Sunday, February 17, 2008

Radiohead and Thom Yorke


I love the Beatles and I always will, but DAMN I love Radiohead. I could listen to Thom Yorke's voice all day. Actually, I wouldn't mind having a cup of tea with him and just looking at him, hearing what he has to say about life.

My favorite songs are 15 Steps, Bodysnatchers, Jigsaw Falling Into Place, Paranoid Android, In Limbo, National Anthem...but really all the songs are gorgeous. OK Computer, In Rainbows and Kid A are incredible albums, and I like The Bends, but I guess it wasn't weird enough for me. I didn't really care for Pablo Honey. I haven't heard Amnesiac, Hail to the Thief yet. So how can ya be a fan if ya ain't heard all the tunes, Jen? I just am!

Gee, how many other Radiohead fans have typed the exact same thing as this? I don't really care, I just had to write about it!



Saturday, February 16, 2008

One of the few things I enjoy lately...


Not so long ago, I realized that I wanted to start recycling. Our bin was stowed away at the side of the house and it was filled with dead branches. I wondered "How much time and effort would it take to start recycling? Probably too long..." It started off small enough: a few tin cans here and there. Then I began looking closely at items for the ubiquitous recycling symbol, and I was mesmerized by just how much I could keep from going to the dump, only to decompose (or not)over a very, very long time. It's amazing how much you can recycle! Every Friday I fill the bin to the rim and this last Friday, the bin was filled to capacity, plus an extra 6 inches over the top! I like it so much, that I have noticed a bit of a sanctimonious feeling come over me when I see a lack of bins out on Fridays, or ones that are not filled all the way. I would think, "Come on people, you can do this!" But this is the first thing I have been really stoked about in a long time because I feel that in some way (no matter how miniscule), I am doing something for the environment.

I'm going to hug some more trees now. Our oak tree in the back yard looks a little forlorn...:)

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Here there is no why


I would like to know why I am the way I am: full of self-doubt, fear, anger, sadness. Maybe I already do know why. Genetics? Childhood? And does it really matter WHY? How do I escape from myself? I'm always there in the shadows, lurking. No matter how normal I try to be, the dismal specter is always there, compromising my efforts. I've tried just about every (legal) psychotropic pill made on Earth, and I have not been able to find the right combination of serotonin and dopamine uplifters or downshifters, stabilizers, sanitizers or equalizers! I seem to have a toxic stew of neurotransmitters in my brain that would send the witches in Macbeth in a tailspin. Too bad I can't throw some eye of newt into the mix! Wonder what it would do?

Anyway, what else is there that could help me to feel better? ECT? With my luck, I would end up like Randle McMurphy at the end of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. But of course, he had a lobotomy as a final measure to quiet him, not ECT. I just want to feel NORMAL! Is that too much to ask?

I'd donate my personality to science, if they could extract it from me and give me a shiny, happy one!

Or...if this is even possible, how can I ever accept the way I am and learn to even like myself, despite my shortcomings?

Sunday, June 10, 2007

December 2006- March 2007



Friday, February 23, 2007

Nice, but not home
Current mood: nostalgic
Category: Life


I like Katy, Texas. It's clean, there is a lot to do (esp. with Houston nearby) and a hell of a lot of pride in the state and just in general. But there is something missing. It's not home. Mardi Gras came and went and you would never know it here. I'm not a huge fan of parades, but it's nice to see a bit of revelry occuring just for the hell of it. People here are nice enough, but a bit distant. In Louisiana, you can say hello to a stranger in the grocery store and they would return the same greeting, often with a smile. Here, they act surprised if you are friendly, like you have something wrong with you. I miss the gentility, even if it means that I am flawed and weak for needing it.

There are a lot of things I like about Texas. But there is no place like my home sweet home, Louisiana. As imperfect as you are, I love you. We'll be back some day.

January 2007


Saturday, January 20, 2007

Ava's words
Current mood: chipper
Category: Life


She can say baby, bus, puppy, doggie, bus, owl, kitty, ball, teddy, bunny, dog, bee, pea, pop, stinky, pio (1st Spanish word!), queue (1st French word!), mama, daddy, apple, purple, elbow, done, Jen, go, pretty, knee, key, cook, toe, two, my___, it's a ____, that's a ____, dumb, bye-bye, blue, yes, no, tea, yay, hi, thumb, up, ice, cold, bad, poor, good, bus, pee-pee, poo-poo and pow. There are others, but I can't think of any more! She knows how to get her point across, though...If she is sleepy, she'll start making a snoring sound.

She really didn't start talking until right after her 2nd birthday. Now she babbles like crazy and is starting to use more 2- and 3-word phrases. It's so cool to see her language use flourish! She LOVES books and I am also reading books to her in Spanish and French. I hope she loves languages like I do.

*She is learning a new word every day. Sometimes two! Go Ava!*

Random Blatherings I've Found

Sesquipedalianisms
Received Fall 1987. Date written unknown. By Professor Thomas Hon @ Northside High School, Fort Smith, AR.

In promulgating your esoteric cogitations
or articulating your superficial sentimentalities
and amicable or psychological observations,
beware of platitudinous ponderosity.
Let your conversational communications possess
a clarified conciseness, a compact comprehensibleness,
a coalescent consistency, and a concatenated cogency.
Eschew all conglomerations of flatulent garrulity,
jejune babblement, and asinine affectations.
Sedulously avoid all polysyllabic profundity,
pompous prolixity, psittaceous vacuity, ventriloquial verbosity,
and vaniloquent vapidity.
Shun double entendres, prurient jocosity,
and pestiferous profanity, obscurant or apparent;
and, above all,
don't use big words.



Linguistics joke

A Midwesterner arrives in Boston for business, and decides that while he's in town he should try some of the seafood for which New England is famous. So he gets into a taxi and asks the driver, "Where can I get scrod around here?" And the taxi driver responds, "A lot of people ask that, but you're the first to use the pluperfect subjunctive."

(Scrod is the pluperfect particle of "to screw". And scrod is a type of fish)

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHahahaha...hah..ha..oh well...I liked it, anyway!


Latest Ava quotes
"I weird!"

"I want to see Cars again and again!"


"Daddy throw Ava on the couch!" --what the...??!!??

"Turn on the light on."

"Silly bad cars."

"Mommy sit on the couch and watch Cars with Ava."


Spelling Bees in other languages

Bees Overseas
How do spelling contests work in other countries?
By Michelle Tsai

Close to 300 boys and girls will be stepping up to the mic at this week's Scripps National Spelling Bee. They hail from across the United States, as well as from countries like Germany, Jamaica, the Bahamas, New Zealand, and Canada. Wait, do non-English-speaking countries have spelling bees, too?

Not exactly. Spelling bees are a particularly British and American phenomenon. The orthography of some Romance languages, like Spanish, is so regular that one can easily figure out the spelling of a word just by hearing the way it sounds. English, on the other hand, contains Latin, Greek, Germanic, and other roots, not to mention whole words borrowed from other languages. That's why an American schoolchild might get stuck with tricky words like ursprache and appoggiatura.

Francophone nations aren't satisfied with mere spelling; they test for correct grammar, too. French speakers around the world enter Quebec's Dictée des Amériques, an international competition started in 1994. Contestants take a local multiple-choice test on grammar before moving on to the next rounds. At the finals, they'll hear a passage—composed for the contest by a famous author—read aloud four times. Each contestant must scribble down the text of the passage (word for word) in about an hour. Each mistake is a point, so zero—the score of Bruno Dewaele, one of the 2006 champions—is the best possible outcome. (Who says Americans are monolingual? The United States sends about 10 finalists to the dictée each year.) The Canadian dictée takes after France's Dicos d'Or, a contest that was discontinued a couple of years ago after more than two decades. The televised contest was so popular in France that families often took the dictée together. The Dutch also have a similar contest called Het Groot Dictee, which pits 30 regular folks and 30 celebrities against one another.

Nonalphabetic languages have their own competitions. Chinese kids join dictionary contests, where they look up words as fast as they can. Unlike English, you can't completely decipher a Chinese character's pronunciation just by looking at it, and characters can have many components. Thus there are several ways to find words in dictionaries. Students can look for the character's radical, or semantic, root and search by the number of strokes in the character. If they know what the word sounds like, they can choose instead to look up the pinyin, or Romanized version, of the character. A third way involves a sort of Dewey Decimal System of words: By examining the strokes in the four "corners" of the character, expressing each corner as a number (a square is a six, for example), they can then use the resulting four-digit code to find a word in a special dictionary. Students also enter typing contests, where again the complexity of Chinese characters poses challenges.

In Japan, where Chinese characters known as kanji are part of the language, you might see entire families entering the Kanji proficiency exam, known as the Kanken. There are 10 levels, each testing for skills like writing, pronunciation, and stroke order. Level 1 is the hardest and requires knowledge of about 6,000 kanji; in 2000 just 208 people passed this test.


Great semi-quote about hs graduation


"highly inappropriate messages (such as "Thanks, Mom & Dad") were placed on mortarboards, etc.. Then we looked at the administrators, who had become nothing more than giant, pulsating forehead veins..."

Friday, May 04, 2007

Ode to Pharmaceuticals

O Lovely Lamictal
Soothes my seething soul
Sweet Cymbalta
makes me forlorn no more
And Klonopin, kind Klonopin
makes the world to me a friend...

This is god-awful poetry, but these things sure do help me to feel better!

Thursday, November 16, 2006

It just happens...


But I guess it's okay.

No matter how hard I try to be "normal," I end up feeling like the oddball, the black sheep, the weirdo.


I don't know if I come across as being as strange as I feel inside.

But suffice it to say, I feel like a weirdo, especially out in public.

You can easily spot someone who feels socially awkward, can't you? The one whose face gets a bit too red too often, who maybe laughs nervously or doesn't know what to say. The one who is self-conscious about their appearance, their clothes, the way they walk or speak. The one who worries about whether what they just said was stupid or not.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has felt this way.

If you have ever felt like this, drop me a line.

If not, congratulations.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Thus Spake the Critics


What Critics and
Writers Are Saying
About My New
Book of Poetry,
The Doberman Plot.
BY SEBASTIAN BITTICKS

- - - -

"Spectacular in the sense of existing somehow. Thought-filled, word-filled, sentence-filled verse."

"The Doberman Plot strikes a match on your eyelid and, before using it to set the cuffs of your pants on fire, asks you to consider the color of the flame."

"Sebastian Bitticks goes on record as not being a child pornographer, and, in doing so, goes on record for all of us, who are also not child pornographers."

"Slick, rain-proof stuff. Poems to paper your house with, poems that could survive a shipwreck and a plane crash."

"[Sebastian] stands alone among poets of our age in his enacting of interventions into the capitulations we each one posit as our response to something or other."

"The Doberman Plot belongs at the vanguard of the new aesthetic. You know, the shitty one."

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Anyone for lists?


L I S T O F I D E A S F O R
I D E A S F O R L I S T S .

BY BILL WASIK

- - - -

Lists that take notice of the fact that a thing has a silly name, and go on to extrapolate other silly names for that thing

Lists that take notice of the fact that certain phrase is silly, and proceed to come up with other silly phrases, ones that are cleverly parallel to the first phrase that kicked the whole thing off

Lists of things that pertain only to my own life; but unimportant things, so that people reading the list are amused by my feigned narcissism

Lists that allow me to say some things which are themselves funny, but less funny than the fact that the things don't have much to do with each other

Lists that repeat something over and over again, past the point where a lesser humor-writer person might have stopped

Lists that are the unedited dumping-ground of my unconscious

Lists that trivialize the serious

Lists that elevate the trivial

Lists that are, upon reflection, perverse

Lists of reasons why a certain sensibility is squandering the talent of an entire generation of writers

Lists that absolve even as they damn

Lists on a bus, lists on a car

Lists to make you a superstar

Lists to win and lists to lose
But these here lists will rock your shoes

And these are the lists
List it up, list it up, list it up!

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Sadness, etc.


I can't sleep, so I am up trying to get my mind off of whatever it is that is bothering me. I don't even know what it is. Just bouts of sadness and anxiety that keep passing through my mind, unwanted thoughts. Aaron and Ava are sleeping, and I'm left alone with my thoughts. Since we moved, I feel so isolated and alone. It's nice to have a bit of psychological space from my folks, but to not have any friends or relatives nearby really sucks. This is pointless typing about it because I cannot stay focused. Screw it.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Ava's Evaluation

Ava was evaluated today in all areas of development, and was found to be significantly delayed in ALL areas…

UNTIL I noticed on her eligibility determination sheet that they had written her age as 31 months. I asked the team about it and told them that she is only 19 months, at which time they apologized profusely. They then said she is not significantly delayed in any area, and only slightly delayed in adaptive skills.

Her age level at the different areas of development follows:

Cognitive 19 months
Expressive communication 19 months
Receptive communication 19 months
Motor 19 months
Social/Emotional 18 months
Adaptive (feeding/eating, dressing and sleeping) 16 months

Remember, they thought she was 31 months old, so the above numbers would have reflected a serious delay if that was her age.

I’m relieved! She’s going to have a hearing test and I’d like to get her tested for anemia.

That’s all for now!

Monday, July 24, 2006

Bring back Melanie to the Good Night Show!!


Who cares about her silly videos she made in college?
Please PBS, bring her back, but leave Star where you found it!!

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

What would Bulwer-Lytton say

An opening sentence containing a burrito, an angel and a shovel was judged appalling enough to win the annual Bulwer-Lytton literary parody prize on Tuesday.

Retired mechanical designer Jim Guigli of California was proclaimed winner of the contest, which challenges entrants to submit their worst opening sentence of an imaginary novel.
Guigli's winning entry read: "Detective Bart Lasiter was in his office studying the light from his one small window falling on his super burrito when the door swung open to reveal a woman whose body said you've had your last burrito for a while, whose face said angels did exist, and whose eyes said she could make you dig your own grave and lick the shovel clean."

APPROVES

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Summer fun!


Ava and her dad are having fun playing in the hose on a warm summer's day!

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

How to Sabotage Friendships and Alienate People



Yes, with these two easy steps, perfected by me, you too can lose friends and alienate people!

Number one, for relatively new friends or those you haven't seen in a while, keep calling and writing everyday, whether they respond or not. Then when they don't respond, keep asking if you did something wrong. Remember, don't give them any space to breathe.

Number two, for well-established friendships, don't call or write. They should know you care, even if they don't hear from you for months and months. Then, out of the blue, send them an overly friendly gift or card, vowing your undying friendship.

Yes, you too can be alone.

Sigh...

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Mark (not the Gospel) has a few questions for W



Dear President Bush,

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great
deal from you and understand why you would propose and support a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage.

As you said "in the eyes of God marriage is basedbetween a man a woman." I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defendthe homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination...

End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her? (I'm pretty sure she's a virgin).

3. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord -Lev.1:9. The problem is, my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

4. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2. clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it? How can I help you here?

5. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Aren't there 'degrees' of abomination?

6. Lev.21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?

7. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed,including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

8. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin ofa dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

9. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I am confident you can help.

Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Posted by: Mark (not the gospel) December 18, 2004 02:27 AM

Saturday, June 17, 2006

MPFC's Michael Palin at his finest, as Presenter



'SPECTRUM'

Presenter
Good evening. Tonight 'Spectrum' looks at one of the major problems in the world today - that old vexed question of what is going on. Is there still time to confront it, let alone solve it, or is it too late? What are the figures, what are the facts, what do people mean when they talk about things? Alexander Hardacre of the Economic Affairs Bureau.

Cut to equally intense pundit in front of a graph with three different coloured columns with percentages at the top. He talks with great authority.

Hardacre
In this graph, this column represents 23% of the population. This column represents 28% of the population, and this column represents 43% of the population.

Cut back to presenter.

Presenter
Telling figures indeed, but what do they mean to you, what do they mean to me, what do they mean to the average man in the street? With me now is Professor Tiddles of Leeds University...

Pull out to reveal bearded professor sitting next to presenter.

Presenter
... Professor, you've spent many years researching into things, what do you think?

Professor
I think it's too early to tell.

Cut to presenter, he talks even faster now.

Presenter
'Too early to tell' ... too early to say... it means the same thing. The word 'say' is the same as the word 'tell'. They're not spelt the same, but they mean the same. It's an identical situation, we have with 'ship' and 'boat' (holds up signs saying 'ship' and 'boat') but not the same as we have with 'bow' and 'bough' (holds up signs), they're spelt differently, mean different things but sound the same. (he holds up signs saying 'so there') But the real question remains. What is the solution, if any, to this problem? What can we do? What am I saying? Why am I sitting in this chair? Why am I on this programme? And what am I going to say next? Here to answer this is a professional cricketer.

Cut to cricketer.

Cricketer
I can say nothing at this point.

Cut back to presenter.

Presenter
Well, you were wrong... Professor?

Pull out to reveal professor still next to him.

Professor
Hello.

Cut to close-up of presenter.

Presenter
Hello. So... where do we stand? Where do we stand? Where do we sit? Where do we come? Where do we go? What do we do? What do we say? What do we eat? What do we drink? What do we think? What do we do?

Mix to stock film of London-Brighton train journey in two minutes. After a few seconds the train goes into a tunnel. Blackness. Loud crash. Cut to signalbox as before.

Signalman
(calling out of window)
Sorry!

He goes back to wrestling with bear.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Our Aunt Millie

She died today, on her 84th birthday, alone in a nursing home. She died peacefully, in her sleep. Not to say that our family didn't visit; my brother stayed with her for 2 hours yesterday, in tears the whole time because he knew how little time she had left. He asked her to squeeze his hand if she knew who he was, and she responded by feebly moving her hand to her forehead. And my mom and her sister were there yesterday, too. Her last word to anyone was the word "yeah" when asked if she would like some water. I meant to visit her before we moved here, but I never got the chance. You always think you have more time than you actually do. Maybe I just didn't want to accept the fact of her mortality. There had always been an Aunt Millie in my life, so shouldn't she always be around?

My brother told me on the phone yestererday afternoon that she was dying. After we hung up, I lit a yellow, sweet-smelling candle that I intended to blow out when I heard of her passing. I lit another one, a purple candle, for my family that I hoped to reunite with soon. Mom called me at 5 pm, a few hours after my brother and I spoke, to tell me that Aunt Millie had died. Strangely, I looked over at the yellow candle, and it was out. Neither I or my husband had blown it out. The purple candle was still lit.

Aunt Millie would bring cinnamon rolls down the street to her sister's (my grandmother's) house when we would visit. We would enjoy them straight from the package, and the mood was warmed by Aunt Millie's boisterous laugh, sometimes at her own bawdy jokes. I was 7 at the time, and was ushered out of the room before she would spin one of her naughtier yarns. You knew it was bad (and good) when you would hear the uproarious laughter that followed. Getting to hear one of those jokes first-hand at about 13 was a real treat.

"I love you/ A bushel and a peck/ A bushel and a peck/ And a hug around the neck" is what she'd sing to us when we were kids. She called my brother "Bruiser." I was "Jenufenuf."

She hand grated all that coconut for her coconut cake! You knew that the fluffy tower of white cake was a work of love and magic, just quivering underneath that green cake plate lid. She was one hell of a cook, in that small kitchen with the walls painted the colors of nicotine and cooking grease. A towel was the pantry door, and behind it lay all her secret ingredients, ones that no one but her knew about, so secret was her operation. She cooked alone.

She lived alone in that tiny house on the corner for 32 years, until she went into the nursing home 4 years ago. In it, she drank hard, played card games at the kitchen table through a thick haze of smoke, a torrent of beer and a gale of fresh laughter from her brothers and sisters who were visiting from "up the country". She took care of her husband Joe for ten years, until his death in 1968. While together, they swam deep in the rivers of drink and debauchery, but there was always a steady stream of laughter. Their union left no children. She said she'd always considered my mom as her daughter, though. She called her "Judy-Poo."

When Aunt Millie had a stroke in 2002, her cantankerousness was replaced by a docile creature that no one really knew. Someone that was sure she was going home, but who didn't realize that her home had been sold in order for her to get into the nursing home. She spoke often of going into downtown Baton Rouge with Joe, and of meeting with her relatives, especially her mother. She would say that they had visited her that day. Then, as she realized the error, she would tell us, "No that can't be right. I know Mama is dead."

The last time I saw her, Aunt Millie hardly knew who I was. I brought my daughter with me, and she would ask repeatedly, "Whose baby is that?" Her eyes were vacant, and she said she did not feel good. She had to wear diapers due to incontinence. She had sores on her feet that would not heal.

I believe that the woman who was our Aunt Millie died when she had that stroke 4 years ago. Her spirit had succumbed to age and illness. I am glad she is no longer suffering, but I will miss her.

We love you, Aunt Millie. A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.

My kind of station...So pathetic, it's brilliant!


XM: Special X, Channel 848

Rock on, boys!


Special X is traditional radio's worst nightmare...a collection of the most bizarre and often worst music ever recorded. So pathetic...it's brilliant. A clearly deranged channel, Special X will take any sane mind to new depths of artistic insanity.

Just played:
Do Ya Think I'm Sexy by Those Darn Accordians. Yes, you hear a triangle in there! Put together wobbly vocals, strange musical accompaniments, the tingle of a triangle and Rod Stewart's saucy sexed-up disco lyrics and what you have is a god-awful mess, or genius!
Either way, it's fun!
Now playing is Like A Rolling Stone butchered, erm, recited by Sebastian Cabot of Family Affair. Yes, Mr. French does Dylan. Badly.
But good for a larf. He does sound sincere, which makes it even funnier.
Like the station's slogan says, "If everyone hates it, we'll probably play it!"
Love it!