Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse, She moves me not

This blog has moved! Come see me at http://pepperysoup.wordpress.com.

Bye, Blogger. You were all right for a while. But your support service is nonexistent.

No good?

This year is not going so well.

So, have a snowy-faced mutt.

Minnesota Delight

No, I want to thank you!

Since we're into winter now, I usually bike home after the sun has set. I use lights and I follow the rules of the road because I am a Safe Biker. But sometimes people can't see me anyway.

The other night I was gunning it in the bike lane toward an intersection with a notoriously quick-changing stoplight. After a few weeks/months/years, you begin to learn the light patterns and whether or not you have enough time to make it, so I slowed down a bit. The light was green on my side, and for the oncoming traffic, it had just turned to green.

As I entered the intersection, an oncoming van carrying two dudes swerved into the left turn lane, and then cut across me.

"THANKS A BUNK, DOUCHE BAG!" I shouted. (Because I am very brave at night, on my squeaky little bike, in my helmet.)

Wait, you say. Didn't you mean to type THANKS A BUNCH, DOUCHE BAG? Alas, no. Apparently when I am hopped up on Bike Helmet Bravery and Rules-of-the-Road Righteousness, I also forget how to pronounce certain words. Those guys knew I was thanking them, so I guess that's the important part of the story.

Still more important was the natural thought progression:

And not just ANY Bunk. THE Bunk. Douche bags.

Honey packets inna pocket

I didn't do a Thankful Things post for Thanksgiving. Probably because I was too busy being thankful that I could eat turkey, ham, and some tasty piles of vegetables mixed with various sugars and fats. Mmmmmm. Thanks, colon, for keeping it together.

Instead I submit to you this Hurray! list. As in, Hurray! The google search terms "doop lung" direct folks to my blog. Hurray lists can be done anytime and are therefore simultaneously more fun and less effective. But infinitely! More! Exciting!

HURRAY!

-- The honey packets I have been ferrying around in my pocket for weeks -- they did not burst. (Since I am generally unable to open said packets due to either my weak 'n delicate lady fingers or secret malevolence on the part of honey packet manufactures, this really should not be a surprise. But Hurray! anyway.)

-- New Story Board ep!

-- Clio got a Christmas tie and collar!

-- I got a librarian job, it'll start in January of next year. Pending the apocalypse, Hurray!

-- A. and I are getting ready to trek up north.

To be continued....

Vinnie!

Frequent readers* of this blog may be aware that I'm something of a Vincent Price fan. Imagine my delight when the guys at Tank Riot took it upon themselves to record a three hour episode on the subject. (Granted, this three hours opens with their opinions on the election, political candidates, politics in general, and shooting the shit about random stuff.) I especially love that they give props to Theater of Blood, one of my favorite VP movies.

Tank Riot: Vincent Price!

Go and listen!




*All one of you.

OBSTINATE, HEADstrong girl.

Finally started The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin this weekend, and as usual, by the third page, I am having a few feelings. (Not feels, tumblr. FEELINGS.)

1. Yes, I should have read this a few years ago when it was first recommended me.
2. This might be one of those books that I buy for people.
(2addendum. It's hard to tell when you're still in the early chapters. But I think I can tell. So some of you out there might get this for Christmas/Hanukah/that cold time of year/etc. Gird up your loins.)
3. Holy shit, can this woman write.

My book pile is towering right now, but I am very happy I skipped ahead to this one.

In other news I recently bought some face powder, in the event that a job interview and an unpleasant chin acne outbreak have coincided. I felt almost dirty perusing the Cover Girl and Maybelline and Revlon. And the prices! At the cheapest drugstore prices (yeah, that's right, only the best for me!) it was eight bucks for a shiny plastic compact, a teensy powder puff, and a tiny beige cake of powder. Inflation can't explain it. Perhaps there's been startling cosmetic advances, or the going rates for makeup-testing bunnies have skyrocketed. It's been about six years since I've bought any makeup other than sparkly nail polish or mascara, so I really wouldn't know.

I also bought a suit. Suits generally make me look like a less charming, female version of Charlie Chaplin, when what I really want to look like is this:

Be honest. Doesn't everybody?

I did find a halfway suitable (ha HA) one. It's not Ms. Grier's, but hey. Her being Pam Grier is part of what makes that suit. But it doesn't make me look like the Little Tramp, either, so that's nice.

Hmmm, now I want to have a Jackie Brown/City Lights double feature.

Post-flare serenity

I am feeling very, very well for the first time since the end of September. Right now I'm enjoying an afternoon cup of caffeinated (!) tea as I prepare some notes for a presentation, and marvel at not having to worry about needing to run for the bathroom in the middle of speaking. Knock on wood. Or rather, knock on porcelain?

Now I can focus on my next real goal: our annual holiday trip up north to see family, friends, and icy cold stuff like Lake Superior.

No good? Eh.

Too many buttons/I gotta get that button.

Yeah, I was super happy.

I kept most of my buttons under wraps since I didn't want to get accidentally swerved into while biking to work, or have my car/face keyed. But on election night I put on half of them, and stuck the other half onto A.'s shirt.

I am deliriously happy. I know a lot of people are delirious with sadness right now, and all I can say to that is, well, I know how you feel. Remember the 2004 elections? Yep. And as the canard goes (tired after only a year, who'd have imagined?), I survived it. You will survive Obama. In fact, I think you'll do better than you did before. But it's okay if you don't think you will. There's still no way anyone can convince me today that President Bush was the right choice the first or the second time.

Of course, I don't know anyone who resorted to calling him racial slurs on social media.

Congratulations, President Obama. Thank you for Obamacare. Those of us who manage (somehow) to defy that pervasive, likely inevitable temptation to leech off the "respectable" members of society and hold down full time work* while chronically diseased? We salute you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.



*Oh hey, and you know what? Those of us who can't? Still aren't leeches. I will pause for you to faint and recover and troll.

Election night

Here's an interesting article about looking hard at fraud worry regarding voting machines, from the Awl:

The Truth About Voting Machines: What's Real And What's A Nutty Election Fraud Conspiracy
(note: using "nutty" annoys me. People who are willing to think outside the box should not be automatically classified as insane, especially when voting machines have documented problems with their software and the proprietary nature of it, and the negligence of their manufacturers. Yeah, I wrote a paper once so I feel informed, so sue me.)

and another from Salon about Ohio and some shady-sounding voting machine updates:

Is the GOP stealing Ohio?
(note: I have no idea if this is substantiated. But I am linking to it anyway. I am being balanced?)

I'm watching NPR's election coverage with my two of my favorite journalists, Gwen Ifill and Judy Woodruff. Also appearing are Brooks and Shields/Shields and Brooks, both of whom I can take or leave. I miss Jim Lehrer, though. In the last presidential election coverage he got a little goofy -- none of the Dan Rather expostulatory symptoms, mind you -- and said, "LOST MY VOICE. NEED SOME TEA!" Oh yeah, that's my kind of tea party, Jim!

A lot of states are reporting so early. Must be huge leads in those states, eh? But I can't live-blog this. I'm too nervous. Have a good night, everyone.