Friday. Constantine. There’s a review in the works, a collaborative effort with the mighty Zip. But for now, let it be known that I might’ve been wrong. Also, it was more than a little unsettling to get carded as we walked into the Medlock Bridge movie house. Yes, I know that Constantine is an R-rated film, but I can’t remember the last time (or any-time) that someone actually ensured that I was not only ticketed properly, but over the age of 17. I suppose it was because of the content, the high-end good versus evil subject matter, because for a movie about empty-skulled demons and black-winged angels, there wasn’t a surfeit of gore and hardly any nudity. None, actually.
Saturday. Cleaning, cleaning and then some cleaning. Our house hasn’t looked this “adult” (it was the word that kept coming out through the day, so I’m going with it) in a long time. It’s simply amazing what a little organization and some furniture rearranging can do for your home. Our prime motivation for the scourging was Sunday night, of course, but we’ll benefit from this more in the long run. And the cats, too … though I’m sure they’ll miss the now diminished piles of lounge-worthy laundry.
We ended our Saturday with Jewels and Low. This was a kind of celebratory dinner to mark the latest JIVE printing (now in a full-figured 8.5″ x 11″ size). Low picked Kobe Steaks, which sounded like a great idea at the time. When I first moved to Atlanta in 1995, I frequented a now-defunct Irish pub that occupied the groundfloor courtyard of The Prado in Sandy Springs, probably because it most resembled Durty Nelly’s, a favorite haunt in Chattanooga. Everytime I went, I’d pass the big, dark doors of Kobe and I would imagine the coolness and class that waited inside.
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I know you’re out there. You LJ-people. Frittering about with your little communities and commentaries that stream for pages after pages. I know all about your abbreviated languages that vary from group to group like so many dialects across a virtual foreign continent. Your user icons. Your current moods. Your current music. And let’s not forget those adorable “FLists” of yours.
Well, little buddies, FList this. Really. It’s a syndicated feed of this weblog that can be added to your LJ friend’s list. And just like everything else on LJ, if you feel the need to comment and can’t be bothered to click on over here, then just comment away in your LJ.
(And yes, I will readilly admit that I stole this idea from Gray … though I thought about it sometime last week and he must’ve overheard me thinkin’. He’s clever, that one.)
I have two nephews. Blake and Brad. This is a big year for them, because they will be ten years old in June.
I received an email this evening. Brad has started writing his autobiography. Chapter Five focuses on the differences between England (where they live) and America (where they were born).
When I think about the differences between England and America, I think of England being cold and America warm. England having rain, America having tornadoes and hurricanes. England is more historical, and America is more modern. England is small, America is huge. They drive on the oppisite sides of the road. It snows a lot in America, not much in England. In America we celebrate Thanksgiving. English celebrate the Queen’s birthday and Guy Fawkes day. Now you see how different England and America are. Well, I guess this story is now over.
And there you have it. Nothing else need ever be written about this subject. Ever.
(Inspiration for this post’s title is here.)
Nothing much to be said today. Too busy.
But let me tell you … if you’re needing an underscore to keep your head down and your mind in your work, you can’t beat this:
The third installment in the Splinter Cell series of video games will be released on my birthday, March 29. The soundtrack to that installment — called Chaos Theory — was released last month and now lives in my iPod. It is just this side of awesome, loaded with great beats, world-spanning instrumental motifs and wicked minor key riffs that are equal parts Matrix and Diamonds Are Forever. It is like composer/DJ Amon Tobin kept John Barry and DJ Shadow on speed-dial. As such, it is perfect for getting work done in that “I’m living in a super-cool spy movie and the bad guys will win if I don’t finish my TPS reports” kind of way.
I notice on my calendar — my Edward Gorey calendar — that today is Edward Gorey’s birthday. A little math tells us that the late Mr Gorey would be 80 years old — if were he not so, well, late. So in rememberance of the man who brought so many of us joy through his gleeful pen-and-ink renditions of murders most foul and ideas quite macabre, have a couple of bleakly happy thoughts as you go about the rest of your day.
Should you need assistance with that mood, enjoy (darkly) this online gallery of paperback book covers, or make a virtual pilgrimage to the Edward Gorey House.
I was going to make some remark that tied the unfortunate fate of Paris Hilton’s T-Mobile account with the fall of France in 1940. Something about how the world is now marching down a virtual Avenue Des Champs-Elysees, taking mental notes and photos as they go. But really, if this is not an elaborate hoax or yet another successful attempt to lodge the image of Paris Hilton into our morning minds like a cheap Polaroid stuck to our bathroom mirror with duct tape, then we must recognize that the loss of one mobile user’s security affects us all. Because really, we’re not all that different from Paris Hilton, are we? Who among us is so certain that our own diamond-encrusted cell phone won’t be the next to be burgled? Are we so smug to think that the whole world might not be scrolling through our own celebrity-laden phonebook tomorrow?
That being said, we should all be ashamed for our gawking. To make ourselves feel better, I suggest that we all call Lil John and cheer him up with our own imitation of his trademark “YEAHH!!!” (I hear he loves that.)
RIP, you magnificent bastard.
Cats scratch. It is an expected behavior. Some do it more than others, but even the ones that do it rarely can still cause more damage than an owner might want. Our cats like resting and relaxing far too much to damage the living room furniture. Even the new chairs we purchased in the fall have escaped their wrath, proving a better place for sleeping than sharpening. But even the most angelic of animals have weaknesses. For our cats — particularly the grey one, Daeva — nothing should ever come between her and any of the following things: electronic cables, drapery cords, hair bands, twist ties or (as we recently discovered) portions of reachable border in our newly redecorated downstairs bathroom.
We are unaminously opposed to de-clawing our cats, so we had to find another solution that would save our sanity without harming the cats. Our answer? Lee Press-On Nails Soft Claws! Once you get over the ridiculousness (ridiculosity?) of the idea, it makes perfect sense. Don’t want the cats to damage things with their claws? Cover those claws. Simple. But … how do you manage to keep any cat still long enough to carefully adhere individual caps to each of their front claws? Put them in a bag, of course.
The process takes less time than you might imagine, and in our case, Daeva was rather resigned to the idea after a couple of claws. Also, she never gets to be on the kitchen table, so the novelty of being somewhere forbidden might’ve had a positive effect. And did you know these things come in colors? They do. Purple, actually.
In the end, Daeva was none the worse for her experience and back on good terms with her manicurist. It’s been about two hours since the application. So far, Daeva has napped, walked around, napped, had a bath and napped again — I think she’ll be fine.
Update: Now both cats know the joy of Soft Claws. Daksha seems less than thrilled.
John Lennon and Jeremy Hillary Boob, PhD (aka “The Nowhere Man”). New residents at work.
