CrushWorld

...we will be fine/ Apollo 9/ even though NASA say we out of line....

From the archives... and they are considerable... a half-buried treasure.

Sixty Nine Reasons A Blogger Isn't Blogging

1. Writer's block.
2. The computer blew up.
3. Someone we don't like has been reading our blog
4. Too many people have been reading our blog.
5. No one at all is reading our blog.
6. The computer blew up.
7. The kitchen is being remodeled.
8. The cat had kittens....again.
9. Somebody is sick.
10. Somebody is in from out of town.
11. Somebody died.
12. The computer blew up.
13. Really excellent reading, that is to say, books.
14. The weather.
15. Broken arm.
16. Broken leg.
17. Broken arm AND broken leg.
18. Someone else is using the #@%&*! computer.
19. 'Days Of Our Lives' is on.
20. 'Oprah' is on.
21. 'Rocky MXLVI' is on.
22. Depression.
23. Hypersomnia.
24. The computer blew up.
25. The kids need something.
26. The dog needs something.
27. Shoe shopping.
28. Nails are too long.
29. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
30. The computer blew up.
31. We want to be really witty on our blog, but are short on wit.
32. Learning to knit.
33. Telephone lines are down.
34. The ISP got absorbed by another company.
35. Car trouble.
36. Secret spy missions.
37. Good sex, often.
38. Bad sex, too often.
39. No sex at all, suspect dysfunction.
40. The computer blew up.
41. A virus.
42. An anti-virus.
43. The Anti-Christ.
44. The Second Coming.
45. Chocolate binge.
46. Re-acquaintance with old school chums.
47. Vegetative state, temporary.
48. Vegetative state, permanent.
49. Cat scratch fever.
50. Lyme's disease.
51. Lou Gherig's disease.
52. Industrial disease.
53. Dysmorphia.
54. Tax season.
55. The computer blew up.
56. Incontinence.
57. Can't find a chair.
58. Forgot how to type.
59. Dog ate our homework.
60. Publisher's Clearinghouse arrived with a check.
61. The cops came to shut the party down.
62. Temporary insanity.
63. Permanent insanity.
64. Amnesia.
65. Overactive bladder.
66. Overactive imagination.
67. Kidnapped by aliens.
68. Dead in a ditch.
69. The computer blew up.

Is it plagiarism if I steal from myself? I like to think of it as recycling. The original date on this is 1 February 2005, which is not the END of my archives, ladies and gentleman, no INDEED. It is the MIDDLE.

I may never be a famous blogger. I may never be a wealthy blogger. I may never be a blogger with a book deal. What I may be is the Last Blogger Standing.

I'll be up against Wil Wheaton. His archives go back to July 2001.

If you go back to his second, reconstructed blog.

"CrushWorld: Last Of The Original Blogs."

So go on to your tweety-weeties and your facey-spaceys.

I will just sit back and wait.

(Apollo 9, Adam and the Ants)

Labels: capture, observations, recycling

...won't be long now/ getting strong now/ Gonna fly now/ flying high now....

Those of you who follow Primarily Decorative (hi, Mom!) may recall that she's a big fan of juxtaposition. Therefore it will come as no surprise that her newest fascination is Chess Boxing.



Brains! Brutality! Bare chests! Also, an accordian.



Okay, that's about enough excitement for a cloudy Wednesday morning.

(Gonna Fly Now-Theme from "Rocky"; Bill Conti)

Labels: geekism, keeper, wrongness

...If you want to destroy my sweater/ Hold this thread as I walk away/ As I walk away/ Watch me unravel, I'll soon be naked.....

It's not that I haven't been writing; it's that I haven't been writing HERE. I guess I need/want more interaction, and I've not felt as if I was dancing for anyone but myself here. So I've been on a weirdly wonderful site for fibre artists which has resources, but also groups and forum boards. They sucked me in the way chat rooms never did.

Posted today to the "Poets And Writers Who Knit" group.

Write something without using the letter ‘e’ at all.

Write a day from the point of view of the dog. Or the lawn chair. Or the homeless person on the bench.

Write a piece with words that smell or taste.

Write a letter to your favorite (dead person, fictional character, angel, pet) then mail it to yourself.

Write with your non-dominant hand.

Write your own obituary. Write your own eulogy. Put them with your Will.

Write a business letter entirely in LOLcat.

Write based on a word chosen at random from the dictionary.

Write like Yoda.

Write a paragraph that ‘sounds like’: the swishing of leaves, the clatter of the city, the roar of the ocean.

Write like Charlotte Bronte.

Write something beautiful about something ugly.

Write the reverse of a suicide letter: I’ve decided to live because….

Write like Yoda attempting Bronte.

Write the shopping list of a villain, real or fictional.

Write a love letter to your favorite body part.

Write me a message if any of these are helpful.

I suppose I haven't actually been blocked, just blocked for the sort of thing I generally post here.

Working through that, though with this list of prompts, one would think I've no excuse for blockage at all.


(Undone (The Sweater Song); Weezer)

Labels: geekism, keeper, observations, pisser

...I'm a sinner, I'm a saint/ I do not feel ashamed/ I'm your hell, I'm your dream/ I'm nothing in between....


Look at this:

2009 NOVEMBER PAD CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE
The second annual November PAD (Poem-A-Day) Chapbook Challenge begins on November 1 at my Poetic Asides blog. Throughout the month of November, I'll provide the prompts (and my own attempts at poems); you respond with your own poem in a super inspiring and supportive writing atmosphere.

Then, poets spend the month of December revising and organizing their November poems into a manuscript of 10-20 pages of poetry, which are then submitted to me. On Groundhog Day 2010, I'll announce a winner (last year, it was Shann Palmer).

Come join in the fun November 1. You can participate every day or randomly. There aren't any hard and fast rules or attitudes. It's all about the poeming!

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides

(beware: broken link.)

With winners announced on Groundhog Day. Are you kidding? I MUST do this.

So I will be at my poetry blog, hoping to write my way through the pile of frozen dead that's been blocking me for... a year? Yes, or more. I admit.

Patience, Mother

Ah, the smug self-satisfied
assurance of the 14 year old boy. Ah, the prevalence
of those who will not ever mature past it. Ah, the
joy of knowing
people who are not
14 year old boys. Ah,
the worry that THIS boy
will NOT outgrow 14,
even if I let him live.

1 November 2009

Nobody said that they had to all be GOOD poems.

(Bitch; Meredith Brooks)

...I can give it all to you baby/ Can you give it all to me?...

No, not this kind of kissing.

It was mentioned to me recently that my foundation might be a tad thick and a little light in color, which is 100% true, and 100% deliberate. Clown makeup is not for the faint-of-heart.

I was with my family at a Bill Bateman's restaurant not too long ago, becoming more and more certain during the duration of our visit that this was a restaurant that couldn't make up its mind what it wanted to be. The menu said 'wings!' The decor said 'diner!' and 'sports!' and 'rock-n-roll!' which together failed entirely to form any sort of cohesive identity. (This is not entirely off-topic; I'm getting there). One of the decorative rock posters (which included the globally classic Queen, and the classically local Good Charlotte), the one that fascinated me, was of course positioned behind me, so I had to get up to look at it.

It was the KISS poster often referenced as "Faces", in which Gene Simmons holds the band name/logo in his hands. Now, I know a good bit about makeup, and have pals who teach workshops on the subject. I want to look at the makeup. I figure I won't see much what with retouching and whatall, but here I am, and why not, right?

So I'm inspecting this poster in great detail, and you can't see it on the web, and I'm sure those of you who owned one of the original first run prints of the poster have long since thrown them out/lost them in the move/sold them on eBay, so you have no immediate way of verifying this but as I looked at that iconic portrait, I began to see that Paul Stanley had nice, clean makeup, a well-done job, whereas the other boys looked liked they'd started sweating before they finished applying. I've seen KISS imitators do a more technically perfect job on the makeup than the blurry-edged finishes represented elsewhere on that poster. I've often thought that perhaps Alice Cooper had the right of it: making it smeared and runny on purpose to begin with, so when it turned out that way mid-concert, it looked like deliberate design. I can't speak to Insane Clown Posse (despite carrying one in my car wherever I go) and their makeup, but in the photos I found, they seem to be completely unpowdered.

Understand, I'm sort of a perfectionist about this. The whole family is. We have to be. You never know when someone's about to snap a prize-winning shot, so our makeup, even in the sweltering outdoor conditions, has to be perfect.

Marceau himself covered a multitude of sins and wrinkles with his white makeup, and it was difficult to tell that he was incredibly old until you were close to him. In fact, the makeup makes it nearly impossible to tell how old (and in some cases, what gender)anyone is. The photographer comments that "...all 4 of the mimes were young girls...no older than 15. they smiled all the time." I appreciate this. I truly, truly do. My son, however, not so much.

So, hooray for makeup, that makes boys into girls and vice versa, and turns cougars into jailbait. Hooray for KISS, who did it well.

I couldn't tell you whether Paul's clean finish was due to the simple design, better technical execution (each member of KISS did his own makeup), less inherent sweatiness or finer-pored skin, but Paul Stanley, I salute you and your mad whiteface skillz.

And I know (ask me how) that if I DID kiss you, that no, I wouldn't get white makeup all over my face.

Unless I had it there already.



(I Was Made For Loving You; KISS)

*This post dedicated to Abi, who rocks.)

Labels: geekism, images, linkage, observations, RenFest

...Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand....

We are here because we love my daughter. We watch one of the less painful of the 3 1/2 hours of recital numbers. Fuzzy isn't in this one, in fact will not appear until the eighteenth number in the second half of the show. This one, however, is a song we like, me because it's mine, and them because it's old, but still good. The teens fling themselves around the stage, neon wigs and sunglasses mercifully remaining where they belong. Fluffy thinks this is a remix. A few minutes into the song, (Good heavens, Miss Hakamoto! You're beautiful!) he leans over and whispers. "No. Not a remix. It just sounds so much better in the car with the top down."

I don't know if I've mentioned that I love my son.


(Tiny Dancer; Elton John)

Labels: capture, observations, pisser

...it's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a gyro...mmmmmmm....


I turn from Ritchie Highway onto the exit ramp for 695. I round the curve, but slow where I would ordinarily accelerate. There are two or three cars pulled onto the shoulder. Two adult men stand in discussion. A woman sits inside her station wagon. A goat, shoulders stained with fresh blood, twine lead trailing to the street, trots up the exit ramp.

Traffic begins to collect behind me, but I remain at a standstill. The goat heads up the ramp, towards Ritchie Highway, passes my car on the passenger side. The woman in the station wagon starts her car and puts it in reverse to follow the goat. She parks a few feet from where she had been and gets out to follow the goat, who has rounded the curve.

I can no longer see the goat, so slowly accelerate to go about my business.

This is the middle of the story.

I do not know the end, nor the beginning.

Labels: capture, observations