I want to gay marry this woman.

Keith Olbermann also has a very stirring speech on the passage of prop 8. It's therefore a little old, but I link it here in case you are interested.

A Tale of Woe and a Waste of Cocoa

So I decided at about midnight that yes, I was gonna give in and bake something, even though I've been trying not to eat so damn much. The problem with this plan was that we lack butter and eggs, both things you generally need. "No problem," I thought, "I'll just look up a vegan recipe on the Internet. Of course, we don't have any applesauce or egg substitute, so we'll just have to see..."
I found a suitable recipe (in that I had all the ingredients at hand) and began mixing it up. The recipe called for a cup of oil. "Screw that noise," I said to myself, and used only half a cup. This seemed to suffice, as the resulting batter/dough was still rather oily, and I shudder to imagine what it would have looked like had I used the full amount.
Roadblock number 2: I do not own an appropriate pan for squares. I generally use a round cake pan instead, only this time it seemed a little small. I pressed the dough into it (some oil leeching to the top and making me begin to regret this whole baking thing) and it seemed a little thick. "Oh well, I'll just put a pizza pan under it to catch any drips." (This turned out to be unnecessary; it didn't overflow.) I put it in the oven (in which I am continually forgetting to reposition the racks, so one is very high and the other very low, and it is NOT a convection) and set it for the minimum time (25min). It goes off, I check it, the centre is still a little gooey looking. I set it for the rest of the time (5 more min). It looks done, so I pull it out and let it cool on the counter.
Twenty minutes later, I remember it's there, and go to take a wedge. The middle is still dough, cleverly disguised under a layer of crust. Shoot. This has happened to me before, and it has never ended well. I recall a cookie pizza that was basically a pile of superheated dough. So I have a genius idea. Metal is an excellent conductor of heat, right? So if I embed a fork in the middle, it will facilitate cooking. I put it back in at a higher temperature for 15 more minutes. After that elapses, I take it out, and naturally reach for the fork. Turns out metal is an excellent conductor of heat. After jamming my hand in the freezer and almost having my fingers stick to a bag of peas, I put the damn brownies back in, getting seriously cheesed at this point. Fifteen more minutes, and it's still freakin' soup in the middle. I put it on the top shelf this time.

Now what happened next, I can only guess. Either the oven finally caught up and reached 400 degrees, or the top rack is MUCH hotter than the bottom, but either way when the timer goes off there is smoke slowly curling out of the vent. Wisely, I turn on the fan before opening the over. I doubt my neighbours would enjoy the dulcet tones of our smoke alarm at what is now 1:30 in the morning. Once I peeled the carbonised top layer off the barely cooked innards (seriously, I may have inadvertently created an extremely heat resistant polymer, call NASA) I have a bite, only to discover that it kinda tastes like oatmeal and wheat chaff.

I have never in my life been a worse cook. The only thing that could have made it worse is if it had overflowed, but at least then I would know that the damn thing was cooking. I figure the whole thing is karma for breaking my oath of no more baking.


And now the first two fingers of my left hand are rather full of pain, especially as I type. This weekend's term paper party is gonna be SO MUCH FUN.







ps. THE SCIENCE WAS SOUND

A Daily Poem

340 (280)

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through--

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum--
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My Mind was going numb--

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space--began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here--

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down--
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing--then--

- Emily Dickinson


thoughts?

3:22 AM

Yes, it's true, it really is that late. I don't know why I do this to myself.
It's been a very mixed bag of a week, for no interesting reason in particular.

It has come to my attention that most of the movies I enjoy the most have surreal or fantastical qualities. I have no idea why this didn't occur to me before, because now it seems quite obvious. A list for you:

Beetlejuice
Being John Malkovich
The Truman Show
Like Water for Chocolate
The City of Lost Children
The Gods Must Be Crazy
Mon Oncle
Aguirre The Wrath of God
Princess Mononoke
Heavenly Creatures
The Secret of Roan Inish

I consider these to be surrealism-lite, in that they all have a clear linear plot, and the abnormal or absurb elements never reach the extent where they obscure the rest of the story. Some of these are more closely related to fantasy, and many could be considered magical realism. It's true that when I first began A Hundred Years of Solitude in high school I didn't really like it, but the more I read the more I understood what it was doing, and the more I understood the more it seemed to appeal. What these movies have in common is an exploration of a reality so very similar to our own, and yet not. There are fantastic elements next to the mundane in the fabric of these universes, and thus are unremarkable. (A possible exception is Beetlejuice, but it had to be on the list.) The whole idea speaks to me in a very profound way, one that is difficult to articulate.
If you can recommend any other books or movies that you've run into, I'd be grateful.

Someday I'll find something more anecdotal (and thus entertaining) to talk about.

They've just stopped trying.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but before/after ads are supposed to give you examples of real people (like you) and their results (which therefore could be yours also). Animating the results of your systems kinda seems counterintuitive, if you follow that logic.

My thought places are empty.

Ok, tv rundown of shows I have been watching/stumbed upon.
Mercy: sucks
Trauma: sucks
How I Met Your Mother: good
It's Always Sunny in Philidelphia: good
Eastwick: sucks
Glee: meh
Family Guy: good
The Cleveland Show: sucks


Sorry for the copout dudes, but I have nothing interesting at all going on at the moment.

O Canada!

A Complete Guide to the Diagnosis of Sleep Deprivation

1. Subject exhibits a sense of detached euphoria, and may or may not jitter like she has Parkinson's.
2. Subject will unconsciously and furiously clench jaw, often to the point of pain.
3. Subject's extremities, particularly the feet, are cold and sore with reduced capillary reflex.
4. Subject appears to be smuggling large game animals in the bags under her eyes.

Symptoms brought about by the "all-nighter" phenomenon, which is in turn caused by chronic poor judgement and inadequate time management skills. Subject will likely demonstrate a propensity to avoid work through purposeful distraction, overcome only by approaching dawn and deadline.

Treatment as follows:
Sit.
Write.
Write more.
Eat.
Sleep.
Edit.
Write.
Edit.
Edit.

Never take more than 2 doses daily - treatment is to be spread out in the weeks approaching trigger events.

Should treatment fail, beat subject around the head with a big stick.

Yesterday

For most of my life I severely and drastically misunderstood the lyrics of the Beatles' song "Yesterday". You know the part where Paul says "Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't say. I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday"? Well, instead of the correct interpretation, where he says something wrong, I thought he meant he said "something wrong?" and she left him in a passive-aggressive fit of pique, because surely he should already know what was wrong. My version of this song seemed to speak deeply on the troubles of man/woman interaction, how signals are missed to tragic consequence, and how love is a great mystery. Imagine my humiliation when, like a bolt out of the blue, it occurred to me one day that I was making all that up.
Well, at least it wasn't like the first time I tried to sing Blinded by the Light.

And for another peek into the inner workings of my frail and mysterious psyche:

Yesterday night, when I was trying to get to sleep, I had one of those bizarre rage episodes. You know the ones, where you are half asleep but still beyond livid with something, filled with a consuming rage that makes it impossible to function? (Please say you know what I'm talking about, or at least nod soothingly.) This one was centred around a waking dream where there were too many pillows on my bed. Seriously, that's it. I just hated those GODDAMN FRAKKING PILLOWS JUST DIE ALREADY WHY ARE THERE SO MANY STUPID PILLOWS?
I, of course, eventually calmed when I woke enough to realise that I was sharing a bed with just the regular amount, and they were not conspiring to suffocate me.

I'd say it was brought on by being doped up on flu meds, but I don't have any. (In the house, I mean. But right now I'd kill for some. Damn you, bronchitis or whatever!)

Goodnight, my wonderfuls, and may your dreams be happy and pillow-free.

If you need cheering up, or even if you don't, how 'bout you revisit your childhood for a bit, when your biggest decision was what you wanted for lunch, and your parents were the smartest people in the world, and life wasn't scary at all.

The great big oops, or What I did on my Summer Vacation

For the past couple weeks, I've been vacationing on the lovely Vancouver Island, visiting my grandparents. Fun was had, sticks tossed in the ocean, minimal money spent (it's a good thing to vacation with your parents, because they will buy your meals.) Partway through, however, my computer decided that it had had enough of its thankless life, and gave up. In the fixing process, once I returned home, I lost everything I had saved. Not a big deal, really, but I have now learned the importance of backing up. I am now re-writing my short story, which is a good thing as it's rekindled my interest and thus enabled me to see why I was having trouble with the last draft. So in lieu of that, here is an anecdote from my time away.

My grandparents have several screen doors, one of which opens on the pool patio. My sibs and I were preparing for a swim, and the dog was outside. I looked up, for no particular reason, and saw that the dog had his ball in his mouth, and was eagerly dashing for the door to show us. As I'm sure you can guess, he did not notice the screen. With the sound of a gunshot, he collided at top speed (and he is a big dog). The entire door popped off its tracks, and the dog disappeared upstairs, tail between his legs. We put the frame on, no problem, and I went up after him. I found him curled up in a corner, and I tell you it's impossible to anthropomorphise, because he was clearly extremely embarrassed. He didn't look at me, or wag his tail, or anything. A few treats coaxed him out of his funk, but he still wouldn't come downstairs and was very wary of doors. This inspired much babytalk on my part, along the lines of "Aww, who's a silly puppy? You're soooo embarrassed, aren't you. Poor doggy dog. You were so happy with your ball and now you are so sad, awww."

Not five minutes later, on her way out to the pool, guess who walked straight into the exact same door and unhinged it again? That's right, yours truly.

At least the dog felt better after he saw that.

Slipped the leash.

So my story that I've been not shutting up about is now about 2000 words, and will likely exceed 3000 when it's at last finished. I am plugging away regularly though, and I hope to have it up within a week.


A note on tv (again): There is a show called True Blood, you may have heard about it. It sounds like something I should like, so I occasionally try and keep up with it. Lots of swearing, people lying to each other, nudity, blood. (Wow, and now it sounds like I just listed the things I like. I meant fantasy, people. It's about vampires, okay?)

Anyway, as I was changing into my bike clothes and trying to remember not to put my pants on inside-out, I had a thought. True Blood- a pretty badass name, no? But blood is literally the only bodily fluid that is badass. True Bile? Vomit. True Spit? No. True Tears? Sounds like a barrel of laughs. True Pee? A fetish film. Maybe it is already. It would take a braver soul than I to google it. The only thing that approaches blood's monopoly on awesome is sweat, but True Sweat seems more suited to a reality show about bodybuilders on Spike tv, which is only badass until you realise that most bodybuilders are very strange people who have life goals amounting to walking on a stage, to music, in a speedo, in order for someone to pat them on the back, give them a sack of money, and say "Congratulations. You have the scariest veins ever. Please wash off that fake tan the instant you get back home?"



More blogging anon.