fry day

The internet should know to keep these things away from me when I'm so very tired:

Yule (Buy It)

Christmas is coming up pretty rapidly, and it has me thinking about stuff. Not in the 'stuff & things' general sense, more in the Carlin-'a place for your stuff'-sense. I've been recently gifted some fairly snazzy electronics, but in all honesty, compared with the rest of the blessings this year they don't have the shine they may have once had.

Anyhow, here's a small photo collection of items that have caught my eye:

This is a photo of a key cutter from O's office. It's the only thing in this short list that wasn't currently available to buy, but I really wanted to point out a few things, like the odd gun terminology in use in the description. Personally I can't be bothered copying my keys manually, and I accidentally shot the dog with my full-auto key chucker. The thing that really bothered me about this was the "Made in USA" sticker, indicating it was likely built during the 70s' great "the" shortage.

Now, listen, I can understand someone wanting to own a Transformers belt buckle despite the show being a walking toy commercial, (a state the neighbouring bat and spider-men are sliding into,) but this booth at the mall really made my eye twitch. A Ford logo? A bloody Honda logo? Listen chummer, robots are forever but that crap pile you bought from your Mom after highschool (just so you could tack on a loud & shiny muffler,) is no replacement for engaging in the realities of your life, and no garish logo buckle is going to save you. (I realize that it looks like there are a lot of jewel encrusted skull & crossbones in the top row, but you have to keep in mind that I was shopping in the pirate district.)

This is actually out in front of a relatively classy looking spa in Capital City. I admit, I have no idea what "fillers" are, but the idea of being able to get botox, /any/ botox, for $8.88 sent shivers through my supple, well formed, entirely immobile lips. Actually, while I stand by the oddly cliched position that no one will be shooting poison into my face any time soon, for $50 I'll be happy to wash people in hot chocolate with a stiff brush.

So one night Opopanax and I run to the grocery store while May wrangles the children to their intended destination. If you've never been to a food basics it's just your standard chain grocery store with enough on the margins to try and keep them competitive with the great Wal. We actually saw another one of these charmers by the door, without its cardboard backing, but that backing turns this item from 'well, you know, not for my kids, but whatever' to 'do you have your phone I need to post this'. The picture may be hard to make out, but the backing is like a brief history of modern combat. If I recall correnctly there's an apache helicopter, a tank or armoured personal carrier of some sort, Nick Út's Napalm Victim photo and some shots from Abu Ghraib. Alright, the tank and the apache were definitely there, as well as some other scenes of big shiny combat, and I couldn't help but think '3? Do I really need to wait that long? This probably isn't lead based paint right, so we could just leave it in the baby's crib...' Maybe I could also pick up a tot-gas mask and combat helmet like the fellow in the top right, so it'll just be a low moist rasp as my 5 year old crawls along my sleeping leg to bury a ghurka knife in my ribs while playing "GWOT".

Family Picture

Winter 2007

more moreness

And while I'm thinking of posting articles, Opopanax found this Maclean's article a while ago and I may as well post it. It's an interesting read, implying that our situation may have a decent legal standing in Canada if anyone had the lawyers to challenge it:

Chloe is a twentysomething legal assistant from Toronto, who hopes to go to law school one day. She's interested in kayaking, camping, painting and photography, "the 'old fashioned' way, with film." As for her thoughts on marriage, she's even more old fashioned: think, Old Testament. "I am interested in polygamy, which brings me here!" she wrote to Sisterwives, an online forum for women in polygamous marriages, for those considering it, and for "poly-friendly individuals, male and female."

- More

The Family

Here's an interesting article from Babble, about child rearing in a triad relationship, that I found on Polyamory In The News.

"Why do some kids have three parents?"

A group of our friends were spending a weekend at a cabin in the mountains, and our hosts' not-quite-three-year-old was starting to do the math. Over the squalls of nap-resisting toddlers, her mom responded without missing a beat: "Because they're lucky."

- More

Big Questions On Big Days

Take #4 on this post:

We awoke under a blanket of snow, the first blizzard of the year making the world look like it had been redecorated by Tony Montana.

May and I have been discussing things for a while, but somehow this morning seemed different, the world had changed slightly. It would be easy to quote that ornery gunslinger with the missing fingers and say the world had moved on, but I've never really bought into the finality that winter is supposed to represent. Maybe it's just where I grew up, but going into the woods after a snow fall, the trees always seemed more alive while straining against their icy holdings - you see tracks everywhere, the hopping paths of birds, the big footed snuffling of rabbits, deer, foxes.. suddenly the evidence of passage stands clear.

Its easy for my brain to hide in the day to day static, and not consider the larger matters, but today is a day for beginnings, a day to mark our path as we've come, and to look to where we're going. And to ask some very large* questions.

Opopanax, how we adore you.

Wish us luck!

* and not necessarily legal in this country

Addendum: She said yes!

I'm such a dick.

This is largely a direct apology to the wonderfully demented hostess at antibarbie. I've been reading her site for a bit, and really enjoying it, but I have to admit I missed something pretty vital.

I even read the entire post, but somehow missed my new moniker attached to it. Of course, my brain finally uncoiling itself from a series of work related unpleasantries, I go back and there it is: my horrible misdeed staring me in the face.

Now for my penance:

8 Things I’m Passionate About:

1. My wonderful loves
2. Collecting as much information about everything as I can
3. Science, especially space and technologies useful in bringing a little equality to the world.
4. Tolerance, motherfucker.
5. Bringing a little rationality to the religion debate
6. Equality and minding of own business for all
7. Film
8. Chiba

8 Things I Want to Do Before I Die:

1. Get published
2. Make it into space
3. Learn to play bass
4. Save a culture from destruction
5. Mold my children into something they can be proud of
6. Take a nap
7. Have the freedom to travel at our whim
8. Become immortal

8 Things I Often Say:

1. That'll happen.
2. Uh, but I think we're going to be late?
3. Chupacabra! (My nickname for the wee boy.)
4. Poop. (You need a replacement around little ears.)
5. Dig.
6. Hella (as in "we're going to be hella late?")
7. Cum guzzling dog fucker!
8. Sure thing, love(ly)

8 Books I’ve Read Recently (or Still Reading):

1. The Official Driver's Handbook
2. Lord Jim (I heart Joseph Conrad)
3. Cell
4. Black House
5. The Power and The Glory (Bought it used and some fiend had ripped out the last page)
6. The Dosadi Experiment
7. The White Plague
8. Eye Of The World (Well, Opopanax is actually reading it to us.)

8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over:

1. Icky Thump by The White Stripes
2. Rawhide by The Dead Kennedys
3. Tear The Roof Off The Sucker by Parliament Funk
4. Nautical Disaster by The Tragically Hip
5. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall by Bob Dylan
6. All Rights Reversed by The Chemical Brothers
7. Thou Shalt Always Kill by dan le sac vs scroobius pip
8. Start A War by The National (I insist you follow that link... in a new tab)

8 Things that Attract Me to my Best Friends:

I agreed with antibarbies list here, so I just changed the first item.

1. Truth
2. Wit
3. Humor
4. Candor
5. Loyalty
6. Individuality
7. Taste
8. Compassion

I tag assembling words to armory, she waits... and Bamboo Blitz.

And now, hopefully, let the healing begin.

Late Again, I Heart Saturdays

Pretty much every day we are late to get Opopanax to work. We try, we really do, and we are always hopeful for the next day. We set the alarm for at least 90 minutes before punch in time. We get things in order a bit, shower, brush teeth. But then... and it comes on without warning. It's messy, naked, sweaty love. There is a point where things relax and we lay and discuss the few things left to get in order. We get up, start looking for pants... but then it happens AGAIN, who starts it? I dunno? One can't tell these sorts of things. We think, surely there's time, isn't there always time? And in the throws of passion, one of us comes to the surface to realize we have only 20 minutes... but, of course isn't that enough time?

Later, we jump to our feet grabbing only necessary items and running to get shoes on. We rush out the door blowing kisses and leaping to the car. We smoke and listen to music loudly whilst still obeying the speed limit in order to keep my sweetness from worrying. She makes calls testing the waters at work while I focus on arriving alive. She leaves me sweet lip glossed kisses and sails away inside. And then she's gone.

Saturday is heaven.

On Sleeping In The Middle

This is absolutely relevant to the post
and no I'm not just extremely tired and
willing to giggle at anything.

I'm not sure how it came about, but somehow I ended up being the one sleeping in the middle. This isn't always true, but when it's a matter of choice and not just nodding off halfway through Clash Of The Titans, I'm the chosen fender of elbows.

I've come to some observational conclusions based on my time in the trench, and I've come to impart them into the silence of the early morning intertron:

• The only option is to spoon.
• A few inches can mean the difference between a comfortable sleep and bluish limbs.
• The XKCD bed is a good idea, but even just a runnel and not a full out hole would be handy. I find my shoulders grow sore from always being under some one's pillow.
• Your spine has more elasticity than you'd expect
• A shelf over the bed would be crazy handy. And a little snake light for reading. And some monkey bars to help me in and out of bed without accidental elbowing or deblanketing of nearby sleepers. Scratch that, actual monkeys to help me in and out of bed. (Quietly now, Mr. Chuckles.)
  
• Its a lot warmer at the center, but you're restricted in how low you can push the blanket to cool. This would probably be really easy to break down into a equation, but you'd have to factor in blanket hogging. (I believe blanket hogging has something to do with chaos theory, you know that old chestnut: 'If May hogs a blanket on a cold November night, somewhere in Japan Jeff Goldblum is eaten by a velociraptor.')
  
• We need a bigger bed.

Monkey Sleep Force One, Assemble!

Shapoopie

I'm having one of those moments where I feel especially lucky to be loved by two such strong, gorgeous and intelligent people, and I just wanted to record it in a shout to the world.

DANCE!

The Battle For MacDonald's

There was an epic battle in the hallway outside the Hotel today.

It all started with a samosa. I normally wouldn't eat one myself, but May's samosa was looking soo good and I was just soo hungry. There were a few doubts about Karloff's cooking (or rather heating) technique...but I thought, no, I KNEW that if he made me a samosa tonight it would be heated through and through and I would LOVE it! I was so sure. So arrogant in my certainty.

The samosa was gross. Though to his credit, Karloff did a great job heating it up.

*props to daddy*

I was so hungry, though, that I figured if I could just swallow the wretched thing I would be fine.
The first bite was followed by a not-so-discreet grimace, which quickly had Karloff & May at my side asking what the problem was. I explained to them that, rather than eat something I would enjoy, I would just finish eating the (disgusting) samosa.

My gag reflex kicked in halfway through the ordeal and I called to May for ketchup - stat! She delivered a saucy counterstroke to the obscene pastry and I rapidly dispatched the subsisting components. I quickly turned to Dr. Pepper for comfort, though he was able to give me little in this time of need.

Throughout the later part of my suffering, Karloff was insisting that he get me something else to eat that I would enjoy more. Now, arguing with him seemed silly since I could just take three more (stomach turning) bites and be done with it, so naturally I let him wander off towards the kitchen in search of food.

Here's where I figured I had the upper hand. Where it all went wrong. My hubris...

I knew we really didn't have much in the way of food in the kitchen! I figured he'd look about for a while then give up and some back to our waiting arms in the smoking room. I should have known he wouldn't give up when he thought I needed something. Deep down, though...deep down...I knew. At least, I knew it was a possibility...the MacDonald's being soo close. But I knew we had no money for frivolous BigMac's...I knew he knew that.

May & I were still chatting when I heard the wind rush into the room from the window. I knew the only thing strong enough to cause that kind of draft was the front door opening. Immediately I questioned May(maybe she was in on it) but she merely suggested that he may be taking out the garbage. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing at once that I could trust her and that she could not be involved in this conspiracy. If May were to up to something and trying to distract me she would do a hell of a lot better than 'taking out the garbage'.

Though there was no way of knowing, I had made another fatal error in trusting May...

As soon as I made my way out into the living room and saw Karloff's shoes were missing I knew what was going on. I raced out the front door to find a very surprised and guilty looking Karloff, trying to sneak off to MacDonald's to get me a very unnecessary Big Mac. At this point I had already eaten that god awful samosa and I was no longer really hungry - making the expenditure of our limited funds unnecessary.

Of course I really couldn't argue this with Karloff before he took off in the elevator...so instead I grabbed him and dragged him back to the door. He then walked back to the elevator and got in. I told him I would go with him (fully knowing he would never let me go the way I was dressed and without shoes). He then proceeded to push ME back to the door. This is when I realized he was serious and I may have a fight on my hands.

Things rapidly escalated and I jerked open the door and called May for back up. She ran out from the room and I yelled for her to grab him so he couldn't get away. That's when it came...the vile act of treachery from May! She grabbed ME! Not Karloff! ME!!! She let him run to the elevator as I fought against her to grab him. With my every limb flailing around seeking some kind of meager purchase on him, she carried me back to the door kicking and not quite screaming but speaking very loudly.

Et tu Brute

When Karloff finally got back he had a BigMac and an apple pie. I didn't want to eat and I was more than a little disappointed that the food was going to waste (despite the fact that it's MacDonald's and I don't really know if that actually qualifies as food, really). Karloff spoke of his random encounter with a drug dealer outside the MacDonald's (or was he just on break?), then I took the sandwich to the kitchen to put in the fridge for tomorrow. I've set the alarm for 5:30am and a breakfast BigMac will not be an unwelcome thing to me. I know, however, that the lettuce always makes the bread soggy the next day, so I decide to trim down the lettuce content of the sandwich. Not eliminate the lettuce entirely, just the big pieces, y'know?

So I open the sandwich and what do I find? What do I find in this sandwich Karloff fought so hard to get me and I fought so hard against? The sandwich that May betrayed me for?

Rocks. Motherfucking rocks.

Thanks McDick's.


PS: The pie was delicious!

We Eek

It has been one of those weeks where even three sets of hands isn't enough.

Lateness, illness, headaches, stomach aches, cleaning, working, waiting, wringing, rushing, visiting, pushing, panting, occasional prancing, and an animatronic Bob Hope, have kept us pretty busy.

There is talk of undertaking a little creative side project involving the collapse of modern civilization and the relative drowning of the world's surface area, so that's neat. (And just in the first episode!)

Fall Back

Dear Daylight Savings Time,

From hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.

Sincerely, K

American Politics Are My Hockey

No, not that Gary Hart

This post reminds me of something that's been skittering through my brain over the last few days, about the wisdom of calling races before their day.

I realize it may seem like very little can stop The Inevitable Hillary, but tell it to Gary Hart. There are still a couple of months till the primaries, Obama's glow is dulling, and Hillary's war stance may get her in trouble yet. Pre-emptive race calling is a bane of American politics.

Still, my choice, Dodd/Kucinich (or vice versa) 2008 is an unlikely dream. I guess it's not all bad if on one hand you hurdle some gender\race barriers, or on the other you get some quality policy representation.

(Alright, I lied, the picture is actually someone named Cowboy Bill Watts, but you knew what I meant, didn't you.)

About Cat

This is what happens when someone(s) leave(s) the door open in the morning.

- found on PunkAssBlog

transmission from an outpost

I'm having one of those days where time dilates, gumming progress to a crawl. I think time has nearly stopped at this point, and I want to leave a note behind in case the langoliers get me.

A haiku:

long day chews at me
I yearn for the clock to start
time flows when gathered

Someone hit pause again already.