Ask me how!
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Thursday
Speaking of stupid.
Lost is back!
Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.
[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]
He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??
Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.
Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.
Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.
[End Spoiler]
I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!
Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.
[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]
He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??
Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.
Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.
Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.
[End Spoiler]
I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!
Wednesday
I'm sorry if my aunt is one of the worst hurricanes on record.
So, hurricanes, man. Of all the things you can say about them, I've chosen to pick perhaps one of the least important aspects of them and make a fuss over it.
The naming of them.
Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.
Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.
Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.
What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.
Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.
Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)
I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.
It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.
It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.
The naming of them.
Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.
Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.
Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.
What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.
Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.
Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)
I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.
It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.
It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.
Thursday
Oh, yeah, incidentally?
I'M FUCKING BALD!!!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
Wednesday
A haircut, a real job, and the attainment thereof.
So far, I've been paid to have people dress me up and do my hair.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
Tuesday
I like this aspect.
An editorial from the Times-Picayune, September 6, by Chris Rose.
Louisiana ambassadors say hello
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Louisiana ambassadors say hello
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Sunday
That's all I was looking for.
"But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us 'Sin City,' and turned your backs.
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."
-- Anne Rice September 4, 2005
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."
-- Anne Rice September 4, 2005
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