Breaks are for people without mortal enemies searching for the key to ultimate power

 

The following events have been awarded a 6.8/10 on the Weirdness Scale by Rira.

I recently ordered Wicked Gentlemen, a high fantasy mystery/romance, from Amazon.  As it happens, the romance bit is of the homosexual variety.  Apparently, since I bought one book about gay men, Amazon thinks this means I would be interested in tons more books about gay men.  (Which is entirely accurate, especially if the words “graphic sex scenes” appear in the review.  <——not a joke)  Suddenly, all the books in my “Recommended for you” section are no longer graphic novels, but rather poignant gay bildungsromans. Today, I noticed The Boy In The Lake and clicked through to the product page.  I skipped down to the review section and as I skimmed the first section, I noticed something weird.  You know how occasionally, you’ll see a little glitch on a webpage because you know, the font doesn’t support a symbol and you get like a muddle of an ampersand and some extra letters in the middle of another word?  Well, see for yourself:

And a close-up:

…what in the name of all that is holy is that about?  Creepy, right?  Later in the day, I went to Half Price Books in search of a different novel and on the row directly beneath were FIVE copies of The Boy In The Lake.  Five!  Since when are there five copies of anything in a used bookstore?  So, I bought it.  Obviously, I was meant to, you know, cosmically.

I’m not lying. Please don’t attack the window treatments.

Now on sale at Vain, awesome awards I would be totes chuffed to receive:

have you ever seen apocalypse now? It’s nothing like that, but we’re working on it.

General UGH, re: fashion.  I think we can all agree that regardless of what Lucky Magazine claims is in style or on trend, sartorial choices follow regional patterns.  In general, people are more likely to adopt a style they have seen on an actual, living, breathing, mobile person rather than a mannequin or a model.  Thus, two girls walking around the Nordstrom flagship store in leggings, a long sweater and Tory Burch flats turns into five girls, into ten, into a virtual army of leggings and totally not even comfortable shoes, I mean, why would you put elastic scrunch on the back of a pair of shoes, Tory Burch, why?!  And all of a sudden, from Belltown to Capitol Hill to Bellevue to Georgetown, there’s that same outfit, usually with that same hair (my hair) and those same sunglasses.  And then a month later, it’s Cheap Monday skinny jeans tucked into Minnetonka boots as far as the eye can see.

One particular look has multiplied of late and it fills me with this irrational, blinding rage.  So, black dress, black jacket, black purse…brown boots.  Black top, black purse, black pants tucked into…brown boots.  Black sweater, black leggings, black purse…brown boots.  Okay, so why, why why why?  Why? You know what color boots would look better with an all black ensemble?  ANY OTHER COLOR.  LITERALLY!  You could wear any other color in the whole fucking world and it would look better!  Why would you choose the one color that looks stupid, why, why?!  This is a serious question!  Hipsters, I demand an answer!

I’m trying to usher in a pantless society. I’ve never made a secret of this.

Knowing my fondness for juvenile fantasy and science fiction, the lovely Kim (Friend Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary) recently suggested Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson and The Olympians series and I am happy to note that it is wonderful and enthralling.  (Dude, P.S. that website has awesome sound effects.)  The basic premise is that the Greek gods and monsters still exist and are, you know, still completely unable to keep in in their pants when they stumble across a tasty mortal.  Over the millennia, the ancient magical landmarks have shifted—Mount Olympus is in the heavens above the Empire State Building and the entrance to Hades is (naturally) in Los Angeles.  North America is littered with demigods who, as children, are invited to a summer camp for half-bloods.  Riordan really mines the rich mythology; I am impressed with the deft integration of classical imagery and ideas into a children’s narrative.

This morning, as I harnessed the wild power of the interweb to research some myths I did not recognize, I stumbled across something peculiar.  I can’t decide if it’s truly awful or spectacularly awesome.  What do you think?

NO SERIOUSLY.  What do you think?  I am torn. On the one hand, the premise is irretrievably stupid.  On the other, the theme song is terrifically catchy.  I am horrified.  I am amused.   What the hell is up with the blue aliens? Is Telemachus a girl, he looks like a girl.  Sounds like a girl.  Seriously, did they make him a girl?  This looks like Voltron.  Will there be Voltron later? OMG, youtube is full of episodes.

Somebody, please, send provisions.  This could take weeks.

i think there's a chance that his parents raised the afterbirth instead of the baby

Sometimes I get sucked into Wikipedia—I look up one thing and end up clicking through related links for an hour and occasionally forget what I had even looked up in the first place, I mean, would you guess that you could start off with Silent Hill and end up at former First Lady Barbara Bush?  I was just looking up Conrad Aiken and found myself here, at Lord of the Bedchamber.

A Lord of the Bedchamber (also known as a Gentleman of the Bedchamber) was a courtier in the Royal Household of the King of the United Kingdom (and its predecessor states), the Prince of Wales and often a male consort. A Lord of the Bedchamber’s duties consisted of assisting the King with his dressing, waiting on him when he ate in private, guarding access to him in his bedchamber and closet and providing companionship. (emphasis mine)

Um.  So.  Is the Lord of the Bedchamber the King’s or Prince of Wales’ boyfriend?  If so, why was I not aware of this?  Also, where is the movie depicting such a dynamic?  Preferably starring Ioan Gruffudd and Gareth David-Lloyd?

Yay! Now we can eat peanut butter sandwiches and ride fish ponies!

This past week I netflixed the first season of Brit teen drama Skins (by the same crew who put together Shameless) which I had previously enjoyed through the wonders of the internet and was eager to see again without occasionally having to wait for the little red loading bar to catch up with me.  Don’t let the “teen drama” designation put you off—it’s as far from a CW show as it could possibly be and it’s British, so we get all the wonders of sex, drugs, partial nudity and curse words that American network tv prohibits.  Also, Dev Patel, late of Slumdog Millionaire, and Nicholas Hoult, that (underage, you fucking perverts) kid from About A Boy are part of the ensemble cast, if that’s a draw for you at all.

At the end of the series one finale (uh, spoiler), there’s this crazy awesome montage of the cast walking, stalking, bleeding and crying all around town and singing Cat Stevens’ song, Wild World.  It’s strange, ridiculous and utterly arresting.  Very reminiscent of that Wise Up sequence in Magnolia, except I hate Magnolia.  You heard me.  Bo-ring!  (Except for this, one of my favorite scenes in all of cinematic history.  That ain’t mine!)

I was happy to see that the last disc had arrived this afternoon—I popped it in and watched the finale as I devoured my sushi dinner.  The whole time I was watching, I kept thinking, ooh, I can’t wait for the Wild World sequence.  I might have to rewind and watch it again!  So, last scene—Tony gets hit by the bus, Effy screams, Michelle yells, Sid starts sing—wait.  No, Sid does not start singing.  There is no singing!  The filthy bastards cut the song from the dvd release!  What!  No! Unacceptable!  How?  But…  <grumble>  

Jerks.

I didn't have a concept for bad-assery then, being a gentle child, so mostly I just felt guilty about it for weeks, but like: the thing was between me and school, growling, and I was on a deadline.

Remember how I told you about getting laid off because the company for which I work, you know, douched up the economy?  My last day was scheduled to be 1/29.  I figured, my boss is going to be around longer than I am and I should see if there’s anything he needs me to prepare before I head out.  So, I asked and he gave me this, panicky, rat-in-a-maze look and asked if he could think about it and get back to me.  I said, “Uh.  Sure.  No big deal.  At your leisure.”  Within 24 hours, my boss came pulled me into a conference room and offered me a transition job through July.  Apparently, he felt that he could not live without me, which isn’t surprising.  I get that a lot.  It seems that I am not yet unemployed.  Also, I get transition benefits which include double pay retro to October.  Plus a severance package.

In conclusion, who wants to go to Disneyland this summer?

I suggest we celebrate this dramatic turn of events by watching condom balloon animals simulate sex.

Drama teachers, man. Pretend to be a tree. But I’m not a tree. Well, pretend. Fucking perverts, the lot of them.

Question:  Are you there God? It’s me, Ahe.  Re: the weather of biblical proportions.  What the eff?

Fact: Over the holidays, Seattle experienced a week-long snowstorm the likes of which we pasty, rain-loving folk have never known. I mean, sure, I have seen 12 inches of snow. In NEVADA. WHERE IT BELONGS.

Fact: Seattle has been plagued by winds up to 46 mph that have affected power stations and cell phone towers, felled trees and damaged homes.

Fact: Recent heavy rainfall (at times, over three inches an HOUR) have caused record flooding in Western Washington.

Fact: In the Chehalis valley and Centralia, three different rivers have risen up to five feet ABOVE flood level.

Fact:  Flooding on the Deschutes could lead to flooding in downtown Olympia when/if Capitol Lake overflows.

Fact:  East of Seattle, the Snoqualmie and White Passes are closed due to AVALANCHES AND MUDSLIDES.

Fact:  South of Seattle, the I-5 is closed because it’s COVERED IN TEN FEET OF WATER.

Fact:  West of Seattle?  THE PUGET SOUND.

Fact:  Canada, here we come!

I don't remember driving into the town from Footloose! Let the boy dance!

Happy New Year!  I am happy to note that upon my return from Nevada, the Snowpocalpyse had been averted and Seattle was back to its usual Winter Wetland.  I hope you all had lovely holidays, consumed large quanties of rich food and spirits and received much loot.  Sadly, I don’t have much blogging motivation right now due to a ragged hangover.  Please to enjoy some disgustingly adorable pictures of me, age three and my brother, age seven. 

while the merry bells keep ringing

*more here*