Category: Detritus

“Time is waiting in the wings, it speaks of senseless things …we should be old by now…”

Lalala, I don’t feel any older than I did yesterday. Give it time. My darling eldest girl toasted me with a desktop background of “birthday bear” and a gif of a chocolate cake with one candle. Cause that’s how she says “I love you.” My sister got me a gift certificate for a “chocolate manicure.” Where they give you chocolates and all the treatments are chocolate scented. Thus combining my love of candy with a fix for my tragic lack of fingernail grooming. I’m getting a “surprise” present shortly. So far, no Thackery Lambshead, though.

Can’t have everything, right? And now I’ve lived past thirty, so I can’t be a tragic poet/novelist ala Sylvia Plath or Virginia Wolf. Sigh. Alas, one by one, all our teenage dreams go unrealized…

Corbid the Elder

Tommorrow’s my birthday. And I’m turning 31. And I don’t care about age where it relates to anyone else, but still I feel old. Then again, when I turned twenty I cried, because I’d missed my chance to be a child prodigy. I’m just an odd bird, I guess. Anyway, cheer me up and send me some damned birthday wishes if you’re up to it. I know it’s shameless, but I’ll take what I can get right now. In exchange for which I shall treat you all to a deluxed sized post. And if you’re feeling generous, you could always get me this…

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This is me grating on your conscience…

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Kurt Vonnegut is alive and well and wanting to comment on the criminality of the war in Iraq.

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Quote of the Week:

Bookslut columnist Adrienne Martini describing the increasing commonality of works of “speculative fiction” ie. works that fail to fit neatly into one genre or the other, but rather to ethe line between “literature” and the realms of horror,fantasy, science fiction,etc.

Says Ms Martini: “The books are remarkable, much in the same way Todd Haynes’s Velvet Goldmine is, but without the glam rock and Ewan McGregor’s penis.”

“Velvet Goldmine” also being the film that finally prompted my husband to beg me not to “bring home any more gay heroin movies, please.”

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Apparently, Friday Five has bitten the dust once and for all. Archives and all.

Damn.

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My baby was born to dance:

She has does the twist and tosses her head like a little punkette and has disco moves, etc,etc.

It all depends on the music. Also, she loves seventies folk rock for some reason: Don Maclean, The Eagles, even the friggn Ozark Mountain Daredevils as well as female vocalists of the Tori and Thea Gilmore variety, and Celtic Music in general (The Pogueier the better). Right now, though, we’re listening to Modern Rock Classics on AccuRadio.com and she’s kind of swaying and peacedancing down the hallway to the Soup Dragons. That’s my girl. Now the song has changed and it’s (gasp) Echo and The Bunnymen’s “The Killing Moon.” If there were a baby equivalent of a lighter held aloft at a rock concert, she would be waving one right now. This one may well be getting guitar lessons someday (when sh’es a rock star someday, her tech savant big sister can design her website.) My girls rock, it is an unmitigated fact.

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Took the baby to breakfast today and engaged in a bit of people watching (translation:benevolent eavesdropping.)

Amongs me was a table of long out of touch relatives regathering after a funeral, relating how the event had brought a long lost sibling back into the fold and celebrating the pragmatism of the departed family matriarch as well as anecdotes about her attorney husband’s penchant for long, drawn out, heated debates about politics and religion, as well as the splendor of their old, big house, full of passageways where grandchildren could hide indefinitely. Then the conversation abruptly changed to how Dick Clark seemed rather rude when a friend met him in person. At which point I sequed to the conversation at the next table, a mother and her three daughters and baby grandchild gathered to greet one of the sisters who was visiting from out of down. The out of town daughter was complaining about how her mother in law had micromanaged her visit within an inch of its life, and apologizing that she wouldn’t see more of her sisters while here. Then my attention was drawn to a hostess whispering to a waiter “I can’t wait on that table, I know that girl from high school…”

Much more entertaining than morning television, and in the meantime, my little girl devoured a blueberry muffin,colored a wee masterpiece on her children’s menu, and flirted with a nearby toddler of indeterminate gender who had a striped shirt and a miniature afro and one of the ten most gorgeous smiles I’ve ever seen on an infant.

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I’m a geek beyond reckoning:

I still love the song “Pretty In Pink” by the Psychedelic Furs.

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Went to Cost Plus today and was shocked at the prices, but then realized my mental price list for the place was set in stone somewhere circa 1996, and I am shocked whenver I come in. Relatively speaking, most of their stuff is still an amazingly good deal. Bought instant espresso and sandalwood soap, and some weird little Hello Kitty biscuit sticks that you dip in strawberry frosting for the girls. They taste like sweet pretzels. Restrained myself from the beer aisle and the candy aisle and the spices aisle. I should get an award or something.

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Time to actually play with my wee girl before I have to pick up her sister from school and now that the Wiggles are over. Likely this post will grow longer as the day progresses…

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Peace,

Corbid the no longer Precocious

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It’s …

The Literary Simpsons.

Also, the fabulous Ms. Lizzie Stardust has returned to the blogging community…

So the girls and I are at the zoo. And we’re standing in front of an exhibit. Behind the glass are two large, beautiful asian tigers lounging on the grass in front of a spectacular simulated waterfall.The baby gets very excited and starts pointing animatedly.

“Look,look!” she shouts.

“Yes, that’s a tiger, sweetie. Can you say tiger?”

“Look, a duck!”

And there was indeed a bird by the pond. Not an actual duck, more ravenish than duckish, but close enough for her.

This continued throughout our visit. Any birdlike creature anywhere near a pond was a “duck” and the exotic animals to whom the ponds belonged were considered mere windowdressing in an ongoing parade of ducklike creatures. When we finally got to the actual duck area, it was rather anticlimactic for her, to tell the truth.

…this Guardian story aboutThe Ghost Train.

It’s been a rit dye and henna kind of day. I cheaped out and tried to put too many clothes in at once, so they were just grey. So then I had to sacrifice my brown dye in an attempt to rectify the problem. Which resulted in a very cool shade of purple with grey undertones. SO I’m keeping about half the clothes that turned out that way, then going back for more black dye for the rest. Once my hair’s finished marinating, that is. That, thank goddess, I finally have down to somewhat of a science. Decided to spend my birthday money rejuvenating things I have instead of buying new shite. I may be getting older, but my stuff will have a new lease on life, at least.

Yes, it’s going to be my birthday. Saturday. The 8th. The 9th being Mother’s Day (that way this becomes a public service announcement instead of a shameless plea to be wished “Happy Birthday.”

Wiley Wiggins has a Website. And so does

Will Wheaton…

Pagan and geek humour at last combined: the anti-spam Wiccan ritual page.

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Thurisaz (reversed)

(Also called Thorn; Letter: TH; Old Norse name: Thurs)

Thurisaz is a very ancient name for Thor, so it’s not surprising that it is a most powerful rune. Thurisaz can be used and interpreted as a protection rune. Plants grow thorns to protect themselves, so the logic is clear. Drawing a ring of Thurisaz runes around something is an excellent protection spell. However, Thurisaz has a dark side. After all, thorns protect by pricking and drawing blood. One should step carefully with this rune and treat it respectfully. It can backfire just as easily as it can work for you. In a reading, Thurisaz upright stands as a warning to the querent, especially if the querent is acting as though his run of good luck is neverending. Thurisaz often suggests that the querent is being wrongheaded about the issue at hand, and advises the querent to maintain status quo until the period indicated by the runecast is over. Thurisaz reversed means much the same thing as it does upright, except that the querent may be much more difficult to counsel, much more stubborn and unwilling to heed Thurisaz’s warning.

(Nauthiz)

(Also called Nied; Letter: N; Old Norse name: Naudr)

Another somewhat negative rune, the meaning of Nauthiz is apparent in its other spelling, Nied-pronounced “need.” When Nauthiz appears in a reading, it almost always indicates something that the querent needs. What that something is will often be spelled out in the surrounding runes. Most important, though, is that until the querent does something about this need, she will be restricted or constrained from moving forward. Sometimes Nauthiz will appear as a warning of upcoming trouble, delay, ill health, or shortage of some kind, and because of this, Nauthiz can be interpreted to mean “maintain the status quo.” As a result rune, Nauthiz indicates that the querent will get what she wanted, but what she wanted may not have been what she needed, and the situation may continue. Nauthiz is associated with Skuld, the Norn of the future.

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A flash animation based site devoted to world Creation Myths.

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