Hell, they all be jammin’. The San Diego Derby Dolls played their last game of the season this past Saturday, and the sweaty hoards were there to cheer them on. My dream, of course, is to become one of these fabulous superwomen, but until I figure out a way to plant a crop of free time, I am not so sure… If you are in San Diego, come see their next bout in November. If you are elsewhere, check out the local rollers. I promise you, you’ll have a blast.
… And it looks fantastic! This type of body mod, paired with high tech, is where the future lies - human adornment made both beautiful and utilitarian. It would be cool if the gem were an LED, controllable by the muscles or the mind. Even D has an interest in subdermal implants, although he sees them as "anchors for the exoskeleton." :)
A friend of mine loaned me Fingersmith, by Sarah Waters, and I am enjoying it so far. This morning, however, one sentence from the book made me laugh all the way to work, and I have been sharing it with anyone who will hold still long enough. As blog readers, or even rss readers, you hold still long enough, so check this out:
Dainty, pass me an infant, I want something to squeeze.
Not only is it perfectly hilarious by itself, but it could easily become the grammatical template for a sentence generator, thereby giving birth to an endless number of similar wackiness:
Ok, y’all next.
… or at least tasting blue. On the bright side, however:
Now with 25% more doom!
I think that there are numerous kinds of insanity. Sometimes I can find my way to my compost heap of wacky, good insanity - usually with the help of friends who seem to have their own burgeoning crop of the stuff. I know I already mentioned gratitude once today, but it has been so long since I blogged that it couldn’t hurt to do so again: thank you, all.
… of sanity, that is. Today, I had a bit of a melt-down. It was nowhere as big as those I used to have: it did not last days, or weeks, or see me completely non-functional. I did not cry (much). I am getting better and better all the time, thanks to both therapy and chemistry. I still struggle, tho. Something bothers me, I tell my inner projectionist (to borrow an idea). If your worry can be solved by confronting the thing, do so, she answers. Ah, but this is not always the right answer. And so here I sit, sucking my toes and no less worried than I was before. I suppose that the right thing to do is to keep plugging away at making myself less of a psychotic asshole. A huge heap of gratitude, then, to those who put up with me anyway, new and old alike. Now I am crying. To bed with me before I short the laptop.
& 
Ah, but I do believe all is not lost. There is lingering hope. I am moderately sure a brain thusly amped on the wicked energy drink of the Web can, through honest time spent, through forcibly yanking the Ethernet cable out of one’s cerebral cortex, be re-rewired, untrained, re-addicted to the deeper juice. In fact, it isn’t that difficult, really. We just like to think it is.
from Mark Morford’s July 9th 2008 column, “You are not reading enough“.
I will admit that the note I wrote to Netflix customer service regarding their decision to kill their Profiles feature was probably far more ire-tainted than it needed to be. In fact, while I still believe that their attempt to do away with this beloved-by-the-fringe functionality was ill-informed and lamely defended (especially when a good majority of its users seemed to be tech-savvy enough to see thru the smoke), I was shocked at my own wrath. Anger management being another topic altogether, however…
I would like to thank Netflix for taking the flood of subscriber comment to heart and reversing their plan. Outside of this recent kerfuffle, I have had nothing but good experiences with Netflix: Their selection is top-notch, they have fantastic customer service, and they are tons cheaper than cable. I am glad that my family and I can continue to get what is not available legally anywhere else, and hope to add the new Roku box to our arsenal sometime soon.
Let’s see if it works better if you already have the post written. Will everything align like it is supposed to?
Inchy and I had lunch, and later, I shared a midnight snack with a nice gentleman on the sidewalk in front of Jamba Juice. Joy is wherever you look for it.
[Enter stage right]
Here it comes! See her. Read it. Love it. (You will….)
[Exit stage left]
[Enter stage left]
I’d have to say (3) Death, in the mall food-court, (1) with the Pain slingshot… (2) and while “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” by Edith Piaf echoes from the crappy PA system and ricochets thru the mall like kicked tin cans bouncing on flecked, institutional marble.
[Exit stage right]
[Enter rear center stage]
Saturday’s the big match. You should come, if only to see this woman, who is a goddess and hotter’n hell (although I only get her for the articles, I swear.)
[Exit stage-diving off front center]
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