Brought to you by Earth Day and people annoying the shit out of me on FB.
I have also been drinking more than I should, between the cat stuff and the job stuff and the social stuff, and it's taken a lot out of me. Time to not drink for a bit, I think.
Gif party in the comments?
* At least, as far as I know. There's a predictable fuck-up in terms of scans and appointments.
He is really courting the stoner vote, isn't he? I'd respect that a bit more if he approved of safe injection sites. Stoners be warned: This guy is not actually on your side. There is one law for most drug users, and another for Ford.
Now, granted, politics in Quebec are a complicated proposition that I tend not to analyze beyond shaking my head sadly and slowly, but what the everloving fucknuggets? Yes, the NDP doesn't have candidates in Quebec, but there is Québec solidaire, who seem pretty good, so maybe he could do something other than symbolically castrating himself in front of the entire country. Maybe. I don't know. I'm not a political strategist; I just play one on the internet. But that's cat-trying-to-be-a-bee-and-falling-off-t
The silver linings are twofold:
1) I didn't have enough faith in Mulcair in the first place to be disappointed.
2) No matter what I do, politically speaking, it will never be as dumb as this.
So I called a cab. When I got in, the guy was on the phone figuring out Koran orders. As in he was bulk-ordering Korans but the other guy had sent the wrong amount or something. He had not been sent enough Korans. Anyway, there was a lot of traffic so we started talking. He said he'd been a vet back in Pakistan and was working on getting his license here, but he'd only been here two years and was working as a cab driver in the meantime. I said, "well, welcome to Toronto, good luck, etc."
He said he really liked Toronto. Previously, he'd been living for six years in Scotland and hated it. Apparently all there is to do in Scotland is drink, fight, and curse the English, and there is a pub every 100 metres*. I thought the latter bit sounded pretty good, but then I said, "Oh, I guess you don't drink."
Which was enough to launch him on the most hamfisted attempt to convert me to Islam ever, with my dying cat purring on my lap. It was the worst conversion attempt I've ever encountered. Like, I would have done a better job trying to convert me to Islam. He wasn't even being a dick about it; he just couldn't come up with one argument that made any sense. (Example: He went from being a cell to a fully grown human, isn't that a miracle? I told him that I'm pretty sure that happens all the time. Also, you don't start with the "alcohol is evil" thing. That's like the worst selling point of any religion.)
Anyway, the whole thing was quite good natured and a distraction. I left him with the story of the Prophet Muhammad and the cat, which I think is a better argument for Islam than any of the ones he provided.
He said, "I'm banging my head against a brick wall, aren't I?"
"Yep," I said. "But you distracted me from thinking about how my cat's dying, and I really appreciate that, so thanks. Salaam alaikum."
So that happened.
* Which led to a funny discussion later with the_axel about how I wanted to go to Scotland now. Because it has pubs and castles. He pointed out that it is not all pubs and castles. I told him I was disappointed because I was picturing "castle, castle, pub" all the way down the street and apparently it's not like that.
If I had a broken pick-up truck, my life would be a country song right now.
Just over a decade ago, I went to the Humane Society to adopt a cat. Being a crazy cat lady (though, at the time, quite catless), I of course found myself paralyzed with indecision, wanting to adopt all of them. Until an oversized white paw whipped out from somewhere in one of the lower, shadowy, almost hidden cages and swiped my leg, and thus Marinetti declared me his own.
He was, at the time, almost four years old, on a medical waiver because of his deformed eyes and chronic herpes infection, and had been at the Humane Society the longest out of all the cats. He looked like a tough customer. Like most creatures who look terrifyingly badass, Marinetti was, naturally, a sweetheart.
Many of you met him over the years and can attest to the fact that he was the Best Cat. He was loving—often at inconvenient times and in inconvenient places, often aggressively affectionate—gregarious, and smart as hell. He was adventurous, even into his old age. What you may not know is that he was also a sensitive gentleman when he needed to be. During the darkest times of my life, he was my one constant, and my best friend.
( Details of how he diedCollapse )
This is the last picture I took of him, earlier this evening. The fact that he was being sweet to Cocoa here is some indication that he was not himself.
I'm heartbroken. Anguished. There aren't words, really, so I'm not going to try. I've known this was coming for awhile, and that actually makes it somewhat easier, because every second I've had with him has mattered. I know that he had a far better life with me than he would have if we'd never met.
But when I got home from the vet clinic and he didn't meet me at the door I almost broke. I don't know how I'm going to deal with a world that doesn't have him in it. Goodbye, my beloved kitty. I will miss you so much.
February 5, 1999—April 2, 2014
Marinetti was bleeding from the mouth so I rushed him to the emergency clinic. I'm waiting to hear what the vet says. I'm covered in blood and not optimistic. He didn't seem to be in pain and was purring but quite clingy.
Please keep us in your thoughts.
So, for those of you who have somehow missed this weird bit of popular culture, there are two House of Cards TV shows. One is a BBC series from I think the 90s starring Ian Richardson, the other is Netflix's interesting experiment with the binge-watching model, starring Kevin Spacey. They're both based on novels by Michael Dobbs, which I haven't read (anyone? should I bother?) and follow the adventures of the amoral whip of the party in power (Tories in the BBC version, Democrats in the Netflix one, more on that in a bit) who gets passed over for promotion and, in revenge, destroys everyone until he's on top.
When the Netflix series came out, PopeJohn tried to get me to watch it, and I was kind of like, "ummm, don't really like American political dramas," thinking that it would be like The West Wing. This may surprise some of you but I find American politics duller than the politics of practically any other country. It's not like there's a lot of variation in the political discourse of, say, Canadian politics, but it's still a greater scope than is allowed in American politics. Then he told me that the first scene is Kevin Spacey killing a dog and I decided to give it a chance.
(Because I love manipulative amoral protagonists more than cake, okay? Don't judge me. My formative years were in the grimdark 90s and I can't help it.)
I thought the first Netflix series was quite good. PopeJohn then told me that in the BBC one, they kill Thatcher, so I watched it assuming that it would be better. It was. (I mean, are you surprised? I like the non-American versions of most things better than the American versions.)
( Spoilers for both series, Hunger Games, and 1984Collapse )
P.S. bcholmes, it is now time for me to start watching Hannibal.
1. The Backward Glass, David Lomax
2. Transition, Iain Banks
3. Surface Detail, Iain M. Banks
4. Light Ahead For the Negro, Edward A. Johnson
5. Ready Player One, Ernest Cline
6. People of the Book: A Decade of Jewish Science Fiction & Fantasy, Rachel Swirsky & Sean Wallace (eds.)
7. The Fault In Our Stars, John Green
8. Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs
9. Crypotonomicon, Neal Stephenson
10. Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe
11. Ragtime, E.L. Doctorow
12. The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler
1. TARDIS Eruditorum Volume 1: William Hartnell, Philip Sandifer
2. TARDIS Eruditorum Volume 2: Patrick Troughton, Philip Sandifer
3. TARDIS Eruditorum Volume 3: Jon Pertwee, Philip Sandifer
4. Eyewitness Travel Guides: Morocco
5. TARDIS Eruditorum Volume 4: Tom Baker and the Hinchcliffe Years, Philip Sandifer
6. It's Complicated: The Social Lives of Networked Teens, danah boyd
7. Running With Scissors, Augusten Burroughs
It was an interesting experience. I did a poll. Most of them considered themselves proficient in Word. Exactly zero of them had ever had a single lesson about how to use Word. They were just sort of expected to pick it up.
In my day, we had keyboarding classes, not that I ever took any of them. Anyway, it's probably one of the more useful things I've taught lately.
Hey guys it's kind of a week/end from hell and I'm not home or near a computer much so if you don't hear from me I'm (probably) not dead and I definitely still love you.
The above image is the only rational explanation for the otherwise premature death of Dave Brockie, a.k.a. Oderus Urungus. I'm sure another cause of death will emerge, but this is the correct one. And also sums up why the world is a lesser place in his absence.
Here are some videos to remember him by.
Back when it was metal causing juvenile delinquency and not gangsta rap and Tipper Gore wanted to put warning labels on everything fun, here is GWAR on Joan Rivers talking about censorship.
GWAR covering "Carry On My Wayward Son."
Oderus reading "Goodnight Moon." NSFW.
ETA: jvmatucha has an awesome GWAR story plus more videos, so hop on over there too.