Skip to main content

Lazy fail.

So I've "discovered" a new way to come up with Post Ideas when my brain is dead. Random phrase generator. Oh yeah. Set the noun to "average" and you'll get some hot ones.

However, tonight it appears my brain is just too dead. It musta been all that ice skating last night. Er, learning to ice skate. Yeah. I doubt that graceless excuse I was perpetrating on ice really counted as skating, per se. So, yeah, that and all the 3rd step ideation that inspired. I'll hafta write about that later, too....

So, yeah, tonight my brain's just too dead to do much of anything. I know I need to rewatch the/a bad movie to review for tomorrow, but somehow it's just not up for that. Apparently Doctor Who takes less brain power than a bad movie (review). Don't you ever repeat those words back to me. Ever. I will snap people.

Speaking of which, though, I'm trying to get Parker (and me) caught up on season 2 of the new series (of Doctor Who; I keep forgetting that "the new series" would mean little to anyone who isn't cool enough to watch Doctor Who, and also that there are actually people that uncool out there....the poor wretches....). See, I caught the end of the season two finale and just about cried my eyes out. And, see, I'd already read about it all on I've just about got that page as my homepage, dude. Yeah.

And, yeah, if you DARE call me a Trekkie--EVER--I will break people. Possibly with snapping.

All the same, I can't wait to see Parker cry. It's going to be soooooooooo good :D

If any of you faggots try to ruin it for him/me, I will go break you. With snapping. And worse.

Anyway, so to round it all up, tonight I am lazy. My body is just so dead for some reason. Dude, I'm so lazy I'm even blogging in bed. That's right. I'm using my fancy new wireless keyboard and mouse and hot sexy glasses-vision to type all this from the comfort of my bed. Hell yeah, bitches. Hell yeah.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…