πτερόσαυρος

Check it:

The first birthday of my last tattoo is coming up, and it and I have been tossing around the idea of celebrating the occasion with…another tattoo. YEAH! My latest and most popular idea so far is commemorating one of the few things I will never, ever lose interest in, which I feel (and my cassette tape agrees) is well-suited for a permanent accessory: dinosaurs. Yes. Terrible lizards. Specifically, a pterodactyl. They’re the best. Not only is it a nod to my favorite of all the eras, The Mesozoic, but it is also a nod to my grandpapa, who co-wrote the following song with me when I was five (sung to the tune of Frère Jacques):

Pterodactyl, Pterodactyl

I have heard, you’re a bird

I can tell you one thing

I think you’re disgusting

You’re absurd, for a bird

And if that weren’t reason(s) enough, it will triple as a discipline tool when I have children, under the alarming alias Terrordactyl. I will show the unruly bastards the arm, and say, “You had better eat those peas or I’ll wake up the Terrordactyl.”

This may be my best idea since albums a la carte. Don’t steal it. ™®© and so on.

I need a human roommate.

So I moved into this new house. It’s a sassy little number on 10th and Pennsylvania. I know what you’re thinking, right on the Hill, bleurgh. Well it was finals week when I was looking and there wasn’t a student in sight and it was silent, as opposed to now, when I lurk around the house and watch all those students gettin’ wild in the street outside my house into the very wee hours. Right now it’s just me and Klausy in the house, which isn’t so bad. The Sclary Invasion of 2008 begins in two days. Klaus is a poor conversationalist and he doesn’t have the attention span for Arrested Development so I’m ready. Anyway, so when I moved in there was a sampling of Old, Befouled College Couches left behind, as well as a small-to-medium-sized tv. I don’t really need two of them, so I took the tv out with the couches to the dumpster and left it there. A couple days later I was standing by my back door staring into the alley for no specific reason, and they showed up to shred the couches when one of the garbage guys saw the tv. He kind of walked up to it and poked it with his toe. I don’t know why you would need to test the tv with your most expendable parts before getting close, few people take the time to plant explosives in abandoned dumpster electronics. After a good once-over, he looked around a couple times and picked up. He took it over and showed the other guy, and they were talking about it, the other guy was doing some nodding and gesturing, and then he took it up front and put it in the cab. Awesome! The tv has found a home. Then for some reason I took it a little further in my mind, and decided that he was taking the tv home to give to his daughter for her quinceanera, because she’d always wanted one, and she would always ask for one, like, “All my friends have their own tvs! Why can’t I?! It’s totally unfair.” And her dad would just say, “I’ve told you a hundred times, you can have a tv when you turn 15 and not a day before. I don’t care if you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t have her own tv. And anyway, none of your cousins have their own tvs, so don’t tell me you’re the only one.” But her quinceanera is, like, next week! And maybe her brother is going to a special science camp this summer but it was pretty expensive, so her dad wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get a tv in time for the party, but eureka!

…

And this was all while I was standing there like a crazy old cat lady staring at the garbage guys in the alley from my back door.

Sing it, Stephen.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=6ejxbKYVxg4

On the necessity of evil

You know what’s fun to think about?

 Nemeses.

That’s right. Some people might think this is a negative thing to focus on, but those people are probably the type who tip their hats to ladies, or call me “Sweetie” when I’m putting their g.d. cupcakes together, or thought 27 Dresses was “really cute.” And to those people I say: I do not care what you think. So go read some Jodi Picoult and stay out of it.

Anyway. Nemeses, I feel, are a necessary entity in everyone’s life. You must have a nemesis! Harry Potter had one; Luke Skywalker, Albert Markovski and Sherlock Holmes did too. Steve Zissou’s wasn’t even human! Ideally, you and this person/animal share a lot of characteristics - personality, looks, tendencies, all of the above, etc. - but maybe you see them as the evil version of you. Like, have you ever read The Dark Half by Stephen King? Where that writer uses a penname to write his horror stories, and then the penname comes to life and starts murdering people in spectacular fashion with paperclips and stuff? It’s exactly like that. For instance, I myself have a nemesis, who for reasons of common decency I will not reveal by name. This person shares many things with me: physical attributes, extracurricular interests, a penchant for felis domesticus… however, this person has also, over the years, exhibited many qualifying attributes of a bona fide nemesis: being the one of us who always got (stole) the guy, who always got the recognition you wanted for silly things, who had a… more extreme reputation. Perhaps your nemesis just copied your answers in second grade and passed them off as his/her own, and you still haven’t forgotten the burn. Maybe after years of childhood nemesism you two have become best friends/co-evil genius warlords. Even better.

My point is, the world would be without balance if there were no nemeses! Without the nemeses the good halves of the team would be nothing special! We would have nothing to feel vindicated for!

So, despite the frustration and suffering and fist-shaking GAAH! they may put you through, thank your local nemesis for all the smug justification you have felt at their expense thoughout the years. I bested my nemesis, won my battle. I’m sure I haven’t won the war. But it sure felt good, and I like winning, and without my nemesis there’d be no battles. And that, my friends and nemeses, is a dull existence. We might as well go see 27 Dresses again.

“If I cannot magnificently win a victory… it affords me no pleasure to merely slay a foe.”

- Victor von Doom

Once upon a time

I wrote this almost exactly one year ago. Three-hundred and sixty days, to be exact. And, it’s a leap year, so.

 …

Look, I’m not saying anything one way or the other. Not picking sides. Not telling anyone what to do. Not crossing this line if you’re not against me. If yes, then do.

I just think that if you go into something, or even begin to go into thinking about maybe one day deciding to choose one way or the other about something, with the mindset that you’re probably going to let someone down or change something for the worse somewhere along the way, you’ve already doomed it. People have to take risks, even if they know that their gamble might not pay off, or there might be a big I-Told-You-So waiting for them at the end. When it comes to Important Somethings, no one who’s been around a few years thinks life is going to be bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens all the time. You just have to hope that the really good parts outweigh the inevitably tough parts, and if you aren’t disillusioned from the start, it’s that much easier. And harder. Important Somethings are never easy.

My point is, hurting people and getting hurt and disappointment is part of life. Intentionally, unintentionally, schizometrically. No matter how much you want to avoid it from either end, it happens all the time. But you have to know that that’s only the half of it. I mean, if the obstacles or drawbacks or fears or inconsistencies seem to outweigh the benefits, then that’s that and it’s a decision you have to make and things’ll be ok in the end. It’s scary and hard and, well, gut-wrenching, but you just have to decide if it could be worth the risk. Sometimes it isn’t, and sometimes it is. Sometimes you need dynomite, and sometimes you have to fight it and let it live. That’s all I’m saying.

Business hours are over, baby.

Whew! It’s been awhile since I last had anything to share my feelings on. It’s funny, as soon as you get a little pregnant, blogs and the like just seem so unimportant. Instead, it’s all, “Which size breast pump will I need?”, “Get that sushi out of my face” and “Why has my baby daddy started sleeping on the couch?”

 Anyway, I have to go, there’s a diaper sale at Wal-Mart, and I should probably stock up.

Birthday month!

Yes that’s right, we celebrate my birthday for a whole month. Sigh. I am old. Welp, here it is, just in case you’re curious/shopping anyway:

1. http://thebanjohut.com/mastercraft%20banjo%201_small.jpg

2. http://www.kitchenetc.com/images/products/shprodde/199261.jpg

3. http://mailer.e-flux.com/mail_images/1161938880cabinet.jpg

4. http://paper-source.com/images/zoom/450682z.jpg

5. Your consolations on my elderlyness.

No pressure.

An examination of some foods that look gross or inedible but are, in fact, neither.

The list isn’t exhaustive; I’ve eaten only so many deceptively edible foods in my day.

1. tubs of yogurt before the initial stir

2. artichokes

3. Indian food

…

Anything else?

Ok, sorry. This seemed like such a solid idea when I was looking at a freshly-opened yogurt tub. I’m going to post it anyway in case someone has been thinking about trying artichoke but is afraid it’s just too weird to yield delicious results. And for good measure, one food that looks both gross AND inedible, and is:

Calamari. Ack ack.

I’ve an idea.

Here’s a flippin’ great idea that people, in particular the record industry, should have come up with by now:

Preceded by a hypothetical background anecdote:

You like music. Your favorite artist drops a bangin’ new album. You buy said album and, upon listening to it, discover that half the cd is less than face-melting. What the f? You could really do better than tracks 4, 5, 9, 11 and 17, (insert artist here)!

Here’s the solution:

First, the artist needs to gather all those songs they’ve recorded that didn’t make it to the album for some reason, including the really awesome encore songs they only play in concert. Then, they put those songs AND the real album songs on the iTunes store (or wherever) in one playlist, of like 30 songs, and when people pay for the album they can listen to the clips of all of them and choose like their favorite 20 or whatever. Buffet-style albums! It’s the way of the future.

Ew.

Is there anything grosser than an inexplicably wet bag of trash? No there is not.