Remember that blog entry I wrote about words and phrases that make me smirk? (Just scroll down a bit if you don't--It's embarassing how little I've written since December!) Well, I've just thought of another one to add to the list.
You know how people sometimes call each other "Hon," as an abbreviation of the endearment "Honey"? Well, whenever I hear somebody using that word, I like to pretend that they've actually said "Hun," as in "Attila the Hun," and that the meek, unassuming wife/husband/small child/patron of the greasy-spoon eatery to whom the term has been applied is actually a fearsome barbarian, clothed in bloodied armor and animal hides.
*I chuckle*
It's almost better than all those furions in the underverse.
Oh! and also...
Yesterday I watched the Classic Trek episode where the beautiful (and scantily clad) alien-lady steals Spock's brain (!), and Kirk and Bones (et. al) have to beam down to the alien planet to find it and somehow put it back in Spock's inexplicably not-yet-dead body (!!), which they manipulate by means of a handy little remote control device (!!!)--because really, who wants to schlepp a full-grown vulcan (sans brain) through the tunnels of the pretty alien ladies' underground paradise?-- And then, to top it off, when Bones gets all nervous about not hooking up all Spock's neurons correctly into their respective brain outlets, Kirk just tells him to fix the vocal chords first so that Spock can walk him through the rest of his own brain-restoration surgery(!!!!) which he does (!!!!!). Talk about hardcore.
Honestly! How did they ever film it with straight faces?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Very Micro Economics
Where has all the money gone?
It strikes me as strange that everyone all over the globe has suddenly run out of cash. How can we all be hurting for cash? The money we all don't have has to have ended up somewhere, right?
It seems pretty fishy to me.
Actually, here's what I think has really happened: We all got used to pretending that enough money exists for us to do whatever it is we want to do, until we finally got to the point where that no longer works. Either we can't pretend anymore, or for some reason we're no longer willing to. It's a puzzler. But even though this gives me the same unsettled feeling I used to get when guest preachers would discuss the end of the world, I'm honestly not that upset. I know things will have to change--but things have always been changing. And good things can happen when people are forced to depend on each other. I just hope I can be graceful when my life gets uncomfortable.
I can't tell you how freeing it is to know that happiness and comfort are not the whole point of my being here (as in here on this Earth) in the first place. It's good to have a purpose, and to have to make sacrifices for something bigger than me. I'm so glad that I can embrace the harder aspects of being me without feeling vaguely ashamed of the fact that I am not happy and comfortable all the time.
"And that's all I have to say about that."
It strikes me as strange that everyone all over the globe has suddenly run out of cash. How can we all be hurting for cash? The money we all don't have has to have ended up somewhere, right?
It seems pretty fishy to me.
Actually, here's what I think has really happened: We all got used to pretending that enough money exists for us to do whatever it is we want to do, until we finally got to the point where that no longer works. Either we can't pretend anymore, or for some reason we're no longer willing to. It's a puzzler. But even though this gives me the same unsettled feeling I used to get when guest preachers would discuss the end of the world, I'm honestly not that upset. I know things will have to change--but things have always been changing. And good things can happen when people are forced to depend on each other. I just hope I can be graceful when my life gets uncomfortable.
I can't tell you how freeing it is to know that happiness and comfort are not the whole point of my being here (as in here on this Earth) in the first place. It's good to have a purpose, and to have to make sacrifices for something bigger than me. I'm so glad that I can embrace the harder aspects of being me without feeling vaguely ashamed of the fact that I am not happy and comfortable all the time.
"And that's all I have to say about that."
Sunday, March 1, 2009
poem
Here's a little poem I wrote (you might want to read it note by note..)
This little bit of poesy came to me last summer. It reminds me of my Grandma Cherie, who died a couple years ago. Although I miss her terribly, I can't complain because just knowing her added a richness to my life that not everybody gets to begin with-- it's like complaining about having to go home after a day at Disneyland. Anyway, here it is.
Poem:
7-10-2008
Her garden is a hidden bowl of sunlight.
Raucous colors dance around her as she grubs.
There are no barbs, no weapons, no defenses.
She doesn't know how beautiful she is.
I didn't say it was going to be a long poem (and yes, I know it doesn't rhyme. I sound like Dr. Suess when I try to rhyme). Just think of it as a little verbal sketch.
"As drawn by a true an' lovin' hand"*
If you don't like it, I don't want to know.
Happy March.
*yet another movie line. No fair using google this time!
This little bit of poesy came to me last summer. It reminds me of my Grandma Cherie, who died a couple years ago. Although I miss her terribly, I can't complain because just knowing her added a richness to my life that not everybody gets to begin with-- it's like complaining about having to go home after a day at Disneyland. Anyway, here it is.
Poem:
7-10-2008
Her garden is a hidden bowl of sunlight.
Raucous colors dance around her as she grubs.
There are no barbs, no weapons, no defenses.
She doesn't know how beautiful she is.
I didn't say it was going to be a long poem (and yes, I know it doesn't rhyme. I sound like Dr. Suess when I try to rhyme). Just think of it as a little verbal sketch.
"As drawn by a true an' lovin' hand"*
If you don't like it, I don't want to know.
Happy March.
*yet another movie line. No fair using google this time!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Why I think Captain Kirk is cute:
You can stop making those faces (Adrienne!) because I don't mean I think he's cute in the paste-his-face-inside-my-locker sense. It's a different kind of cute, almost the diminutive sense of the word.
I was thinking about this a couple days ago (when I was avoiding homework, which is also what I'm doing right now, by the way). I am often quite embarassed to admit how much I enjoy watching Classic Trek. I can't even stand to have other people in the room while I watch because it's so very ridiculous and full of cheese. I mean even if Kirk didn't tromp around with his gut sucked in, populating his lines with those famously erratic pauses as he alternates between looking bemused, attractive/ed, and heroically angry, there are still the outrageously costumed aliens (shiny fabric+tons of eyeshadow=alien, with the optional misshapen head every now and then-just to spice things up), the ship that sounds like the inside of an old fashioned submarine and looks like someone had a wild night with a bedazzler, and all those poor women officers who stoicly carry on doing whatever it is they do do even though starfleet cruelly refuses to issue them anything in the way of pants. These things are ridiculous and wrong and laughably crude...and I am 99% sure that this is why I like the show so very much.
It's probably the artist in me, gleefully lording it over the disciples of Science that their first majorly popular (at least in America--sorry Dr. Who) science fiction show should be so very silly. I mean, if the modern scientist of the '60s' conception of the greater universe is one in which all the really smart aliens sit around all day waiting for unsuspecting humanoids to wander by and get pulled into some character-testing experiment or other (only to be outwitted/won over by Kirk's raw manliness and cunning), then maybe the scientists of today are not the "god-like smarty-pants"* everyone seems to think they are. (OK- I don't mean to sound harsh or anything, but does anyone else get the feeling that we're all just hoping that unspecified amounts of science will eventually provide the answers to all our problems?)
Also, I think, from a more philosophical standpoint, I am intrigued by the show as a representative of what people in the past imagined the future to be. Like in the 1960 version of "the Time Machine," when the guy made a stop in the 1980s and everyone was walking around in orange jumpsuits and hardhats. It's interesting how, no matter how hard you try, you can never really get a handle on how things are going to turn out. Clearly, the writers of Classic Star Trek figured we'd be zipping around the galaxy before we ever developed a communicator smaller than a credit card, or information storage devices the size of our thumbs.
And then there's the characters and the plot. They're all so simple and broad-stroked and so unashamedly earnest. I can't help liking them. I get the same feeling when a first grader solemnly informs me that if he had two wishes, he would ask for a motorcycle and one hundred cats. In some ways, you can see what's coming a mile away (and feel smart) and then you suddenly get broadsided by some totally outlandish development (and are entertained). Other attempts have been made to expand the Start Trek universe, as it were, but something of that initial ridiculous "naked and unashamed" innocence is lost.
And that is why, no matter how authoritatively Captain Picard commands his Number One to "Make it so," I will always prefer the company of Kirk, Spock, and the rest of the gang.
Well, now I'd better get back to some more serious thinking.
happy Thursday, everyone!
*What movie is that line from?
I was thinking about this a couple days ago (when I was avoiding homework, which is also what I'm doing right now, by the way). I am often quite embarassed to admit how much I enjoy watching Classic Trek. I can't even stand to have other people in the room while I watch because it's so very ridiculous and full of cheese. I mean even if Kirk didn't tromp around with his gut sucked in, populating his lines with those famously erratic pauses as he alternates between looking bemused, attractive/ed, and heroically angry, there are still the outrageously costumed aliens (shiny fabric+tons of eyeshadow=alien, with the optional misshapen head every now and then-just to spice things up), the ship that sounds like the inside of an old fashioned submarine and looks like someone had a wild night with a bedazzler, and all those poor women officers who stoicly carry on doing whatever it is they do do even though starfleet cruelly refuses to issue them anything in the way of pants. These things are ridiculous and wrong and laughably crude...and I am 99% sure that this is why I like the show so very much.
It's probably the artist in me, gleefully lording it over the disciples of Science that their first majorly popular (at least in America--sorry Dr. Who) science fiction show should be so very silly. I mean, if the modern scientist of the '60s' conception of the greater universe is one in which all the really smart aliens sit around all day waiting for unsuspecting humanoids to wander by and get pulled into some character-testing experiment or other (only to be outwitted/won over by Kirk's raw manliness and cunning), then maybe the scientists of today are not the "god-like smarty-pants"* everyone seems to think they are. (OK- I don't mean to sound harsh or anything, but does anyone else get the feeling that we're all just hoping that unspecified amounts of science will eventually provide the answers to all our problems?)
Also, I think, from a more philosophical standpoint, I am intrigued by the show as a representative of what people in the past imagined the future to be. Like in the 1960 version of "the Time Machine," when the guy made a stop in the 1980s and everyone was walking around in orange jumpsuits and hardhats. It's interesting how, no matter how hard you try, you can never really get a handle on how things are going to turn out. Clearly, the writers of Classic Star Trek figured we'd be zipping around the galaxy before we ever developed a communicator smaller than a credit card, or information storage devices the size of our thumbs.
And then there's the characters and the plot. They're all so simple and broad-stroked and so unashamedly earnest. I can't help liking them. I get the same feeling when a first grader solemnly informs me that if he had two wishes, he would ask for a motorcycle and one hundred cats. In some ways, you can see what's coming a mile away (and feel smart) and then you suddenly get broadsided by some totally outlandish development (and are entertained). Other attempts have been made to expand the Start Trek universe, as it were, but something of that initial ridiculous "naked and unashamed" innocence is lost.
And that is why, no matter how authoritatively Captain Picard commands his Number One to "Make it so," I will always prefer the company of Kirk, Spock, and the rest of the gang.
Well, now I'd better get back to some more serious thinking.
happy Thursday, everyone!
*What movie is that line from?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
A new thought
Hello friends!
I should be working hard on my homework, but it's not happening tonight. Instead, I'm going to talk to you.
I've decided to stop being afraid of people. It's crazy, I know, but I've been doing alot of thinking and that's what I have decided. See, I am not an intimidating personage (at least, I don't think I am- I'm certainly not intimidated by me.) As Piglet says, "It's hard to be brave when your such a small animal." I've generally viewed strangers, and even some acquaintances, as dangerous and, as a sort of defense, given them a wide berth and generally tiptoed around them, avoiding eye contact if possible. But now I think that was a silly plan. Sooner or later, even the smallest creatures get noticed, and it's the scared and lonely ones at the edge of the pack who get eaten first anyway. Plus (and this is a major plus) every time a person encounters another person, it is an opportunity for that person to be treated like a decent human being (whether they feel like a member of the human race or not). How ridiculous would I be if I kept waiting around to be called to some far off mission field when all this time God has been bringing the mission field to me in the form of that punk kid on the skateboard at Wal-Mart whose baggy clothes and black eyeliner are just daring me to treat him like the leper he thinks he is? Should I pass up the opportunity to treat him like he's a valuable person with a future? Heck no! If everyone just treats the kid like he's a menace, sooner or later he's going to act like one (if he hasn't already), but if I can with a simple smile and friendly greeting plant a little seed of doubt in his 'nobody gives a ___ about me, so ___ you all' persona, maybe he'll begin to see things just a little bit differently.
Besides, what is the good of saying I believe in an omnipotent God who loves me, who is the ultimate definition of love, if I'm not going to act like it? If all that is true, and God's Holy Spirit really does live in me, then every place that belongs to me belongs to Him, and everywhere I step is a part of His domain, and in His domain I am priceless...and so is everybody else.
Don't worry, I'm not going to go passing my phone number out to every ne'er-do-well that crosses my path. Being kind to people does not mean being careless, it means seeing (or trying to see) them the way God sees them, and acting accordingly.
Well, sorry if that got a little preachy. It wanted to come, so I let it (which is, according to Pooh Bear, the best way to write).
I should be working hard on my homework, but it's not happening tonight. Instead, I'm going to talk to you.
I've decided to stop being afraid of people. It's crazy, I know, but I've been doing alot of thinking and that's what I have decided. See, I am not an intimidating personage (at least, I don't think I am- I'm certainly not intimidated by me.) As Piglet says, "It's hard to be brave when your such a small animal." I've generally viewed strangers, and even some acquaintances, as dangerous and, as a sort of defense, given them a wide berth and generally tiptoed around them, avoiding eye contact if possible. But now I think that was a silly plan. Sooner or later, even the smallest creatures get noticed, and it's the scared and lonely ones at the edge of the pack who get eaten first anyway. Plus (and this is a major plus) every time a person encounters another person, it is an opportunity for that person to be treated like a decent human being (whether they feel like a member of the human race or not). How ridiculous would I be if I kept waiting around to be called to some far off mission field when all this time God has been bringing the mission field to me in the form of that punk kid on the skateboard at Wal-Mart whose baggy clothes and black eyeliner are just daring me to treat him like the leper he thinks he is? Should I pass up the opportunity to treat him like he's a valuable person with a future? Heck no! If everyone just treats the kid like he's a menace, sooner or later he's going to act like one (if he hasn't already), but if I can with a simple smile and friendly greeting plant a little seed of doubt in his 'nobody gives a ___ about me, so ___ you all' persona, maybe he'll begin to see things just a little bit differently.
Besides, what is the good of saying I believe in an omnipotent God who loves me, who is the ultimate definition of love, if I'm not going to act like it? If all that is true, and God's Holy Spirit really does live in me, then every place that belongs to me belongs to Him, and everywhere I step is a part of His domain, and in His domain I am priceless...and so is everybody else.
Don't worry, I'm not going to go passing my phone number out to every ne'er-do-well that crosses my path. Being kind to people does not mean being careless, it means seeing (or trying to see) them the way God sees them, and acting accordingly.
Well, sorry if that got a little preachy. It wanted to come, so I let it (which is, according to Pooh Bear, the best way to write).
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Someday, I won't be spending my Saturdays by myself. As fun as it may sound, doing whatever you want whenever you want to is not all it's cracked up to be. Someday, I will be surrounded by people-- husband, kids, the works. Probably I will be very busy arranging things, providing things, disciplining when necessary, enjoying and being enjoyed. And in the midst of all that action and interaction, I hope that I remember what it was like to be alone. I hope that I can appreciate this season that I'm in right now so that when things are different this time will not have been wasted. Because you can really only live one moment at a time, and when I am living this future life that I hope for, I won't be enjoying my own uninterrupted thoughts in my secret room in Mount Vernon where everything I want is within arm's reach and the dishes are done in two minutes.
It has taken me a while to realize that just because things aren't what I planned them to be, it is not a sign of cosmic failure. It just means that, apparently, my plans weren't big enough.
It has taken me a while to realize that just because things aren't what I planned them to be, it is not a sign of cosmic failure. It just means that, apparently, my plans weren't big enough.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Guess where I am right now!
Give up?
I'm in my new digs, my secret room in that big ole house up on the hill in Mount Vernon, listening to Paul Simon, sipping a caramel macchiato (sp?) and siphoning off my downstairs neighbor's internets while it rains like the end of the world outside. I heave a great sigh of contentment. (Seriously, I really did just sigh. I'm that pleased!)
For those of you not in the know, I recently moved. Actually, my family helped me move (an adventure worthy of its own post. Sometime when I'm not so relaxed I shall relate the harrowing affair in its entirety. It involves a ton of junk that Sarah hasn't the heart to get rid of, a "one-wheel drive" U-haul, a hotel room, and lots and lots of snow.)
I just had one of those Christmas breaks that are so good for the soul that they leave you feeling ready to take on the world. My mom and dad and brother and I basically got snowed in at my grandpa's house in Port Angeles (the promised land--flowing with creamy soups and prime rib). We consumed a scandalous amount of food (four Costco pumpkin pies!), slid down the hill on giant garbage bags (snow in the face, but still delicious fun!), played card games, figured out the chord changes for a couple of Christmas Carols, watched movies, and snoozed. But the best part, the very best part of it all, was the time we spent just sitting around and talking. It was sweet and rich like expensive dark chocolate. And, to top it off, I got to hold the long awaited Barley* (a.k.a. Greta) on two separate pilgrimages to Walterland!
Well, that's about all I can write right now. Mr. Simon has fallen silent, my frothy caramel-flavored coffee has been sipped to its whipped cream and syrup dregs, and laundry beckons.
"Farewell, old friend[s]...until our next meeting."
(Who says that line, Adrienne? Mine is an evil laugh...)
* 'The Barley' is an affectionate family nickname for my cousin's new baby. Her real name is Greta Cherie Walter. She was just born two and a half weeks ago.
Give up?
I'm in my new digs, my secret room in that big ole house up on the hill in Mount Vernon, listening to Paul Simon, sipping a caramel macchiato (sp?) and siphoning off my downstairs neighbor's internets while it rains like the end of the world outside. I heave a great sigh of contentment. (Seriously, I really did just sigh. I'm that pleased!)
For those of you not in the know, I recently moved. Actually, my family helped me move (an adventure worthy of its own post. Sometime when I'm not so relaxed I shall relate the harrowing affair in its entirety. It involves a ton of junk that Sarah hasn't the heart to get rid of, a "one-wheel drive" U-haul, a hotel room, and lots and lots of snow.)
I just had one of those Christmas breaks that are so good for the soul that they leave you feeling ready to take on the world. My mom and dad and brother and I basically got snowed in at my grandpa's house in Port Angeles (the promised land--flowing with creamy soups and prime rib). We consumed a scandalous amount of food (four Costco pumpkin pies!), slid down the hill on giant garbage bags (snow in the face, but still delicious fun!), played card games, figured out the chord changes for a couple of Christmas Carols, watched movies, and snoozed. But the best part, the very best part of it all, was the time we spent just sitting around and talking. It was sweet and rich like expensive dark chocolate. And, to top it off, I got to hold the long awaited Barley* (a.k.a. Greta) on two separate pilgrimages to Walterland!
Well, that's about all I can write right now. Mr. Simon has fallen silent, my frothy caramel-flavored coffee has been sipped to its whipped cream and syrup dregs, and laundry beckons.
"Farewell, old friend[s]...until our next meeting."
(Who says that line, Adrienne? Mine is an evil laugh...)
* 'The Barley' is an affectionate family nickname for my cousin's new baby. Her real name is Greta Cherie Walter. She was just born two and a half weeks ago.
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