tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76869517074275356052024-03-21T17:35:03.641-07:00Diaphanous FrownIt-Girl of the year. Just not this year.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-35803205524952182812009-02-20T03:22:00.000-08:002009-02-20T03:37:04.821-08:00ForwardI've moved to <a href="http://extrabronte.wordpress.com/">extrabronte.wordpress.com</a> and I'd love for you to drop by.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-79972022822855771802009-02-15T23:22:00.000-08:002009-02-16T02:20:13.283-08:00The Queen of Refuse<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I found your mix in my car, tucked near the back of the CD Wallet of Shame that I should probably throw out. Thing goes down as maybe the lamest way to say "I'm sorry" in history; a gift I sent which was rightly returned to me because, really, who makes amends to someone by UPSing them a black rubber CD case with a capacity of 64? (This </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">was</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> around the time I thought I had Asperger's, but I've learned that is not a good excuse.)</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But the mix, now. That was from you, and I won't throw it out, though with you my screw-ups abounded. The date on it is a year after the fallout, after words had been harsh and silences harsher. Then forgiveness, but a fragile one; and then, these songs. They are of their time, and of your taste. I remember liking it enough, playing it through several times but then, moving on. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Five years later, driving home in the throes of a recently mustard-gassed romance, I was feeling incredibly and senselessly victimized, and then this disc showed up and took me back to when I was the killer. I didn't kill you, of course; what an arrogant thing to suppose. But the "it" that we stumble upon with people, the thing both awaited and unexpected ... I snuffed "it" big time. And I have no business demanding that "it" to be there for me that way again, like the white ribbon you get just for participation. Not like we haven't all done it --- let someone down, broken something up ---but doing the deed changes you, especially if you do it all small and shifty, and for no other reason than you don't want to be loved for you, because you're hoping to find out you're someone else. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Now I'm someone listening to a mix you might not even recognize. And it may seem like I'm regretful, but that's not quite the feeling. You are so beyond fine you don't know this is about you. Nothing should be different. I guess I'm ... grateful? That I found the CD when I did, so I could get over myself and all this "it" supposedly dying on me. "It" is as dead as Tom Sawyer watching his funeral. It's stupid and alive, hiding, a little stunned at the needless grief. And it'll crash through the ceiling one day and piss me off worse than ever, but maybe come home with me, too. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Oh. And it won't be a 12-year-old boy, in case that imagery got too solid. </span></div><div><br /></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-83450944425814049492009-02-04T00:55:00.000-08:002009-02-16T02:11:49.306-08:00If so, that was an excessively long reboundand I'ma do a hook shot with my eyebrow.</span><div><div><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JIbp5C-5WXM&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JIbp5C-5WXM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-11455959357909818982009-02-02T01:56:00.000-08:002009-02-02T02:08:16.466-08:00PRANX!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ec1.images-amazon.com/images/I/41y2KQS6ppL._AA280_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="http://ec1.images-amazon.com/images/I/41y2KQS6ppL._AA280_.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />We run a tight ship here, Fetus.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-44425966703273442082009-01-28T01:30:00.000-08:002009-02-16T02:15:11.598-08:00Sendings<div><br /></div>The 19th century Baptist church in Thomas, Rhode Island now houses the city's history museum and a cluttered library of colonist biographies and handicraft how-to's.<br /><br />You can find love letters there. A new one every few months, except ... they are not new. The paper is thin as spider silk; the ink is more etching than paint. One at a time, they appear, folded and wedged into the architrave of a small window, hidden from view by a "natural wood" Ikea shelf. As you peruse a study of Wampanoag cooking ... reach your hand back and to the left ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Dearest Madam,<br /><br />You gave a lovely performance again this evening.<br /><br />Every night I see it, you change a little thing here, pause in a new moment, laugh when before you had shed a single tear. And always, there is the light that shines, not on you, but from you. I am not the only one who feels it, I know, who hopes that beacon beams secretly for them.<br /><br />But I am the one who will tell you this: stop it.<br /><br />Forget your lines. Put away the props. Climb down from the stage. Be still and show me nothing. Give me no clues. Do not create another word, smile, or gesture until I have found you. These are the distractions that others mistake for the truth, and you let them believe it. You leave them talking to your shadow as you run far away. They think they hold you, but you cannot feel it. And when the light fades and they lose sight of you, you lie to yourself that you are lost.<br /><br />I will find you." </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.groundspeak.com/waymarking/display/1b3c7f4e-6212-465b-b1ea-d7a078c96973.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="http://img.groundspeak.com/waymarking/display/1b3c7f4e-6212-465b-b1ea-d7a078c96973.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-18261698734217639802009-01-26T17:15:00.000-08:002009-01-26T18:33:26.822-08:00Brevity.On the 1-10 scale (1 = suck, 10 = The Rapture):<br />A). Rate how much you love hearing someone clear their throat twice every three minutes, followed by a string of shouted expletives, into a microphone, for six hours a day, four days in a row.<br />B). Rate the Franklin Mint Jimmy Carter Gold Medal.<br /><br />Subtract B from A.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i3.iofferphoto.com/img/item/536/158/21/4057_1_bl.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 377px; height: 400px;" src="http://i3.iofferphoto.com/img/item/536/158/21/4057_1_bl.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I know, right? Nothing is helping.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-32261170484586127072008-12-07T22:50:00.000-08:002008-12-07T23:25:22.234-08:00Delay JoseA 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 ...<br /><br />"I've never met a stranger," he said.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-61752424313437944172008-10-23T05:23:00.001-07:002008-10-23T05:26:11.216-07:00Sorry again.<div><br /></div>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.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-70862978153675550822008-10-07T21:10:00.000-07:002008-10-08T00:01:39.477-07:00Laws of Badminton<div>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.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><div><br /></div>SHUTTLE</span><br /><br /><div>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.<br /><br />2.2 Feathered Shuttle<br /><br />2.2.1 The shuttle shall have 16 feathers fixed in the base.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />2.2.3 The tips of the feathers shall lie on a circle with a diameter from 58 mm to 68 mm.<br /><br />2.2.4 The feathers shall be fastened firmly with thread or other suitable material.<br /><br />2.2.5 The base shall be 25 mm to 28 mm in diameter and rounded on the bottom.<br /><br />2.2.6 The shuttle shall weigh from 4.74 to 5.50 grams.<br /><br />2.3 Non-Feathered Shuttle<br /><br />2.3.1 The skirt, or simulation of feathers in synthetic materials, shall replace natural feathers.<br /><br />2.3.2 The base shall be as described in Law 2.2.5.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.worldbadminton.com/rules/#1">http://www.worldbadminton.com/rules/#1</a></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-23791425944577760692008-10-07T17:32:00.000-07:002008-10-07T17:34:18.424-07:00Out With the NewBack to the old layout. Obama's got a lock on Change and won't let me have any.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-73553257080497060382008-10-06T14:42:00.000-07:002008-10-06T14:44:03.696-07:00I Am Forced to Have Depth, Due to My Limitations.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-87076871119198324152008-10-04T17:35:00.000-07:002008-10-04T17:39:36.634-07:00Just Be Yourself!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://hometown.aol.com/vltdisney/ursula02.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://hometown.aol.com/vltdisney/ursula02.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-7607092300267141382008-10-03T08:36:00.000-07:002008-10-04T13:51:22.554-07:00Das ist aber schade.<div><br /></div>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 <a href="http://www.tbs.com/">(http://www.tbs.com).</a> <div>Here are all the other accents coming out of my mouth instead of anything near German:<br /></div><div><br />1. British (Standard) <br />2. British (Keira Knightley)<div><div><div>3. French</div><div>4. Russian</div><div>5. Swedish Chef</div><div>6. East Indian</div><div>7. %*$#*&@#$%*#! (that might be getting closer ... ja? Nein.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-47941970882231112542008-10-02T13:04:00.000-07:002008-10-02T13:42:33.126-07:00To "Somebody Splendid"<div><br /></div>Whoever you are, you are. Thank you for your secret act of friendship, and for being so kind to this Melancholy Molly. Cheers!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7OZQ0HLnCBAQ62Um2m-78o276SqsJNG2fSopbddik-ZcxBk5QS4H-bIl2V2fenk16FUpdozbNN49Eu6O1Y_b2QEaEsv_1ysPrbk10OkEc5foyMz6ne7zVFr_fyekVV-NiTwDoJ-1Og/s1600-h/shirley+temple.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7OZQ0HLnCBAQ62Um2m-78o276SqsJNG2fSopbddik-ZcxBk5QS4H-bIl2V2fenk16FUpdozbNN49Eu6O1Y_b2QEaEsv_1ysPrbk10OkEc5foyMz6ne7zVFr_fyekVV-NiTwDoJ-1Og/s320/shirley+temple.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252651838530314818" /></a>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-38400033868003491282008-09-30T22:53:00.000-07:002008-10-03T01:30:51.894-07:00Sophisticated Wallowing<div><br /></div><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">If Love Were All</span><br />by Noel Coward<br /><br />I believe in doing what I can<br />In crying when I must<br />In laughing when I choose<br />Hey ho, if love were all<br />I should be lonely.<br />I believe the more you love a man,<br />The more you give your trust,<br />The more you're bound to lose.<br />Although when shadows fall<br />I think if only<br />Somebody splendid really needed me<br />Someone affectionate and dear<br />Cares would be ended if I knew that he<br />Wanted to have me near.<br />But I believe that since my life began<br />The most I've had is just a talent to amuse.<br />Hey ho, if love were all.</span><br /><br />A lonely song, but not exactly sad. It's a frank self-assessment, with a confession of longing that is bold in its mildness. <div><br /></div><div>Below, two performances, by Rufus Wainwright and Judy Garland. Martini, meet cigarette.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CfXl2HimTik&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CfXl2HimTik&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Can't embed it, but go and listen to Judy:<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpZqYq8DN5I&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpZqYq8DN5I&feature=related</a><br /></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-67807742904982947332008-09-29T13:43:00.000-07:002008-10-03T01:32:58.766-07:00My Little Bride????!<div><br /></div><div>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.<br /></div><div><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LEMY5OZSVEI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LEMY5OZSVEI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />From Wikipedia:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">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]<br />[edit]Plot<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br /></span></div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-35123208385759092982008-09-27T16:14:00.000-07:002008-09-29T13:32:48.841-07:00Blue-Eyed Boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.lashonhara.net/img/2004/paul_newman.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.lashonhara.net/img/2004/paul_newman.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />What a legacy. Thank you for the life you led, Mr. Newman. You will be missed.<br /><br />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.Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-87168220649588879752008-09-27T01:49:00.000-07:002008-09-27T16:11:12.096-07:00Adopt This Restaurant<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />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. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1289/595926609_3800c83d96.jpg?v=0"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; " src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1289/595926609_3800c83d96.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Look at this picture. We ate this picture. TORE IT UP. Literally, you tear off pieces of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">injera</span>, 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. <br /><br />This can all be yours. 10401 Washington Blvd, Culver City, CA 90232. Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-3034707068003108772008-09-25T19:34:00.000-07:002008-10-03T01:38:08.941-07:00An Informative LetterDear Dude Representative of Quite a Few Dudes:<div><br /></div><div>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 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">thought</span> gay, or actually <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">being</span> 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. <br /></div><div><br />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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Your friend in demerits,</div><div>E.</div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-38928317551383154012008-09-19T02:04:00.001-07:002008-09-19T03:23:36.591-07:00Frog and Toad Are Friends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mtholyoke.edu/omc/kidsphil/questions/Daysfrog/frogandtoad.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://www.mtholyoke.edu/omc/kidsphil/questions/Daysfrog/frogandtoad.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>So far. Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-52095029353848953732008-09-16T20:31:00.000-07:002008-10-02T08:50:35.808-07:00Stuck, Noted, Tubed<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y1rZqw5bXb4&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y1rZqw5bXb4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />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: <a href="http://www.aetheling.com/docs/Rarity.htm">http://www.aetheling.com/docs/Rarity.htm</a>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-34724810858204971552008-07-21T17:31:00.000-07:002008-07-21T17:42:46.212-07:00Keep Blogging, Keep Keep Blogging LoveI'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. <div><br /></div><div>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. </div>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-80371438971395962512008-04-19T14:32:00.000-07:002008-04-19T14:56:45.774-07:00Victorian E.R.A.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmOdp9iU8QcdyHD6B7Ijs9MbN_FSS64EMmk9DuXrRcoZ_qxfDRaEPWRo6UUrfjpIfgzA2O2traA719hfPUUNI5KAH0_oN6AgKOn0q3y-GmcHGxhvFLVswgKx7ookY0mpZ0WzaGtitzg/s1600-h/victorianlady.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmOdp9iU8QcdyHD6B7Ijs9MbN_FSS64EMmk9DuXrRcoZ_qxfDRaEPWRo6UUrfjpIfgzA2O2traA719hfPUUNI5KAH0_oN6AgKOn0q3y-GmcHGxhvFLVswgKx7ookY0mpZ0WzaGtitzg/s400/victorianlady.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191078453459294498" border="0" /></a><br />"<span style="font-weight: bold;">The kiss of Wednesday precludes the woo of Friday." --- Calliope Pidgens<br /><br />You're right. And you're dead. Lady.<br /></span>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-60416955028724090592008-02-12T17:48:00.001-08:002008-02-12T18:22:58.224-08:00Beware the Tines of Valen<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_U-c-YTzUaqyDI0s7JK2JAjrNHyRpbf0XWcHX3M9rCRGVzhvEZuyTsX7MyKRuwnaUqNu2DYmhvUDywFqnmqhqmZ9aymnVO0-lGOtAj4qfNcSGd4UhyphenhyphenC6vXqUFSufvHZG4dwpHwwptIA/s1600-h/antiquebabies1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_U-c-YTzUaqyDI0s7JK2JAjrNHyRpbf0XWcHX3M9rCRGVzhvEZuyTsX7MyKRuwnaUqNu2DYmhvUDywFqnmqhqmZ9aymnVO0-lGOtAj4qfNcSGd4UhyphenhyphenC6vXqUFSufvHZG4dwpHwwptIA/s400/antiquebabies1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166275949830353586" border="0" /></a> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Winken, Blinken, and Coldhardmutherface Bloodydoily.</span><br /></div> <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /><br /></span>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7686951707427535605.post-70758502408578380452008-02-04T18:17:00.000-08:002008-04-01T14:54:52.281-07:00You're the Kind of Ugly That Is Invisible<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ndYMpN-PVWXJHfjVEtBiHl1Vj8Bm5Ti4rp3s4LJ1-xo7Afm-ZlKVjb6OA8FyDGrCj21rjGAsJE6kHf8nrwkvOS_TrTGBiGaAY9ijXP4QdNntr2DpqIGq_9dWqVCHQrdB0K9yxFvDTA/s1600-h/ma2008-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ndYMpN-PVWXJHfjVEtBiHl1Vj8Bm5Ti4rp3s4LJ1-xo7Afm-ZlKVjb6OA8FyDGrCj21rjGAsJE6kHf8nrwkvOS_TrTGBiGaAY9ijXP4QdNntr2DpqIGq_9dWqVCHQrdB0K9yxFvDTA/s320/ma2008-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163342480709156290" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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 </span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">rise</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"> 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.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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.<br /><br />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</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">1. Were as substantive as the crossword puzzle in People Magazine.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">2. Were almost impossible to answer without sounding like a self-righteous lemon square. (I was actually impressed when </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">I think </span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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.)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">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.</span>Emily Janice Cardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08700421791687408206noreply@blogger.com1