Argephontes
10/12/2002
This is bullshit!
The NHL's new rules are ridiculous. You don't play an entire period in the NHL where you play maybe 2 full minutes of 5 on 5 freaking hockey. And most of that 5 on 3. This is crazy.
You can't make hockey a weenie sport. It won't work. I understand the mentality behind trying to make the game move faster, and even trying to remove unnecessary violence. But you can't call a penality on every move and call it "Interference." It's how you play the game. If you don't Interfere, then the other guy gets a goal. Are they going to start penalizing goalies for making saves next? The way the refs are calling penalities, it wouldn't surprise me. ¶ 10/12/2002 11:17:00 PM
The NHL's new rules are ridiculous. You don't play an entire period in the NHL where you play maybe 2 full minutes of 5 on 5 freaking hockey. And most of that 5 on 3. This is crazy.
You can't make hockey a weenie sport. It won't work. I understand the mentality behind trying to make the game move faster, and even trying to remove unnecessary violence. But you can't call a penality on every move and call it "Interference." It's how you play the game. If you don't Interfere, then the other guy gets a goal. Are they going to start penalizing goalies for making saves next? The way the refs are calling penalities, it wouldn't surprise me. ¶ 10/12/2002 11:17:00 PM
My dog is crazy. He's been out, had his medicine, and been fed and watered. And yet. He's following me around this morning grumbling. He's getting attention - the rest of the house is asleep. There is no one else for me to pay attention to. And yet he's grumbling. He wants something, but I can't tell what it is.
Speaking of The Aminals, Mazzy caught a mouse yesterday! In the house! Yay, Mazzy, Boo mouse in the house. Around the beginning of August, there was a mouse. The cats kept a twenty-four hour vigil in the office (it kept darting behind the bookshelves) waiting for an opportunity. Ryan left town. Visions of mice scurrying over me in the dark of night dictated that I sleep on the couch for two days, until I left town. (The bed is broke, and the matresses are on the floor. And no, it's not what you think.) When we came back, the vigil was over, so I assumed that the mouse had been duly caught and devoured.
Apparently I was wrong. Hopefully. This mouse looked like the other one. Tiny. Greyish. Then again, don't all mice look like that? I just can't imagine that the house could be infested and me not know it. I haven't seen or heard scurrying. I'm also quite fond of my mattresses and don't want to start sleeping on the couch again.
I remember when I was about 8 years old, we lived in this great ranch house in Florida for about 2 months (the landlords were insane and the house was infested with palmetto bugs. Otherwise we might have stuck around longer). It had 5 bedrooms, and we had goats. One morning I woke up early and went into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. I found a perfect, lone raspberry on the table.
I was furious. I considered eating it. Picked it up, put it down again. I finally decided that I should wait, that I would need it as evidence. I just knew that my parents had eaten raspberries after I'd gone to bed just so that they wouldn't have to share. The cruelty of it all had me in a funk, and I remember pacing around the house, making random odd noises so they’d wake up. I was ready to confront them.
When I heard them stirring, I marched into their bedroom with my evidence in hand and plopped on the bed.
“You had raspberries after I went to bed!”I accused. “You didn’t give me any.”
They looked at eachother, puzzled. “Nooooo. We watched tv. And then we went to bed.”
I was smart. I had saved the evidence. “I know you did. Because I found one!” I thrust my hand out proudly to reveal my treasured berry, the evidence that would make them sorry.
They looked at the raspberry. For a moment, my Mom looked confused. And then my Dad started to chuckle. Something passed between them, and then they were both laughing like crazy.
Upset and obviously out of the loop, I decided there was only one thing left to do.
“Well. I’m just going to eat the last raspberry from the raspberries you didn’t have. If that’s ok.”
They stopped laughing really quickly. My dad snatched it from my hand as it was on its way to my mouth.
They proceeded to explain to me that it was no raspberry. It was, in fact, a gift. From the kitties.
It was a mouse brain.
I washed my hands very carefully, and I never accused my parents of keeping the “good food” from me again. ¶ 10/12/2002 09:56:00 AM
Speaking of The Aminals, Mazzy caught a mouse yesterday! In the house! Yay, Mazzy, Boo mouse in the house. Around the beginning of August, there was a mouse. The cats kept a twenty-four hour vigil in the office (it kept darting behind the bookshelves) waiting for an opportunity. Ryan left town. Visions of mice scurrying over me in the dark of night dictated that I sleep on the couch for two days, until I left town. (The bed is broke, and the matresses are on the floor. And no, it's not what you think.) When we came back, the vigil was over, so I assumed that the mouse had been duly caught and devoured.
Apparently I was wrong. Hopefully. This mouse looked like the other one. Tiny. Greyish. Then again, don't all mice look like that? I just can't imagine that the house could be infested and me not know it. I haven't seen or heard scurrying. I'm also quite fond of my mattresses and don't want to start sleeping on the couch again.
I remember when I was about 8 years old, we lived in this great ranch house in Florida for about 2 months (the landlords were insane and the house was infested with palmetto bugs. Otherwise we might have stuck around longer). It had 5 bedrooms, and we had goats. One morning I woke up early and went into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. I found a perfect, lone raspberry on the table.
I was furious. I considered eating it. Picked it up, put it down again. I finally decided that I should wait, that I would need it as evidence. I just knew that my parents had eaten raspberries after I'd gone to bed just so that they wouldn't have to share. The cruelty of it all had me in a funk, and I remember pacing around the house, making random odd noises so they’d wake up. I was ready to confront them.
When I heard them stirring, I marched into their bedroom with my evidence in hand and plopped on the bed.
“You had raspberries after I went to bed!”I accused. “You didn’t give me any.”
They looked at eachother, puzzled. “Nooooo. We watched tv. And then we went to bed.”
I was smart. I had saved the evidence. “I know you did. Because I found one!” I thrust my hand out proudly to reveal my treasured berry, the evidence that would make them sorry.
They looked at the raspberry. For a moment, my Mom looked confused. And then my Dad started to chuckle. Something passed between them, and then they were both laughing like crazy.
Upset and obviously out of the loop, I decided there was only one thing left to do.
“Well. I’m just going to eat the last raspberry from the raspberries you didn’t have. If that’s ok.”
They stopped laughing really quickly. My dad snatched it from my hand as it was on its way to my mouth.
They proceeded to explain to me that it was no raspberry. It was, in fact, a gift. From the kitties.
It was a mouse brain.
I washed my hands very carefully, and I never accused my parents of keeping the “good food” from me again. ¶ 10/12/2002 09:56:00 AM
10/10/2002
10/09/2002
More embarassing propaganda about my dear, sweet alma mater...
The DM has a new (ish) column called Sex and the Square. It's not funny. It isn't really even sexy, because our darling, conservative university wouldn't dare publish it. This week's topic is called "Searching For Mr. Right - Ole Miss girls girls divulge the real things they look for in a man."
Someone named "Samantha" said, "I'm going through a dry spell...I would pretty much hook up with any male as long as he is not gay."
Oh. My. God.
There are so many things wrong with that statement I don't even know where to begin. Aren't gay men sort of already out of the picture? And although she wouldn't hook up with a GAY man, she has no problem with a senile, aged rapist with VD. Because I believe that such a person would fall under the category of "anyone." Apparently, being gay is a worse offense than being an asshole, a criminal, or imbecile.
It really disturbs me. Not just that she specifically - out of all the WRONG ASS kinds of people in the world she could eliminate - bothers to say "as long as he isn't gay," but the casual, flippant way that she says it, thereby dismissing homosexuality as bad habit, like smoking, rather than a personal sexual preference. She can't be picky, but she's a level up on the food chain from the "gay guys." Becuase they obviously are having sex with eachother because they can't get a chick! How distateful!
No wonder she can't get any. ¶ 10/09/2002 04:37:00 PM
The DM has a new (ish) column called Sex and the Square. It's not funny. It isn't really even sexy, because our darling, conservative university wouldn't dare publish it. This week's topic is called "Searching For Mr. Right - Ole Miss girls girls divulge the real things they look for in a man."
Someone named "Samantha" said, "I'm going through a dry spell...I would pretty much hook up with any male as long as he is not gay."
Oh. My. God.
There are so many things wrong with that statement I don't even know where to begin. Aren't gay men sort of already out of the picture? And although she wouldn't hook up with a GAY man, she has no problem with a senile, aged rapist with VD. Because I believe that such a person would fall under the category of "anyone." Apparently, being gay is a worse offense than being an asshole, a criminal, or imbecile.
It really disturbs me. Not just that she specifically - out of all the WRONG ASS kinds of people in the world she could eliminate - bothers to say "as long as he isn't gay," but the casual, flippant way that she says it, thereby dismissing homosexuality as bad habit, like smoking, rather than a personal sexual preference. She can't be picky, but she's a level up on the food chain from the "gay guys." Becuase they obviously are having sex with eachother because they can't get a chick! How distateful!
No wonder she can't get any. ¶ 10/09/2002 04:37:00 PM
Reading Neil Gaiman's journal, I saw a question from another reader about Audio books. It pleased me to realize that I am not the only person, apparently, who reads Roger Zelazny's A Night In The Lonesome October on an annual basis. I was just thinking about it yesterday, and realizing that the reason I wasn't getting into Watermelon was because it's the time of year that I read ANITLO.
I'm also pleased to discover that there's an audio version - with Zelazny reading it. I didn't know this. And now I want it.
And speaking of October, no one has ever written a description of the gloriousness that is an October day as well as Neil. Just go read it. It sounds better from him, on his page, than it would it if I quoted it. (Don't ask me to explain that. Just trust that it's True.) ¶ 10/09/2002 12:01:00 PM
I'm also pleased to discover that there's an audio version - with Zelazny reading it. I didn't know this. And now I want it.
And speaking of October, no one has ever written a description of the gloriousness that is an October day as well as Neil. Just go read it. It sounds better from him, on his page, than it would it if I quoted it. (Don't ask me to explain that. Just trust that it's True.) ¶ 10/09/2002 12:01:00 PM
10/08/2002
You Should Be On The Amazing Race!
You're adept, swift, and great at almost any game.
Pair this with your love for world culture, and you make
the perfect Amazing Race contestant. Ready, set, go!
What Reality TV Show Should You Be On? Click Here to Find Out!
Damned Straight I should be. BUT I'M NOT, despite my best efforts. *sob*
¶ 10/08/2002 03:28:00 PM
This weekend, Ole Miss is having its "Done Been Home" Game, only they're having a parade and calling it Homecoming.
I don't get it. The last two weeks have been home games. This past Saturday was probably the biggest home game of the next five years (if not more). What idiot scheduled Homecoming at the end of a 3 game run of home games? That's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard of.
In fact, we've only had one away game so far this season. We shouldn't even be allowed to have Homecoming. Of course, no Homecoming means no homecoming court. And then the little sorority girls wouldn't have anything to put on their resumes.
And speaking of resumes. Girls. Do NOT put "Fraternity Sweetheart" on your resume. It isn't a good thing. It implies that you are a WHORE. It will not get you a job. Not one that you'd want, anyway.
Although it might help you get a husband. Of a sort. ¶ 10/08/2002 02:55:00 PM
I don't get it. The last two weeks have been home games. This past Saturday was probably the biggest home game of the next five years (if not more). What idiot scheduled Homecoming at the end of a 3 game run of home games? That's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard of.
In fact, we've only had one away game so far this season. We shouldn't even be allowed to have Homecoming. Of course, no Homecoming means no homecoming court. And then the little sorority girls wouldn't have anything to put on their resumes.
And speaking of resumes. Girls. Do NOT put "Fraternity Sweetheart" on your resume. It isn't a good thing. It implies that you are a WHORE. It will not get you a job. Not one that you'd want, anyway.
Although it might help you get a husband. Of a sort. ¶ 10/08/2002 02:55:00 PM
10/07/2002
There are demons in my Direct TV. We don't get the local channels - ABC, NBC, Fox, UPN... you know. The way we have our system set up, it's not possible. Earlier today, I was vegging on the couch, half-conscious, flipping through channels. And I find them. "Me Fox 13." "Me ABC 24." "Me 30 (UPN!)." And there was joy. Joy for being able to watch Buffy and Angel without being all Blanche DuBois. Joy for having a channel to watch when I'm just certain a tornado is coming to blow me away and it's two a.m. and I can't call anyone to tell me no, there's no tornado in Lafayette county.
After attempting to call Ryan at work (who was busy) and mustering up the best happy dance I could do under the circumstances (Massive. Exhaustion.), I realized that it wouldn't do me any good to watch them now because all that was on was the soaps. And Springer. Blech. So I went back to watching Regarding Henry and dozing intermittantly.
Not an HOUR later, Ryan came home for lunch, and went I went to show him what I found. They were GONE. Disappeared, no longer on this plane. No more Memphis stations. Ryan eyed me dubiously, made a comment about the probability of my dreaming it.
It was no dream, I tell you. They were there. I watched about five minutes worth of Port Charles, and I'm not talented enough to dream that kind of bad acting.
Later, still during lunch, we're watching the 1980 Stanley Cup Finals on ESPN Classic. Flyers vs. Islanders. 4-4 in OT. And the channel just changes to ESPN news for NO REASON. The remote was on the table in front of us, in plain site. No kitty paws passed anywhere near it. No stray asses leaned heavily on it. It just changed.
Let's just that when Ryan went back to work, I just turned the tv off.
I also slept, which was much needed. My exhaustion was such this morning that I could NOT go to work. I thought maybe I was playing hookie, but later conversations with folk proved that I was indeed incoherent and would have been mighty useless.
I feel better now. Groggy, but with the comfort of knowing that in just a few more hours I go back to bed again. Tomorrow should be better.
¶ 10/07/2002 07:50:00 PM
After attempting to call Ryan at work (who was busy) and mustering up the best happy dance I could do under the circumstances (Massive. Exhaustion.), I realized that it wouldn't do me any good to watch them now because all that was on was the soaps. And Springer. Blech. So I went back to watching Regarding Henry and dozing intermittantly.
Not an HOUR later, Ryan came home for lunch, and went I went to show him what I found. They were GONE. Disappeared, no longer on this plane. No more Memphis stations. Ryan eyed me dubiously, made a comment about the probability of my dreaming it.
It was no dream, I tell you. They were there. I watched about five minutes worth of Port Charles, and I'm not talented enough to dream that kind of bad acting.
Later, still during lunch, we're watching the 1980 Stanley Cup Finals on ESPN Classic. Flyers vs. Islanders. 4-4 in OT. And the channel just changes to ESPN news for NO REASON. The remote was on the table in front of us, in plain site. No kitty paws passed anywhere near it. No stray asses leaned heavily on it. It just changed.
Let's just that when Ryan went back to work, I just turned the tv off.
I also slept, which was much needed. My exhaustion was such this morning that I could NOT go to work. I thought maybe I was playing hookie, but later conversations with folk proved that I was indeed incoherent and would have been mighty useless.
I feel better now. Groggy, but with the comfort of knowing that in just a few more hours I go back to bed again. Tomorrow should be better.
¶ 10/07/2002 07:50:00 PM
