Delay Jose

A gentleman bought me a sandwich in the airport ... an older gentleman, born in Honduras, raised in New Orleans ... who shined shoes and slept on the streets ... who served four years in Vietnam and came back a wreck in every way ... who had a three-year courtship of correspondence with his wife of 44 years ("whatever you believe of heaven, she is going to be there" says he) ... who loves to go out dancing, who can't stand to be idle or indoors, who has had three bypasses and now has prostate cancer and can't drink water comfortably, who will work until the day he dies ...

"I've never met a stranger," he said.

Sorry again.

Yesterday on the freeway, I drove behind a car pulling a small horse trailer.  And upon the doors of the horse trailer were painted two horses' behinds.  And I thought of all the times I have been one of those.

Laws of Badminton

Life is a game of rules; Badminton is a tournament of laws.  A part of its credo follows, concerning the "shuttle," casually referred to as the "birdie" or the "daisy" by individuals who are now in prison.

SHUTTLE

2.1 The shuttle shall be made of natural and / or synthetic materials. From whatever material the shuttle is made, the flight characteristics generally shall be similar to those produced by a natural feathered shuttle with a cork base covered by a thin layer of leather.

2.2 Feathered Shuttle

2.2.1 The shuttle shall have 16 feathers fixed in the base.

2.2.2 The feathers shall have a uniform length between 62 mm to 70 mm when measured from the tip to the top of the base.

2.2.3 The tips of the feathers shall lie on a circle with a diameter from 58 mm to 68 mm.

2.2.4 The feathers shall be fastened firmly with thread or other suitable material.

2.2.5 The base shall be 25 mm to 28 mm in diameter and rounded on the bottom.

2.2.6 The shuttle shall weigh from 4.74 to 5.50 grams.

2.3 Non-Feathered Shuttle

2.3.1 The skirt, or simulation of feathers in synthetic materials, shall replace natural feathers.

2.3.2 The base shall be as described in Law 2.2.5.

2.3.3 Measurements and weight shall be as in Laws 2.2.2, 2.2.3 and 2.2.6. However, because of the difference in the specific gravity and other properties of synthetic materials in comparison with feathers, a variation of up to 10 per cent shall be acceptable.

2.4 Subject to there being no variation in the general design, speed and flight of the shuttle, modifications in the above specifications may be made with the approval of the Member Association concerned, in places where atmospheric conditions due to either altitude or climate make the standard shuttle unsuitable.

http://www.worldbadminton.com/rules/#1

Out With the New

Back to the old layout.  Obama's got a lock on Change and won't let me have any.

I Am Forced to Have Depth, Due to My Limitations.

Just Be Yourself!

Das ist aber schade.

Know what I do on days off? Stuff like, reteach myself a passable German accent by nightfall.   But I may have an undiagnosed LD -- Tower of Babel Syndrome (http://www.tbs.com). 

Here are all the other accents coming out of my mouth instead of anything near German:

1. British (Standard) 
2. British (Keira Knightley)

3. French

4. Russian

5. Swedish Chef

6. East Indian

7. %*$#*&@#$%*#! (that might be getting closer ... ja?  Nein.)

To "Somebody Splendid"

Whoever you are, you are. Thank you for your secret act of friendship, and for being so kind to this Melancholy Molly. Cheers!

Sophisticated Wallowing

If Love Were All
by Noel Coward

I believe in doing what I can
In crying when I must
In laughing when I choose
Hey ho, if love were all
I should be lonely.
I believe the more you love a man,
The more you give your trust,
The more you're bound to lose.
Although when shadows fall
I think if only
Somebody splendid really needed me
Someone affectionate and dear
Cares would be ended if I knew that he
Wanted to have me near.
But I believe that since my life began
The most I've had is just a talent to amuse.
Hey ho, if love were all.

A lonely song, but not exactly sad. It's a frank self-assessment, with a confession of longing that is bold in its mildness.  

Below, two performances, by Rufus Wainwright and Judy Garland. Martini, meet cigarette.



Can't embed it, but go and listen to Judy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpZqYq8DN5I&feature=related

My Little Bride????!

I'm not sure what to say about this, but I want to say something. I keep watching it, repressing it, then watching it again.

From Wikipedia:

My Little Bride (어린 신부 eorin sinbu) is a Korean language romantic comedy film about an arranged marriage between a new teacher and a student. It was directed by Kim Ho Jun and was released in 2004. It was the second most popular Korean movie of 2004 in Korea, behind the blockbuster hit Taegukgi, with 3,149,500 visitors. It was 4th most popular among all films. [1]
[edit]Plot

Boeun (Moon Geun Young) is an ordinary high school girl who worries about grades and has a crush on her school's baseball team ace, Jungwoo. One day, Boeun's grandfather orders her to marry Sangmin (Kim Rae Won) because of a pact he made with Sangmin's grandfather during the Korean War. Despite the grandchildren's opposition, they are forced to marry because of Boeun's grandfather's strong influence. Boeun's undercover married life begins: She pretends that she doesn't have a husband and starts dating Jungwoo. Boeun believes that she can manage both men and live a double life. Everything goes smoothly until Sangmin visits Boeun's school as a student teacher.
Sangmin finds out about Jungwoo but decides not to make it an issue. Meanwhile, three school girls learn about Boeun and Sangmin's marriage, and decide to take it against Boeun because of their jealousy of her relationship with Jungwoo. They reveal the truth during a school festival, but Sangmin steps up and tells the audience that they should not deprive Boeun of being a normal school girl since it was not her will to marry him. Boeun then steps up to the stage and makes a heartfelt speech declaring her love for Sangmin. The film ends showing that Sangmin and Boeun living a happy marriage.

Blue-Eyed Boy

What a legacy. Thank you for the life you led, Mr. Newman. You will be missed.

Also. In 9th grade, I named my cockatiel Butch Cassidy because of you. She was a she, but I found that out much later, in a stressful egg-laying incident.

Adopt This Restaurant

Please go to Fassica! It is a very good Ethiopian restaurant in Culver City, and on a Friday night at 7 pm, my date and I were the only patrons there.


Look at this picture.  We ate this picture.  TORE IT UP. Literally, you tear off pieces of injera, which is the large, slightly spongey sourdough flatbread upon which all these delicious food items rest.  The lady who runs the place was lovely, we all watched some of the McCain-Obama debate, and the two of us left with happy pot-like bellies.  

This can all be yours.  10401 Washington Blvd, Culver City, CA  90232.  

An Informative Letter

Dear Dude Representative of Quite a Few Dudes:

When railing against the ignorance and intolerance in our society, please be aware that you and your friends, more than any folks I know, use "gay" as an insult, and the insinuation, or full-blown charades game, of male homosexuality as the height of hilarity.  You may argue that it is a kind of meta-humor, bringing to the fore the overblown fear of many heterosexual men of being thought gay, or actually being gay.  In half of these instances, yes, you could make a case for that; what you do or say can be clever, audacious, ridiculous, and not necessarily mean-spirited.  But the other half ... well, the line you're crossing has fuzzed into a lint-trap. Remember: some people are born a-holes, but for others, it is a choice.  

When you talk politics, you're all sorts of left and liberal, but your behavior falls well short of your ideology.   But don't worry; you're just religious. Welcome.  It's tough to actually be as good as you hope to be, isn't it?  Maybe we just need to recognize that failure is not necessarily hypocrisy.  See, I'm already sorry for calling you an a-hole.  

Your friend in demerits,

E.

Frog and Toad Are Friends

So far.  

Stuck, Noted, Tubed

Take a moment to watch this, friends, if you would.  I am in it!  A rare event indeed.  How rare, you ask? Use this scale: http://www.aetheling.com/docs/Rarity.htm

Keep Blogging, Keep Keep Blogging Love

I'm sitting in Camille's Sidewalk Cafe in Studio City, after paying $4 for a bad smoothie and an extra dollar for a mediocre chocolate chip cookie so I could legally use my ATM card for a purchase of at least $5.oo.  Oh, well, it's still cheaper than the $7 T-mobile asks for at the airport if you desire to tenderly touch the internet's cruel, sleeping beast-head.  

I was doing other slightly important things on the computer before I checked the excellent blogs of my excellent friends and family.  Then I remembered my own blog and felt chagrined.  Three months since the last post?  Really?  Life's regular chores can be insurmountable Everests for me sometimes, but since when is a blog considered a toughie?  Sadly, I have lots to say about the intervening months of my life, but my 1 hour parking limit is up in five minutes.  So, this post is just to have another post.  Cleansing the palette for the umami that is to come.  

Victorian E.R.A.

"The kiss of Wednesday precludes the woo of Friday." --- Calliope Pidgens

You're right. And you're dead. Lady.

Beware the Tines of Valen

Winken, Blinken, and Coldhardmutherface Bloodydoily.

You're the Kind of Ugly That Is Invisible

I'm talking to you, Heidi Montag. I know you would have liked to be on Miss America's Shiz List this year, but you were too insignificant to make the cut. When you're trying to rise to the level of Paris Hilton, well . . . too late to check yourself before you . . . yeah. No need to mention you again. Your stupid "single" is stuck in my head and that is a musical contract killing.

And speaking of Miss America, what happened to these ladies' platforms? Not the shoes, the Something They Stand For. Perhaps it seems old-fashioned, and the experiment (again) this year was to "modernize" Miss America and make her "hip," but the platforms (remember literacy? AIDS? Welfare?) were what made this competition more than The Victoria's Secret Runway Show Reinterpreted by the PTA.

Instead of those old things, they recorded folks on the street reading off questions that the last eight contestants had to raise their hands to answer. And those questions

1. Were as substantive as the crossword puzzle in People Magazine.

2. Were almost impossible to answer without sounding like a self-righteous lemon square. (I was actually impressed when I think Miss North Carolina said Jamie-Lynn Spears should not be fired from her job for getting pregnant, because we all make mistakes and deserve second chances. A very Christian answer to a very rude, dare I say unladylike, question.)

3. Led to the name-checking of the aforementioned Jamie Lynn, Paris Hilton, and the repeat offender, Lindsay Lohan, who might as well be dubbed Satan's Private Dancer after getting called out at least four times as a bad example.

It made me feel a little sorry for these famous chicks. Two of them are definitely human beings, after all (See Paris Hilton: Hollywood Ebola at the Lainey Gossip site). And if they are so awful and the opposite of what you are about, Miss A, IGNORE THEM. Hasn't that always been the well-bred lady's ultimate weapon? Do not invite them to your party. And don't talk about them behind their backs, either. It only sullies you.

Oh, before I forget, the other part of the pageant that raised my eyebrows came right after the swimsuit competition (with its poor choice of porn muzak soundtrack), when the three women eliminated after that round were the two black women (Miss Mississippi and Miss South Carolina, maybe?) and Miss Utah, who was the only one to wear a one-piece. (We at home had jokingly predicted she would, but were unexpectedly delighted when she came through.) Were the judges serious? Did they take Donald Trump Vitamins that morning? Did they really just penalize a woman for not wearing a bikini, when you could still tell everything you needed to know about her "fitness" in her skin-tight attire? Even worse, did they stop a moment to think why they were giving the lowest marks to the two black women left in the competition? Their bodies were similar to each other's (and killer), but it was a different body type than that of the other women (who were all Caucasion except Miss Washington, who is Native American). Shorter waists, slightly more rounded thighs and hips. But there was no jiggle, you just couldn't actually see their hip bones, and their firm firm abs were not concave, just compact. Whatever, it just seemed like a GLARINGLY OBVIOUS BIAS. And NOT MODERN OR HIP. Mmkay?

My DVR actually cut off at the very second they were going to announce who had won, and I didn't really care. I didn't care about anyone, except the ones who got eliminated already, and I only cared about them because I wanted to see a mass uprising of the disenfranchised. Miss-What's-Her-State and her fire batons should have led the charge. I was left saddened that all America's Shorty needs to do is say she's better than the half-naked women you see on TV, and then appear half-naked on your TV. "What did you expect, Em? NPR's All Things Considered?" No, no. I grew up watching this show with my mom, and I know it's cheesy. But it was also an enjoyable experience, to start out laughing at the big hair and the crazy smiles and overdone makeup, and then slowly begin to be charmed by these contestants despite myself. Whether their talents were embarrassing or kind of decent, whether their answers were dim or delightful, I would start to root for them because at least they were dedicated and worked hard at something. Maybe they'd use that dedication for a noble cause someday. At least they were people who were trying.

They still are, I guess. It was just hard to tell that from a very badly-done show. Oh, well. Despite my cynicism, I do kind of like the idea of a whole country having its own spokesmodel. Maybe we could just vote for one every year at the polls. Any woman could campaign for it, and in the end we'd have a much clearer idea of how close to the apocalypse we are.

Up with Dresses, Down with Fascists

27 Dresses was $9.75 (thank you, Sara's student I.D.) well spent. I don't like that many "chick flicks," I don't really enjoy weddings, and I've been completely ambivalent toward Katherine Heigl besides applauding the healthiness of her figure. (Speaking of, I really do applaud things, reflexively; it is not just a turn of phrase. When Jamie Bell came onscreen as the antagonist in the preview for Jumper, I clapped like a meth-addicted cheerleader before I knew what was happening.) Now I'm going to have to own this movie, and watch it every time it shows up on TBS two years from now, and I want to be best friends with Heigl in the same way I'd like to be best friends with Wendy Crompton, except I think Heigl is less busy. (I also want to be friends with Judy Greer from this movie, who manages to be enthusiastically"over it" at all times. And hey, if James Marsden weren't married, I'd say yes to a date or five. Throw him a bone, you know.) Can you have a crush on a whole movie? Can I write slash fiction about 27 Dresses/Love, Actually? That was the last time I liked one of these romantic thingies this much. I should write a real review of this, but I don't want to. I should also balance this experience out soon by watching There Will Be Blood, or, like, voting. For now, I am content to geek out.

I still don't much care for weddings, though. Thumbs up to marriage, for sure, but weddings and receptions give me a combination mall shopping/school dance/funeral feeling, and P.S. that is slash fiction I will not be writing. I bet my feelings will change when I attend an LDS temple sealing, but I also bet the reception afterwards will still leave me feeling like a stale marshmallow peep in a microwave. Brides and grooms should simply float away in hot-air balloons, or on the spaceship from Flight of the Navigator, and the rest of us can wave handkerchiefs and cry and then have a way better party. Okay, fine, that's not nice. I do appreciate cake, and treating the commitment of two people like it's V-E Day, because in this day and age, it pretty much is. Beating the Nazis, if NAZI stood for "Nookie + Awkwardness + Zoo + Insincerity." What? The "Z" made that tricky.

Resolved

Have been trying to figure out how to change things up in '08. Many goals have been jotted down. All are nice, achievable, quality improvements. But they bore me.

I submit the new plan:

1. Obtain night vision goggles, infrared camera, and jar of blackberry preserves.
2. Lie in wait.
3. Capture spirit of Burl Ives in jar of blackberry preserves.
4. Have sing-a-long.
5. Spread on toast.