My roommate’s birthday gift (which was a month late) was Firefly DVDs, and his Christmas present to me was Serenity.
It’s a Firefly kind of holiday. And BSG starts up again on the 8th. 
You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2005.
Like so many little kids who get neat toys then end up playing with the boxes instead, my cat steps up to the plate post-Christmas. I gave her a little plastic mousie with rattling things inside. She is currently playing with a jalapeno pepper. I did not give her the pepper, she thieved it from the counter in the night, from a pile of late-late-season harvested peppers from our plant in the backyard - which, again, is putting out more peppers, in spite of winter.
Roommate’s cat, otherwise known as ‘my other laptop,’ has turned into That Little Sack of Jello Wrapped in Cat Fur that Lays Across My Arms. If I sit down anywhere in the apartment she gets in my lap and curls up, somehow spreading her compact little tabby body into an arm-swallowing mass that evidently wants only to soak up the warmth of a lap.
As in, decided to make some. For some reason no one did any for Christmas, and I craved it.
Lori’s Fudge, in X easy steps, and X hard ones
1. go to the store and get ingredients you don’t have on hand. For me, this was bittersweet chocolate and walnuts.
2. upon arriving home, realize that neither you nor roommate has stocked up on sugar, and there is not enough in the house. Go back to the store.
3. chop three Ghirardelli extra bittersweet 4 oz bars into chunks, small as you can manage
4. pour four cups sugar in large heavy bottomed saucepan.
5. Add one cup half n half, and one cup heavy cream
6. add 1/4 tsp salt
7. add 1/2 cup light corn syrup
8. mix over low-med heat until sugar is dissolved
9. turn up heat slightly, bring mixture to boil and let it boil for a minute
10. at this spot in the Joy of Cooking recipe, it tells you to brush down the sides of the pan with a pastry brush dipped in hot water. After pondering this a bit, I did it, assuming some arcane cooking tradition that I should respect.
11. with pot removed from heat, mix in choc bits until melted. brush it down again.
12. return to heat and cook until 238F, which is the soft ball stage, as they say in candy cooking lingo. Of course, my candy thermometer is still in a box and I have no idea which of the four boxes it is. I used the thermometer my roommate uses with his tea set, shhhhhh.
13. remove from heat, put in 2 tblsp butter (unsalted) and 1 tsp vanilla extract, (do not stir unless you like grainy fudge) and cool to 110F. I half filled a sink with cold water and stuck the pot in there, otherwise I’d still be waiting.
14. stir fudge until it starts to lose the glossy sheen. At this point add in walnuts, crushed peppermint, whatever you like in fudge.
15. line a pan with foil and butter it, and pour in the fudge. I used a pan too big to hold with one hand and had to be creative in figuring out how to scrape it all out.
16. Let sit for one hour.
17. score it with a knife and put in refrigerator for 24 hours. or,
18. eat it warm, while watching Simpsons reruns. mmmm, fuuuuuudge.
…that I haven’t said in a friendslocked post elsewhere, anyway. But I have to mention, because I am self-absorbed that way, how much I was amused by the dogs my brother has taken in. They rescued a half doberman, half lab from the pound - is there any other kind of dog that could be more conflicted than this? The dog looks vaguely dobie, with a lab tail and lab feet and the gleeful stupid-cute personality of a lab, but while we were walking the two dogs around the sleepy neighborhood of the sleeply little town, the dobie came out to roar and snap at a much larger strange dog who dared to come up to make friends with us.
The other dog loved me on sight. She’s a bull mastiff, which I’d never met one before, but evidently they are loyal, steadfast, not-goofy dogs that make good watchdogs and family pets. I came in, sat down, petted each dog, and while the other mutt gyrated about the room in its lunatic labbish fashion, the BM sat down, thumped her tail and gave me a big doggie smile. She slept at the foot of the hideabed all night, sneaking back after being ordered to her own bed, and she lay at my feet whenever I sat somewhere there was room for her.
I have been thinking that if I ever got another dog, I would pick one of the bull breeds — I don’t much care for boxers or the American bulldog, but Olde English and Victorian Bulldogges are appealing to me. I liked the bull mastiff for her manner, which wasn’t goofy, but sedate, obedient, and calm. She has presence. And since my apartment was robbed, I do tend to think in terms of security, and most bull breeds make decent watchdogs (though I would not want one of the bull terrier breeds, as some of them are definitely too aggressive).
Went last night with a friend. I have to say that visually it was pretty much how I always imagined it, only in living color. I don’t remember whether all the details of the storyline conform to the book - it’s been a long time since I last read it. I reread my paperbacks to tatters when I was a kid, but my favorites of the series were Voyage of the Dawn Treader and Magician’s Nephew. Anyway. I loved all the attention to detail, I loved the score, which complemented the movie and gave it nuances rather than driving the tension like more overtly manipulative scores (I dislike movies that try to make up for deficiencies of writing and/or acting by pumping up the music; they switch me into MST-mode). I loved the Lion. I loved the kids. I saw all the parallels with LOTR and did not care - they’re in the original as well. Shared plots do not bother me; originality is in the execution, and this was wonderfully executed, guaranteed to drop my jaw repeatedly.
I want to hug a beaver now. And a fox, and about a zillion other animals. And Edmund. The movie really brought him to life in a way that the book didn’t; the additional character development was well thought out and actually contributed instead of driving me nuts the way other similar novel-to-movie translations have done.
In short, SQUEE!
The only annoyance was the two girls I nearly bumped into in the lobby after, who were busily comparing the fauns to hobbits. Mundanes. Hmph.
…of Christmas, the spammers gave to me:
twelve fake diplomas
eleven vioxx tablets
ten preapproved applications
nine paypal phishes
eight fake bank notes
seven software cds
six porn pics
fiiiiiiiiive aaaaaasian briiiiiiides!
four house loans
three viagra soft tabs
two free quotes
and a million from a guy in Africa!
Merry Christmas Everyone! Happy Holidays, peace and joy to you, and here’s a hug from me and the cats. (Actually the cats don’t like hugging, but they’ll happily shed on your pants in the spirit of giving.)
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen this commercial, but it’s beautiful. Bandwidth necessary.
Ronco ro-tiss-err-eee!
I have now seen the entire first season of BSG, several episodes of MASH, and way too much daytime tv. Ron Popeil must be making more money than Donald Trump, Martha Stewart and Halliburton put together. The guy buys airtime on all kinds of channels at all times of the day. I’m waiting for the Ronco all in one — it bakes, it roasts, it bastes, it stirs your veggies, it slices dices and splices, and hey! flip open the back and there’s a television set because you can… Set it! And Forget It!
That would be more ludicrous if you couldn’t already buy refrigerators with tv sets in the front. They have those at Best Buy.
I hate colds. Because this is undoubtably a cold — there’s no body ache unless you count the headaches, there’s nasal discharge, there’s coughing. And there’s vertigo — when I get up too fast the apartment tries its best to get away from me. And oh, there’s also the sick mouth. How I hate that gooy coat of foulness that I get in my mouth when I have a cold, that makes everything taste horrible. I get really hungry, get a big dish of something wonderful, eat a few bites and… lose interest. Like, ugh.
I had to call in sick at the job, and at the clinic — I had two full days of appointments and reasonable certainty of them actually showing up. What do I do? Decide that instead of driving across town with a spinning head and coughing in people’s faces, I should have the admin staff call and reschedule everyone for next week. So I get to lay around the house — that’s no fun when you aren’t awake to do goofing off things, when you can’t sleep a wink at night because coughing wakes you up every few minutes and you’re sweating, and then you’re too cold, and then the cat won’t stop trying to sleep on the most inconvenient part of your anatomy and why isn’t the NyQuil working?
It’s not the worst I’ve been sick, not by a long shot. The first time I had the stomach flu I was like eleven, maybe twelve years old, and we were at my grandparents’ house. I passed out on the bathroom floor and woke up with a fleur de lis impressed on my cheek - thanks, old linoleum floor! - and my nose pressed against the base of the toilet. Then there was the bout of stomach flu at my parents’ house, and I was in the World’s Smallest Bathroom, which if you put one hand on one wall and the other on the opposite wall, you would still be able to bend your elbows. There was just a toilet and a small sink in there and a two by three foot bit of linoleum floor, and somehow when I passed out in there I managed to fit in the space. I woke up with a really sore head and my arms pretzled around me. Living on 7-Up for a week wasn’t fun, and I haven’t had the stomach flu since I was 24, so maybe I’ve done my time praying at the porcelain altar?
There was a scary moment the other night as I tossed and turned and tried to get back to sleep when I thought I might be getting pneumonia. One of my clients was hospitalized with it. I knew someone two jobs ago who managed to get walking pneumonia. My chest was aching and the cough sounded different, more a whole-body cough, with diaphragm-wrenching action. But I haven’t coughed that way again and my chest feels better today.
One thing about daytime tv that I find amusing, rather than stupid or treacly or Just Plain Bad (see soap operas), is the court shows. People are willing to cop to the stupidest things on those shows. Loaning money to someone who already owes them a zillion bucks, letting someone drive a car after they’ve lost a license, letting someone rent a room/apartment/house without written contracts…. Oy, these people. All right, I lied. I find these stupid, too. But unlike the other shows I can sit through it and laugh instead of wincing til it hurts.
Today, sitting up doesn’t make my head pound. So I’m thinking I must be on the downhill run, and tomorrow I need to be at work.
And thank you, Seema, for your well wishes. 
I’m sick. The nascent head cold has come to the fore, I sound like a guy, and have been instructed to stay home and get better.
So I’m rewatching BSG from the pilot. That should help, right?
I have had a totally stuffed up head for a couple of weeks now - endless congestion that will not go away in spite of repeated dosing with every decongestant/antihistimine in the cabinet, and it’s that strange sort of congestion that stays up in the sinuses and never gets into the nose itself so there’s no way to blow your nose and get any relief. And also, I’ve had a horrible horrible sore throat, mostly due to … drainage. I’m guessing, anyway.
This morning, I awakened with such a horrible sore throat and such a balloon-headed sensation, that I couldn’t take it any more. I gargled with salt water repeatedly, even though it hurt. And I rinsed out my nose with the neti pot, which was also painful, and somewhat icky, because it really produced some satisfying results. And then I took a bunch of ibuprofen (again) to handle the headache that I’ve had for four days straight and never quite goes away…. And finally I feel human again. Salt water. All the modern medicine over the counter couldn’t manage it, but salt water worked.
Someone I know had horrible leg ulcers for years. She took a suggestion given her to wash it in salt water, and the ulcers healed up in a shockingly short period. This was after many months of doctor visits and meds that didn’t work. Don’t know what salt water’s about, or how it works, but googling reveals loads of anecdotes about healing with salt water. Lithium salts are the oldest effective treatment for bipolar disorder — they’ve no idea how that works either. I guess I can understand why there’s so little research (I found none, actually) into why/how it works, because it’s so much more profitable to create and market pills than to suggest a teaspoon of salt dissolved in warm water….
She’s sitting on the powerbook to the left of the trackpad. When I backed away from the desk, she balanced there nicely but didn’t stick around for another shot.
Nice TNG mouse pad, yes? None of the characters actually look like the actors. Someone gave it to me a long time ago.
COLD
COLD
COLD
brrrr.
I feel like categorizing this with “follies o’ fanDon’t.” Because if you like relatively-realistic techno plot devices, decent characterization, actual plots that make actual sense, the ability to suspend disbelief, decent acting, or pretty people — don’t bother with this television series. Roommate and I barely survived the first DVD. My eyes hurt from rolling. The netflix reviews were mostly positive, and it was compared to Alias and held up as the predecessor to it, and now I’m thinking, reviewers on crack!
Okay, okay - I see you pointing at all the Trek stuff on my website. But you know, in Trek, there were things that made inconsistencies forgivable, and the technobabble could be written off - Trek was always more about ideology and people than science, and DS9 brought in religion as well. There were characters you liked, ones you loved, and ones you hated, plus a few you wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers.
Nikita the series had nothing. Nada. Zip.
In the first episode, a woman we see for all of five seconds as she bops down the street and stumbles upon a murder scene is convicted and sent to prison and gotten out by the mysterious Section One. We know this because of about 65 seconds of scenes, cutting back and forth between the alley and Nikita strapped down on a bed, and some voiceover. We don’t know who she is and I completely failed to care. Because I don’t know her, I don’t want to know her, and there’s nothing of her reaction to any of it except for the confused look on her face. Another few minutes of wooden actors droning out instructions to her provide the setup — and now that she’s a super!secret!agent she’s put through training, which we later discover in a single woodenly-delivered line took almost two years of this agency’s resources and so forth…. Then there’s a series of scenes in which she is sent on a first mission, which she fails to resolve as directed, and then she’s suddenly on the carpet and Chief Wooden Spy is lobbying for her dismissal, whatever that means, and then suddenly… she’s on another mission. Why? don’t know. (Chief Wooden Spy made Chakotay look positively vivacious and charming and proactive. I wanted to cite him for failing to be as broody and intense as he kept pretending he was.)
Other credibility strainers: Nikita is given a very nice apartment and a new name, and instructed to maintain a low profile and say she is “between jobs” if the subject comes up, and immediately she starts decorating with funky colorful art she makes herself, and … why? this was a girl on the streets wearing filthy jeans, and hints are dropped that she’s down on her luck and had a bad childhood etc, and suddenly she’s artsy girl? She has no close friends, no family - she can’t talk to them, anyway - and when in the second episode a woman she knew in grammar school calls her real name and gets involved due to simply being present when Nikita is On The Job meeting Bad Dude in a bar — by the end of the ep the “friend” is someone else who just happened to know who she really was, and why she was doing this to Nikita is a total mystery, as is Nikita’s continued residence in the apartment and continued involvement with Section One because hey, SHE’S BEEN COMPROMISED. The evil guys know who she is and where she is. So WHY IS SHE STILL THERE? There is NO attempt at even a half-*ssed explanation. In the third episode the bad guys are hiding in a retired military bunker, broadcasting to airplanes at a nearby airfield and causing them to crash like a good terrorist group. Why are they doing this? I don’t know. Because they’re bad guys, apparently. Why are they still holding a captured Section One agent in their basement? For years they’ve kept this woman and the bad*ss Section One agents couldn’t track her down? Couldn’t figure out where the terrorists were broadcasting from? Couldn’t figure out this bunker was using vast amounts of electricity to power all the computers and whatnot? Couldn’t guess that they were 1) close enough to the airport to do all these plane-related things so 2) do a search with helicopters and foot soldiers until 3) you find the retired military bunker, which should have been the first place you looked if it’s the closest and best facility, so why didn’t you check it if you knew it was there? And why is it still there? Don’t military orgs decommission and tear down and fill in unused facilities that aren’t resold for other uses? There are bases along the coast being converted to housing as we speak. And while we’re at it — the terrorists use DNA keylocks, which you can use if you have the hair of an authorized person. You hold the hair up to a little glowing screen and it reads it and lets you in. Thumbprint readers would be more reasonable, more available, more secure, and more plausible in this unforgivably stupid world they’re creating. They don’t have the technology to track down terrorists whose identities are known to them without first kidnapping a kid who’s been chatting with the terrorists in IRC (oh, how painful that sequence was, where the brilliant Section One computer geek could not manage to accurately describe what IRC was, how the internet worked, or manage to hack into a protected channel - let’s kidnap a kid who has a password instead). They threaten the kid with all kinds of illegal consequences, he gives them the password, and Nikita goes in to meet Head Bad Guy masquerading as the geek - Roommate and I were miming shots to the head as she woodenly pretended to be a rebellious script kiddie, seduced a terrorist geek to knock him out, pluck a hair, and leave the facility undetected to lead the gang of super!agents back to a facility that again, they cannot find by scanning for heat signatures, energy use, some sort of technology as advanced as the DNA door lock, or just plain “hmm, are there any facilities around the airport that have been abandoned that these guys might hide in?” It’s secret agents as imagined by ten year olds.
Incalculable dorkage. Hamhanded acting. Inexplicable details — I laughed for five minutes when the two main spies, Nikita and GenericUnresolvedSexualTensionGuyWhoRidesTheEdgeOfDisobedience, stop in front of a huge window to talk Seriously about Something, and behind the window… six people in purple sweatshirts doing tai chi in about six square feet of well-lit space. It’s the Super Secret Section One Hideout, and they’re intently doing, not kung fu, not target practice, not boxing, not plotting out a mission on a board, but tai chi. In purple. With inadequate space to move. In front of a window overlooking a much larger space, which had previously been shown in use as … a workout room for people doing jujitsu. WTF?
I do not want to see this show again unless Mike, Tom Servo and Crow are in silhouette along the bottom of the screen. I’d rather watch first season TNG. Or possibly stab myself in the leg, or read the DaVinci Code, or some other comparably painful act.
Bring your own bleach, that is. Have it ready…
Now bleach out the visions of EWWWW, and join me in the Squirmy Squirm Eek Dance.
I just finished the final for my research class. Worst score I’ve ever gotten on a test. But, due to A’s on other assignments, I have a solid B. The first one since I got into the program… I’ll probably still make the Dean’s List.
The 17″ singing monitor was giving me a headache every time I tried to use it. Since this seemed to indicate a dying CRT, I’ve used it less and less. A gift of $$ on my birthday and a pretty good sale at Costco later, I have a Viewsonic 19″ LCD widescreen that works with laptop and desktop beautifully, and has the added benefit of being big enough that I can start up an episode of something or pop in a DVD and watch while in bed. Which I normally only do while ill, but if I do catch what’s been going around (any one of what’s going around, there seem to be a couple flu strains and various head colds about) I’m prepared.
And, at +- 8 lbs, the LCD doesn’t perpetuate that unsightly bow in the computer desk. Particle board wasn’t meant to carry a zillion pound CRT.
Woot!
Speaking of woot - check out woot.com. I added their RSS feed to Safari on the off chance they have a deal I’d like. Shipping is really reasonable. I wanted the amphibious remote control tank for my nephew, but they sold out in a big hurry….
We’ve expressed concern about The Tabby before, about her age (13) and whether or not she’s senile. Roommate has a theory about cat brains. There’s a board with holes in it in their heads, with labels on the holes — hungry, sleep, crazy, poop, pee, hunt, shed, etc. And there’s a marble that, when it falls in a hole, determines what mode the cat is in, until something knocks the marble out, and next thing you know the cat’s collapsed in a fur heap and falling asleep after tearing around the apartment five times like a crazed lunatic.
Tabby must have grown a ’senile’ hole, or perhaps a ’suicide’ hole. I came home, opened the door, and she greeted me right there with a raised tail. I went back out to the car for grocery sacks and as I left the doormat she dashed out to come with, I guess, and a half-***ed attempt to brush my pantlegs she stuck her foot under my shoe. She’s okay, just her pride wounded, but dang. She used to be better at footsy than that.
Now she’s sitting in my lap purring. Short memory, or hungry cat?
I’ve noticed that not only am I become tediously anal about my writing, I’ve managed to accumulate drafts of blog posts - which more often than not are deleted.
I miss being spontaneous. Some people can claim their genius is really hard work - I sometimes wonder if the really hard work is obliterating my only real spark of genius. Any time I get a laugh at a party, it’s something off the cuff and unplanned, whereas telling jokes that I’ve heard elsewhere gets me a token smirk and dispersal. Email for email, the fics that got the most feedback are the ones I edited least. No one seems to care overmuch for things I’ve worked really hard on - well, there’s that one novel, but ….
I’m resisting the urge to save as draft. Geeze. What have I become? This is a nothing post, a little bit of meta, navel gazing not unlike a hundred other navel gazing posts. I need to stop pondering and get on with life — even though I seem to be living to ponder, so technically I’m getting on with life while pondering….
I think I have not had enough coffee.
Finally came from Netflix, and OMG what creeeeeeeeeepy oompah loompahs.
It did not help that the guy that played them was the same guy that featured as the legless killer in that X Files episode “Badlaa”. The one who wore fat guys as costumes to move around the world? Yeah. That one. He even had the same angry expression that he had in the X Files. EWWW. I squicked my way through the whole movie. He’s also been in about a million other things as the bad guy.
Depp was creepy as well. I have the feeling that Roald Dahl would have appreciated it. I noted a “Felicity Dahl” in the credits and wondered… and imdb tells me that she was none other than Roald’s second wife, who “Was best friend of actress Patricia Neal until she became the second wife of Roald Dahl, to whom Neal had been married before.” Now, there’s some trivia. (quote from Imdb.com)
As the end wound its way through the warm-fuzzy resolution, Roommate asked if the book ended that way, because we’d heard this movie was closer to the book than the Gene Wilder version. I don’t think so. It’s been ages since I read the book, but it seems to me that the compromise in the movie did not happen… Anyone remember what the end of the book was like? For some reason I think it was closer to the first movie - the ride in the glass elevator, sailing away from the factory.
Scheduled: 6 hours of client time, two of paperwork/phoning, one of lunch.
Actual: 1/2 hour client time, one phone contact with client who has stomach flu, one constant busy, one answering machine, two lines disconnected and one “not at this number”. 6+hours of attempted phone calls and writing notes for charts: “called, no answer/left message/disconnected/other.” One letter mailed: “why haven’t I heard from you?”
Studies have shown that people who pay for therapy actually show up. People who are willing to spend money for it are generally people who “buy in” and really want help. Them’s the breaks.
PERCEVAL PRESS - Frequently Asked Questions
Viggo has a small publishing company. He also writes poetry, and has had some bit parts in fairly minor movies… you might remember the one with the ring in it? He also takes pictures and records music.
I heart Viggo. He dreams it, he does it.
Apple - Trailers - X-MEN 3 Announcement Teaser - Large
Jean! Jean! Jean! She’s mean! (At least, that sure looks like her, on the right, in the scene with Magneto’s Mutant Army marching forth…)
And there’s Beast, and the dude with the wings… this looks good.
Titles observed recently:
The Lion, the Watch, and the Wardrobe. Must be the story of a well-dressed Lion and his Timex….
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. This was part of a short story I wasn’t listening to as someone read it for NPR. I did a BIG double take when it rolled off the actor’s tongue. Someone out there is creating a HP/Mickey Mouse crossover without realizing it.
Last night I went to a very early Christmas party and belted out “Joy to the World” as the last contestant in a karaoke contest for a huge basket of popcorn goodies. I think I must have channeled Beverly Sills. The only way to do truly impressive karaoke is to throw yourself into it wholeheartedly regardless of the fact that you cannot in fact reach two octaves and are an alto/high tenor, and your voice is really best suited to choral applications. I had a standing ovation (though I am certain that was likely due to the open bar) and many compliments (ditto) and was only able to perform because I had downed numerous plastic cups of sangria. I lost, to the loud obnoxious woman with mounds of blond hair and the quieter lady in black sequins, who wore fabric antlers and danced and sang Jingle Bells.
And then hostess/friend gave me a birthday present wrapped in Christmas paper (which happens a lot) and the result is something I’ve decided must be Harry Potter’s goblet of fire. Cracked glass cup, sequined base, candle inside. Either that or knights will show up any time to take home the grail. It’s not “me” and I’m guessing that I need to spend time shopping with my friend (ugh, shopping) so that she stops getting me “I-don’t-know-what-to-get-you” gifts with the disclaimer that she won’t be hurt if I use it to re-gift.
Roommate is making me coffee and potato pancakes. This is the first birthday in a long long time that I haven’t felt like just pulling the covers over my head and ignoring it. We’re going to get a Christmas tree today.
Thanks, Rocky and Seema, for the birthday wishes.
I just realized my birthday is in two days.
Stressed much? Usually I’m more aware of the calendar but this semester has just flown by in a blur. It didn’t help that winter is arriving late to the party - usually there’s fog, of the sort that you need a machete to get through, and usually there’s rain in street-flooding amounts….
What a year. I want a vacation. Maybe I can win a cruise or something.
Would it help if I told you it was a retelling of Serenity?
Good fun. Love shirtless!Mal. “Holy crap, it’s a teenage girl wielding some battleaxes! We better call backup!” Snrt.
Have you ever said something you thought was quite clear and straightforward, had the listener nod and look all thoughtful and comprehending, then realized from their detailed reply that they just started thinking on some totally different plane and did not actually get a word you said? And their interpretation was completely out of context from the preceding conversation?
Man. I’ve never been so totally aware of how English can be two different languages.