the times I got in trouble were because I "just had to get to a save point." Parents never understand.

In college, I came to recognize my gaming hobby as a method of escape from all manner of stresses. I had boyfriends, tests, roommates, and neighbors to avoid and escape from, and any time not spent with my friends was spent playing Ragnarok Online, Snood, or the latest Final Fantasy game. Escape. That's the key word.

Escape is the reason, I think, that one of the few retailers experiencing not only stability, but growth in our economic supercrisispanicwhatever is GameStop. In the 1930s films and comic books were the escape. People locked themselves in a dark theater for a matinee, nighttime show, and could shut out the sounds of the job market crashing around them. These days, all we have to do is snag a pair of headphones, pop a disc in our videogame machine of choice, and play for hours. Profits don't lie. Videogames have finally become mainstream. Good or bad, that's the state of things.

Enjoy the rest of your Thursday.

Lists

Three short lists.

Things that might be good for a story:

• the exact moment my work building "comes to life" in the morning
• romance between hobos (http://rvb.roosterteeth.com/comics/strip.php?id=568)
  
• electrons with New York accents
  

Things I want RIGHT NOW:

• Waffle House
• my Kindle2
• huuuuuugs

Things I'd rather be doing than work:

• Blogging (whoops!)
• sleeping
• reading the new book I bought for $3 yesterday

So there you have it. I just wasted...15 minutes?

Priority purchasing

Okay folks, as you all are probably aware, Tax Season is upon us. If you're a tax preparer, get ready for massive overtime. If you're in the tax preparation book business, breathe a sigh of relief, as your boredom season is upon you.

For those of us who have nothing to do with the tax preparation industry, please make sure to thank your tax preparer, and perhaps shower him/her/it with kisses or candy as you deem appropriate. This year, I'll be getting a refund, and I'm trying to prioritize what I do with the money.

I'm looking for help to determine what I should do. Current list of stuff I want to do with the money follows. I'll have to eliminate some, most likely, but I'm having trouble cutting out things.

• Amazon Kindle 2. I've wanted one for awhile, but I wanted to wait for the second version to come out, as I heard there were some issues with the first. TOO LATE. I BOUGHT IT! BWAAHAHAHAHA!
• I want to actually buy web space for the domain so my podcast can be free of wordpress, and I can actually plop ads on it to make some money.
• A bicycle. I'd have to get someone to teach me how to ride, but I want to start biking to work.
• A new nightstand for the bedroom
• New work clothes. NICE work clothes (I'm talking Ann Taylor/Banana Republic).
• A FigurePrint. You know the ones.
• A piece of beautiful art for my new apartment. I want something that costs more than $100, and that doesn't come from SuperTarget
  

I have pretty much decided to buy the Kindle2 right away, but the rest of it I'm not sure about. Any ideas?

I enjoy listening to you breathe.

I'd like to take just a small moment out of your day to tell you to stop breathing like a flat-faced dog. That's not a euphemism for anything. I mean that you breathe like a bulldog. You have a sinus problem, and your insurance will probably cover the surgery. I will help you pay for it if insurance does not. Please get it fixed.

Sincerely,
Listening-to-loud-music-to-drown-out-your-breathing

Aphorisms for the day.

A lie told often enough becomes the truth. — Vladimir Lenin
(This includes lies we tell ourselves.)

It is better to be hated for what one is, than loved for what one is not. — André Gide
(This is the hardest truth for me to accept.)

Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm. — Ralph Waldo Emerson
(And thus, I shall languish in obscurity.)

Enjoy the rest of your Monday.

Music fuel

I hope you all enjoyed my fanciful journey last time. I debated writing in all "text message speak," but as I was typing "norly," "plx," and "kthxbye" I realized that I would have to stab someone in the throat when I finished, and that was just too much for a Tuesday.

Today I'm pondering music and emotion. Studies have been done, lectures have been taught, and conferences have been given order to discuss the concept of music as a vehicle for and cause of emotion. I could have told you ANY of that just by looking at the faces of concert-goers and happy-pedestrian-mp3-player-wearers. There is nothing quite like a song to inspire, frighten, soothe, enrage, cheer, or depress you.

Observing people only goes so far, though, if you're not doing a quantitative study, so all I have is personal experience.

Here is a list of just a few of the songs that particularly affect me: "Hold Your Colour" by Pendulum, "Omnibus" by Laut Sprecher, "When You Were Young" by the Killers, "My Own Way" by the Rembrandts (shut up, shut up!), "Everywhere" by Michelle Branch, and "Hoppípolla" by Sigur Rós. Now, don't be confused. I don't necessarily OMGLOVE all of these songs, and I don't listen to them all the time, but if I need inspiration for my next brilliant short story (::snort::), I put a certain few songs on repeat and go to town. Hold Your Colour, for example, inspires me to write for a character experiencing the fantastic, while Omnibus is for straight up action scenes. Hoppípolla is for more serious works, or for writing in another time period (see last post), while When You Were Young elicits a bitter, spiteful emotional state for some reason. I haven't found a real use for it yet...

Anyway, what about you guys? What songs really make you feel something?

Down the Rabbit Hole

.-.-.Wonderland.-.-.

Kindest greetings on this most fantastic of occasions, darling readers. So broad have been my wanderings of late that I nearly lost track of updating my public. Thrice and ten days ago, I set forth on my winter constitutional, attempting to debunk a few of the more far-fetched cryptozoological theories. My travels found me seven days in a tundra far drier than any desert, and as inhospitable as that gaseous orb about which we rotate. With my strikingly handsome sherpa and a pack full of equipment, I set out in search of the elusive yeh-teh creature which plagues the stories of humankind the world o'er. The wind at our backs, we made good time the first day.

Whilst scouting habitable locations for the evening's repose, I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. Even after settling in the tent with my companion for sleep, the discomforting unease in my stomache's pit did not wane. Sleep came fitfully that night, but it did come. I awakened to find my knowledgeable companion missing from his bedroll. Panic set in, for the rule of exploration is to never traverse unknown terrain alone. Chancing a look outside the tent flaps, I saw nothing but the featureless landscape before me. The temperature had dropped somewhat, so I quickly retreated within the relative safe warmth of the tent and blankets. Moments passed agonizingly, and eventually I began to hear noises. I strained desperately and willed my weak ears to action, but it all sounded distant. Briefly, as I gathered all the gear I could carry and wear, I wondered if my sherpa had been yelling for help. I circled the campsite and looked behind every crag and cranny within eyesight of our fire's remains, but saw not a single footprint nor sign of activity aside my own.

Some yards east of camp lay the bloodied corpse of a ram, still hot. The noise which reached my ears previously must have been the unfortunate sounds of its violent demise. Panic set in, and I had to keep moving or risk an encounter with whatever beast felled the ram. I trudged onward, weary from my fitful slumber, and wary without my companion's knowledge. The compass device urged me eastward, toward the next-nearest human establishment. The sherpa had carried our means of defense, and he had absconded with it in his, I assumed for sanity, cruel gesture of anti-tourist behavior. Yes, I told my addled brain, he left me with all the provisions aside from the weapons hoping I'd get lost and perish before I reached another village. I allowed not a single alternative notion to creep in, as my panic and fear had already taken over most every other aspect of my consciousness. Rationalization was my sanity in those next few agonizing hours.

Lost in thought, I almost didn't see the body in time to avoid falling directly on top of it. The body of a small child, buried mostly by dirt and brambles, lay frozen in my path. Surrounding it at each of the four compass points was a large stone. As you can surmise, my fear and panic gave way to hopeless curiosity, and I backed from the body to examine the burial site at a distance. Certainly, my instincts told me to flee quickly, lest someone discover my trespass, but I suppressed them handily. Suddenly and without provocation or warning, a thickly caloused, tan hand clamped over my mouth. My sherpa had returned, it seemed, and with a harsh whisper told me to follow him away from the ritual site.

What followed our retreat remains inconsistent in my memory, but I'll recount to the best of my ability. My prodigal sherpa explained to me that he had gone tracking, as he had heard noises similar to the ones I had heard. Time got away from him as he was searching for the source of the sound. He found something he wanted to show me. Having heard such claims before on excursions, I was perfectly prepared to witness something that neatly (and disappointingly) explained the whole mess. Instead the sherpa led me to a large outcropping a mile away. Peering over the ledge, my breath caught in my throat. The air shimmered around us, if such can be believed, and my eyes found themselves soon staring into a wide swath of treed landscape. I felt a tingle in my nose, and realized it was warm air hitting the frigid extremity. I pressed my face further in, and discovered that yes, warm air was circulating around.

At that point, my senses became dull as an old woman's, and in recounting this to you, dear readers, I cannot do justice to the lush oasis which met me on the other side of the outcropping. Exchanging a look, the sherpa and I silently made our way down into the lush basin. Strange sounds and smells greeted us, and I felt as though time itself had shifted around me. I was in another world completely, and my scientific curiosity drove me to continue on....

The results of my findings are too numerous to recount in such a medium as this, and I will shortly publish a full volume of my works. Should you require further information, you may contact me with questions and I will be most pleased to respond.

Note: To celebrate Lewis Carroll's birthday, I've followed Mr. Doctorow's instructions, and changed the blog style for today. I hope you've enjoyed this trip down the rabbit hole.

Big Hairy Butt

Though I'm in squeefriday mode, I'm also in pondery mode. Here's today's pondery: why do poo and fart jokes remain funny so much longer after people tell us they shouldn't be funny anymore? People make entire comedy careers of humor based mostly on bodily functions, so there must be SOME segment of the population to whom the "rules" do not apply.

I always used to tell myself that the day I stopped laughing at the "big hairy butt" joke from the 4th grade is the day I should go on happy pills, but I find these days that I have to be in the right mood to laugh at these types of jokes. They used to make me laugh until I peed a little.

I surely hope that I haven't become so desensitized to the disgusting nature of the human body that I have forgotten how to laugh at it. Once upon a time, a boy told me he loved me by informing me that he was "comfortable enough to poop while I was in the room," thus taking our relationship to a new level. Is that what did it? Is the book Everybody Poops teaching our children that farts aren't funny? Maybe it was that time I went to the ladies' room and smelled the foulest smell imaginable that turned out to be coming from a VERY prim and proper lady from down the hall.

More likely, I'm just becoming a mature adult who is trying to embrace the ideals of proper, upright society...

Oh screw it. I'm gonna go tell the "big hairy butt" joke to a coworker and laugh so hard I pass out.

Happy Friday!

False Identities

Though I've tried to keep them separate, my "me" blog and my "WoW" blog are on the same email account, and by now at least one person (Hi Silver!) has figured out my terrible secret! Over the years I've had a great deal of online journals (that's what this amounts to, really) and have changed names many times. I've stuck with Threnody/Threnodee the longest, but before that I had at least 3 that I can remember, and I put those names on EVERYthing I did that was remotely related to the Internet, and very few people who knew those names ever knew my real one. That brings me to the subject of my post: Internet Identity.

From a purely academic perspective, this phenomenon I call "multiple screen name disorder," dates back to the time of the very first message boards, chat rooms, and instant messengers. For the first time ever, people had almost total anonymity in conversations. With a physical piece of mail, your address and name were attached (they could be falsified, but it was less likely) so there wasn't as much a sense of anonymity as with email and newsgroups and such. Up until the mid 90s, the 'net as we know it did not exist, and there was a relatively small group of people using it. When chatrooms, screennames, and Instant Messaging hit the blogotubes, there came a shift.

Instead of a few people using aliases, you had more or less everyone using aliases. The real names were all taken by early adopters, and even if they weren't, the practice has always been discouraged. I think my family got AOL back in 1996, and my very first screen name was Psy3. I wanted to keep it short, and the names I wanted were already taken (I went through pretty much all the female X-men and had to go for shortened Psylocke...sigh). With brand new screen name in hand, I plopped myself in comic book, videogame, and anime chat rooms on AOL and developed myself a reputation.

I found myself lying about my age to gain credibility for my opinions on various comic-related topics. Would Rogue and Gambit ever really be together? Would Joe Madureira ever properly proportion a female character? Would Rob Liefeld ever correctly proportion anything?

Eventually, I dropped the Psy3 screen name when we switched off of the AOL service, and found myself with yet another blank slate identity to mold, with an entire web to explore instead of just chatrooms. Did I lie about my age this time to gain credibility? Nope! Instead, I wrote in adorablespeak (dropping "kawaii" and "ne" in as many sentences as possible) and really played up the adorable anime geek that I sort of was, but not really. I learned to make websites, and went full tilt into anime mode, even moreso than I am now.

The next time my identity changed, it was because I had my very first e-stalker, and I needed to lose him.That worked out pretty well for a long time, but I think he's trying to find me again, and that's scary. But anyway, now I'm juggling two internet personas at once, and I know I'm not the only one who does it. Anyone with multiple blogs about more than one subject can be said to have multiple screen name disorder. I'm not only TheGirlNerd, but I'm also known by my WoW character names. It spills over into real life, too. I visited my WoW guild in Canada last September, and most of them had a hard time calling me by my real name. They call me Thren, because to them that is my identity.

My academic ponderance, based in personal experience, is how deeply does having multiple screen name disorder affect the person behind the name? Do we have to pretend to be our online personality so much that it becomes our real personality? Look at people like the creators of Penny Arcade. Have they been Gabe and Tycho for so long that they really have BECOME Gabe and Tycho? Are their real identities lost to the bits of time? I want to know what people think about this. It's been over ten years since this whole blogotubes thing got started, so I'm sure there are papers written about this very subject, but I'm an incredibly curious little meatbag. Let's have a discussion.

Edit: DSCarmon made an excellent point. I'm mostly talking about people who participate in online communities. These are just floaty questions going through my teeny brain. It would require a dedicated study to actually account for all the variables factoring into the answers to my questions.

Out with the old...

Perhaps we've jumped the gun just a little, but a couple of my friends and I are moving into an apartment together in June, and wanted to get all that "searching for a place to live" part out of the way early. We started out looking at houses for rent in the area, thinking a yard would be nice for doggies to play in, but popped into an apartment complex that was really cute, and just HAPPENED to be open when the other place we wanted to look was not. We asked the incredibly nice saleslady for floorplans and pricing, and found that what we thought was going to be WAY out of our price range is actually well within it! The complex had a 2-bedroom model open for viewing, so we went and had a look.
It
Is
GORGEOUS.

The living room is huge by comparison to my current abode, with ample room for living and dining spaces to be separate. The kitchen has floors made to look like wood, with dark countertops and black appliances. There's a pantry (YEEEE!) and washer/dryer hookups, too! The bedrooms are large enough for us each to put computer desks/chairs/etc. in, and the closets are ample. The master bedroom is on the opposite side of the apartment from the other two, which would be nice for a hermit like me. Plus, I could keep Maizie in there behind her little grate thing when company came over, and she'd be able to see out without being underfoot! You cannot believe how excited I am. I'd be just a few blocks from work, and might even walk there when the weather is nice, and I'd be in quick driving distance from everything! Buuuut it's 5 months away. I wanna move nooooow! ::whine::

Next step: paper rock scissors tournament to see who gets the biggest bedroom (Oh my god a whole extra square foot! I could put a lamp there!), and who gets to share a bathroom. I'll probably end up with the big room, because of my phat PRS skills. Hoowah. Happy Monday!

P.S. I stole the first picture from Fortworthology.com, which is run by my friend Kevin. The second picture is from the apartment's website.

Podcasts, podcasts, podcasts!

What does it mean when you're no longer interested in downloading much new music? My brain has a limited capacity for memory (i.e. none) I guess, and I simply can't remember from hour to hour what music I wanted to download when I get home from work. It's a rare day that finds me on Amazon.com's mp3 download page. There is simply too much to do besides that. As a result, I generally listen to the same 3 albums on shuffle/repeat when I'm at home. That is, until I discovered podcasts...

That's why RSS feeds are the best invention of the Internet age. I can collect feeds from all over the Internet, and instead of opening 20 different websites to read news, webcomics, and listen to podcasts.

Podcasts, podcasts, podcasts! They are so wonderful. Just recently, I subscribed to an Irish Music podcast, and an NPR book podcast that takes a bunch of other NPR book-related podcasts and mashes it up into a digest version. I also subscribed to an Irish/Celtic music podcast. That's a whole hour of music I've probably never heard before. I'm looking for more music podcasts, but this celtic one has my feet moving all by itself.

The absolute best thing about podcasts, though, is the fact that I can plop a few in my feed reader and just listen at work at my leisure. Google provides an awesome aggregate reader at www.google.com/reader. Feeds can be found for almost any blog, and podcasts are an easy search away. Here's a list of the ones I subscribe to. It gives a fairly straighforward idea of what my interests are at the moment.

• T3 Podcast - a techy gadget podcast
• Irish and Celtic Music - showcases new celtic music
  
• NPR: Books Podcast - compilation of various book-related sound bites from all over NPR
• The Sound of Young America - brief-ish interviews with people my age group gives a crap about
• Philosophy Bites - snippets of information about various new philosophical concepts, and visits to old ideas as well
• Anime World Order - an anime podcast that's been around longer than mine
  
• The Instance - an excellent, high-production value World of Warcraft Podcast
• The Phileas Club - A monthy news recap/commentary from contributors all over the world
• Friday Night Party Line - as their tagline says, any topic is fair game, so this one's hit or miss for me.

Anyway, the takeaway advice here is that podcasts provide fairly quick glimpses into the things you like as expressed by others. For me, podcasts express a human need for vocal communication in a time where digital communication is king. RSS feed technology has gotten to a point where you can listen to podcasts directly from your feed reader (well, Google anyway, and presumably others) so you don't even have to worry about saving the mp3 files. Do yourself a favor and "Feed your need."

Also, if anyone has podcast suggestions, please let me know!

Biting off more than you can chew

This post is partly about the economy, and partly about the pudu.

The pudu is a tiny deer. It is, in fact, the world's tiniest deer. I took the liberty of doing a Google image search for it. It is the cutest thing you will ever see besides my adorable dog. That said, who wants to help me start a pudu farm in Arizona?

Even with the economy the way it is, I think the pudu as a pet would be a most excellent use of your money. It lives 8-10 years in the wild, so just think what it can live to when domesticated! This is an important project, and I am looking for investors.

Speaking of the economy, I read an interesting article yesterday about how the economy may fundamentally change the way my generation thinks about money. "They" say people won't rely as much on credit cards and debt except for large purchases. The general consensus is that credit got us into this crisis, and cannot possibly help to get us out. While I agree somewhat, I do not think the acquisition of credit is an entirely bad thing on a small scale. Now, that's not to say I'm going to go out and get any new credit cards or what have you, but I AM going to keep using my credit card for its intended purpose. I use it for large electronic purchases and clothing ONLY.

The thing about credit is that you have to set limits. Not just spending limits, but I've always avoided trouble with large interest rates by paying attention to what I'm buying, and not entering into any debt (credit card or otherwise) that I don't project paying off in a comfortable length of time. Acquiring GOOD debt is a necessary thing. I think credit scores are not that bad a way to approve someone for, say, a mortgage. The person you're getting it from doesn't know you at all, and without someone trustworthy vouching for you, they're not likely to just hand over a large sum of money. So yeah. Morals of the story: don't cut up all your credit cards, just cut up some, and keep your spending to reasonable levels.

Now, you may be wondering, "Why the pudu?" The simple answer is that I am easily distracted by adorable things, and that was just the latest adorable thing to catch my eye. BWaAAAAA ready for today to end. Enjoy your day, lovelies.

A rambling post about conversing

Okay, Internet. Let's just keep this between us. A lot of people expect biting sarcasm and eyerolling from me, because that's the niche I fill these days. I say something that sets up everyone else's punchlines.

To paraphrase one such situation: "I think Twilight is the bestest movie," says Friend. I reply, "Yeah. Let's take a hundred years of vampire myths and stories and throw them all out the window. We'll make Vampires shine like painted whores, and Native Americans wolves." Cue other Friend, who is herself Native American. "Yeah, I had no idea I could turn into a wolf. You guys are screwed if I ever get mad." I'm not sure that's exactly how it went, but it was something along those lines, and I seem to recall Chappaboogie saying something about eating us, and not in the sexy way.

That said, I can't remember the last time I said anything interesting without being prompted, and then immediately interrupted. I laugh at every joke, but I have no humor to call my own. I have pleasant, boring stories, and people generally stop listening to me after about 15 seconds. My voice is not unpleasant; my podcast listeners seem to like it. I suppose it could just be my inability to carry on conversations about popular subjects. My interests are highly limited these days: anime, WoW, beer, blogging, podcasting, a few books, and my dog. My friends' interests tend more toward the mainstream, with the notable exception of Horror movies, which are really not my thing.

I guess when someone says "you won't believe what I saw when I was out riding my bike by the river," they don't really want to get the response "you won't believe what I saw while I was flying from Dragonblight to Icecrown on my Red Drake." What does baffle me is that I can't get anyone to discuss books either. I read and some of my friends read, but none of us get together and discuss reading. I guess a loud bar isn't really a place to get into a discussion about Richard Dawkins' fallacious arguments against intelligent design.

Oh well. I guess there's something to be said for predictability. I must enjoy not being part of conversations when sober, because I keep letting it happen. Only when I imbibe alcohol do I ever say, "Hey! Don't start another conversation in the middle of a conversation with me!" In the end, it boils down to one of two things: 1) I am not interesting or 2) My friends have the attention spans of goldfish. In some cases, 1 is probably true, and in others, 2 is most CERTAINLY true. I love my girlfriends dearly, but I frequently feel like a 5th, 6th, or 7th wheel.

Thank goodness I don't base my self worth on people paying attention to me, right? (I run 3 blogs and a podcast...) Oh well, I have to go to a townhall meeting for work now. I'm sure I'll post something later that is less whiny.

We're going down

You may have noticed a ridiculous quantity of blogs spewing forth from my fingers. I keep up with the podcast, this blog, and a WoW blog that I'm not telling you about for fear of an intervention. My friends, with a few exceptions, all think WoW is terrible and stupid, and they are right. (I'm a self-hating WoW-player.)

But the reason I am blogging from work with reckless abandon is that I have ceased caring about my well being. It is as though someone punched my brain in the "achieve great things" section and has left me with naught but the ability to express worthless opinions on the Internet.

I'm not entirely sure where I was going with this. Whee. Happy Thursday, bitches.

A note about the weather

Weather. How boring, you say. Thren, why are you talking about the weather? There's parties and people, and movies, and events to discuss! Be that as it may, I've decided to discuss it.

Texas, or more specifically, the DFW area of Texas, is known for having ridiculously unpredictable weather during the winter. The last four days have proven the point. We went from seventy degree days down to 30 degree nights, to 65 degree days, and 30 degree nights, and suddenly the next day it was 30 degrees and raining. Tomorrow, it is supposed to be 70 again. I know what you're thinking. "Stop complaining, my car is under 3 feet of snow."

At least you have the luxury of snow days. Here, the ground is never cold enough for snow to stick, nor is it usually cold enough outside for more than 2 hours for ice to form anywhere but overpasses. Plus, with the ever-fluctuating weather, I've got the added hassle of needing to keep my winter AND summer clothes out all year long. On almost every winter morning, I do have to put on my heavy coat, gloves, and scarf, but 2 hours later, I have to wear short sleeves. The moral of the story, here, is that if you decide to make your home here, remember to wear layers, and leave a heavy sweater at work.

Today is an incredibly boring day.

December is dead...call me... January...

Well, another year beneath our belts, and what have we to show for it? Recession, panic, and LOOTING IN THE STREETS OH GOD RUN FOR YOUR LIVES WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE.

That's a bit of New Year's hyperbole, but here are just a few things I'm looking forward to in the coming months:

• New anime: Slayers: Revolution season 2 comes out soon! Ghost Slayer Ayashi comes out as well. SOUL EATER FINALLY GOT PICKED UP HERE! YEEE! Later in the year, I'm sure there will be more stuff I get excited about.
  
• New games: Gonna pick up Rock Band II for my Wii and the new Prince of Persia for my computar. Beyond that, I don't know!
• New gadgets: I will buy an ebook reader this year, and a new hard drive for my computer.
  
• New stuff: I'm making a list of furniture/apartment stuff that I am going to start saving for.
• New job: (or trying anyway)

Anyway, Cheers, and welcome to the new year. Ta!