Dang, that sure is green.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Jungle Love
12/26/2012
Bobo and I knew that our love would never be acceptable in our lifetime.
We had been nearly as close as siblings throughout all of the parts of our lives that we could remember. We'd been weaned from the breast, taught to speak English, and potty trained together. Bobo had a little doll named Apple Mary, a gift from his handlers, that had become precious to both of us. He was my best friend and I was his. I was his.
I can't forget the day that he finally made his intentions clear to me. He had been trying to tell me for many years. I was a fool not to have recognized his overtures sooner. We were playing our customary game of checkers when he decided to break the rules. ALL of the rules. He put his checker on top of mine, making a King checker, and then proceeded to stack up all of our other checkers on the board, in the manner of a multi-storied, stuff-less Oreo. He offered it to me on bended knee, head bowed but with bright eyes fixed to my own. There was no possibility of escape or circumvention. The chimp loved me, and I loved him. If only I hadn't been so dense.
But if I had been a little less sensitive to his vocabulary; if I had been less susceptible to his charms; this story would not need to be told. If, when presented with that first red checker, displayed, as it was, between Apple Mary's cotton-filled legs, I had screamed and run, looking for my parents, as others have suggested would have been the rational course of action, I shudder at the thought of what other fate might have befallen me. No; I would not be the ChimpWifeGirl, as the internet and its denizens have so succicntly named me. Likelier, I would have become Mrs. Paperboy or Mrs. Mailman or Mrs. Why-would-you-let-her-spend-so-much-time-with-a-warthog. Conjecture is useless. There is only the Now.
Once I reached sexual maturity, I had many suitors. Bobo was just one of the many male animals who were interested in my future. My parents, unfortunately, were of the old school of romance. Their ideas were set upon my coupling with another human. Toward that end, they introduced me to a gentleman named Soren Bowie. He was as white as a sheet of paper and as interesting as a sheet of paper that was slightly crumpled in one corner. Although having paid handsomely for a few hours of my company, he squealed in fear and fled to his own anonymity after a changing room incident in which he may have been exposed to a full and honest viewing of my genitalia.
Bobo and I knew that our love would never be acceptable in our lifetime.
We had been nearly as close as siblings throughout all of the parts of our lives that we could remember. We'd been weaned from the breast, taught to speak English, and potty trained together. Bobo had a little doll named Apple Mary, a gift from his handlers, that had become precious to both of us. He was my best friend and I was his. I was his.
I can't forget the day that he finally made his intentions clear to me. He had been trying to tell me for many years. I was a fool not to have recognized his overtures sooner. We were playing our customary game of checkers when he decided to break the rules. ALL of the rules. He put his checker on top of mine, making a King checker, and then proceeded to stack up all of our other checkers on the board, in the manner of a multi-storied, stuff-less Oreo. He offered it to me on bended knee, head bowed but with bright eyes fixed to my own. There was no possibility of escape or circumvention. The chimp loved me, and I loved him. If only I hadn't been so dense.
But if I had been a little less sensitive to his vocabulary; if I had been less susceptible to his charms; this story would not need to be told. If, when presented with that first red checker, displayed, as it was, between Apple Mary's cotton-filled legs, I had screamed and run, looking for my parents, as others have suggested would have been the rational course of action, I shudder at the thought of what other fate might have befallen me. No; I would not be the ChimpWifeGirl, as the internet and its denizens have so succicntly named me. Likelier, I would have become Mrs. Paperboy or Mrs. Mailman or Mrs. Why-would-you-let-her-spend-so-much-time-with-a-warthog. Conjecture is useless. There is only the Now.
Once I reached sexual maturity, I had many suitors. Bobo was just one of the many male animals who were interested in my future. My parents, unfortunately, were of the old school of romance. Their ideas were set upon my coupling with another human. Toward that end, they introduced me to a gentleman named Soren Bowie. He was as white as a sheet of paper and as interesting as a sheet of paper that was slightly crumpled in one corner. Although having paid handsomely for a few hours of my company, he squealed in fear and fled to his own anonymity after a changing room incident in which he may have been exposed to a full and honest viewing of my genitalia.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Math Dog
12/22/12
I really don't have much to say about this picture. It's a mouse or a rat on a surfboard. I went back and read the associated article, but I am no more inspired.
A man seems to have taught some rodents to surf. They seem to enjoy it. It's really cute. They're not just standing terrified on a surfboard, they're actively surfing and they're doing a pretty good job.
It amazes me that people have the kind of time and energy required to do this kind of thing. Also in the article was a bit about a man who has a lot of trained lizards he can pose for photographs, and a bit about a dog who can read numbers and do math.
That last one was the most amazing and the least likely to be true. He can apparently add, subtract, multiply, and divide; he can do math problems that are written down, he can do math problems posed to him in different languages.
I love dogs and I really want to believe that this amazing dog is really doing all of that but everything I've learned about dog brains thus far has led me to believe that this is all impossible.
But I kind of believe it anyway, because I want to.
I really don't have much to say about this picture. It's a mouse or a rat on a surfboard. I went back and read the associated article, but I am no more inspired.
A man seems to have taught some rodents to surf. They seem to enjoy it. It's really cute. They're not just standing terrified on a surfboard, they're actively surfing and they're doing a pretty good job.
It amazes me that people have the kind of time and energy required to do this kind of thing. Also in the article was a bit about a man who has a lot of trained lizards he can pose for photographs, and a bit about a dog who can read numbers and do math.
That last one was the most amazing and the least likely to be true. He can apparently add, subtract, multiply, and divide; he can do math problems that are written down, he can do math problems posed to him in different languages.
I love dogs and I really want to believe that this amazing dog is really doing all of that but everything I've learned about dog brains thus far has led me to believe that this is all impossible.
But I kind of believe it anyway, because I want to.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Not Too Bright
12/21/12
Dave knew he wasn't very bright. He was reminded of it almost every day by at least one adult at his school or at home, the reminder usually glued to a compliment or sandwiched in between them like bitter frosting in a sweet layer cake.
"Dave, you're a good kid, maybe not too bright, but you always do your best."
"Dave, I hate to see you having such a hard time in class. You're not my brightest student, but you work as hard as any of them."
"No one's going to call Dave a genius, but he's as strong as an ox and twice as determined."
His worst grades were in Geography. He had a pretty difficult time in Algebra and Chemistry and English, too, but trying to remember all those foreign names and their relationships to one another was torture. While he would study, he'd think, over and over again, "I couldn't remember this to save my life." He'd start fantasizing about being under circumstances in which he'd be called upon to do that - to save his own life by answering a series of geography questions in some kind of ultimate high-stakes tournament.
He imagined it as a kind of televised game show from a grisly, dark future full of casual decapitations done before cheering, maniacal crowds. There would be a master-of-ceremonies, with a voice like a boxing ring announcer, who would introduce him to the horrible spectators.
"And now, weighing in at 190lbs., from Rancho Cucamonga, California...Daaaaaaaaaaaave the Not Too Briiiiiiight!"
The crowd would cheer and scream and generally lose their collective shit as he blinked in the hot spotlights and cringed before
the remains of previous idiots who could also not remember the capital of Iceland.
He could maybe even get a question right before he starting messing up, and then the chopping would begin.
"What two countries border Spain?"
CHOP
"What country was home to the 1988 Winter Olympics?"
CHOP
"In what US state can you find Richmond, Harrisonburg, and Charlottesville?"
CHOP
"Which one of the Baltic states was first to draft a constitution?"
CHOP
He'd be just a head and a torso by then, inexplicably not dead from blood loss, awaiting his final failure.
"What is the largest city in Costa Rica?"
CHOP
And then he'd never have to think about Geography ever again.
Dave knew he wasn't very bright. He was reminded of it almost every day by at least one adult at his school or at home, the reminder usually glued to a compliment or sandwiched in between them like bitter frosting in a sweet layer cake.
"Dave, you're a good kid, maybe not too bright, but you always do your best."
"Dave, I hate to see you having such a hard time in class. You're not my brightest student, but you work as hard as any of them."
"No one's going to call Dave a genius, but he's as strong as an ox and twice as determined."
His worst grades were in Geography. He had a pretty difficult time in Algebra and Chemistry and English, too, but trying to remember all those foreign names and their relationships to one another was torture. While he would study, he'd think, over and over again, "I couldn't remember this to save my life." He'd start fantasizing about being under circumstances in which he'd be called upon to do that - to save his own life by answering a series of geography questions in some kind of ultimate high-stakes tournament.
He imagined it as a kind of televised game show from a grisly, dark future full of casual decapitations done before cheering, maniacal crowds. There would be a master-of-ceremonies, with a voice like a boxing ring announcer, who would introduce him to the horrible spectators.
"And now, weighing in at 190lbs., from Rancho Cucamonga, California...Daaaaaaaaaaaave the Not Too Briiiiiiight!"
The crowd would cheer and scream and generally lose their collective shit as he blinked in the hot spotlights and cringed before
the remains of previous idiots who could also not remember the capital of Iceland.
He could maybe even get a question right before he starting messing up, and then the chopping would begin.
"What two countries border Spain?"
CHOP
"What country was home to the 1988 Winter Olympics?"
CHOP
"In what US state can you find Richmond, Harrisonburg, and Charlottesville?"
CHOP
"Which one of the Baltic states was first to draft a constitution?"
CHOP
He'd be just a head and a torso by then, inexplicably not dead from blood loss, awaiting his final failure.
"What is the largest city in Costa Rica?"
CHOP
And then he'd never have to think about Geography ever again.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Game of Thronezzzzz
12/20/12
I don’t watch Game of Thrones. I read some of the first-season recaps on TWOP and watched a couple episodes when I had a free month of HBO, but I’ve never read the source material or delved into the story in any other way.
Maybe my expectations were too high because of all of the media attention the show gets, or because of how people who seem similar to me in matters of taste have embraced it, but I found it to be shockingly boring. Shocking because, even though the show is chock-full of nudity, dragons, rape, and murder, it just could not hold my attention.
I expected to love this show. I love all of the elements of it, all of the things I had read about it. I like fantasy already and was excited that there was going to be such a heavily nerdy show on a network as committed to quality in its production as HBO. The title sequence is amazing. The actors are interesting-looking, and I like that I’ve never seen most of them before. I guess it’s just a case of the whole being somehow less than the sum of its parts.
Everything about the actual show bores the crap out of me and it’s tough to nail down exactly why. The dialogue is certainly a problem. I don’t like how basically modern it is. Here’s an example:
“The Lord of Light wants his enemies burnt. The Drowned God wants his enemies drowned. Why are all the gods such vicious cunts? Where is the god of tits and wine?”
Where is the god who prevents people I’m supposed to respect from speaking like mtv-addicted frat boys? Cause I have a show I’d like him to check out.
The sets and costumes are beautiful, the effects makeup is well-done (from what I’ve seen), I don’t know if the plot is well-crafted but everything is visually lovely (or horrible) as it should be, but the dialogue just really takes me out of this intricately-built fantasy world I’m supposed to be believing in. I would not be surprised if one of the characters mentioned a recent trip to Taco Bell, or was seen chugging a Red Bull. I would not be at all surprised but I might actually be less bored.
I don’t watch Game of Thrones. I read some of the first-season recaps on TWOP and watched a couple episodes when I had a free month of HBO, but I’ve never read the source material or delved into the story in any other way.
Maybe my expectations were too high because of all of the media attention the show gets, or because of how people who seem similar to me in matters of taste have embraced it, but I found it to be shockingly boring. Shocking because, even though the show is chock-full of nudity, dragons, rape, and murder, it just could not hold my attention.
I expected to love this show. I love all of the elements of it, all of the things I had read about it. I like fantasy already and was excited that there was going to be such a heavily nerdy show on a network as committed to quality in its production as HBO. The title sequence is amazing. The actors are interesting-looking, and I like that I’ve never seen most of them before. I guess it’s just a case of the whole being somehow less than the sum of its parts.
Everything about the actual show bores the crap out of me and it’s tough to nail down exactly why. The dialogue is certainly a problem. I don’t like how basically modern it is. Here’s an example:
“The Lord of Light wants his enemies burnt. The Drowned God wants his enemies drowned. Why are all the gods such vicious cunts? Where is the god of tits and wine?”
Where is the god who prevents people I’m supposed to respect from speaking like mtv-addicted frat boys? Cause I have a show I’d like him to check out.
The sets and costumes are beautiful, the effects makeup is well-done (from what I’ve seen), I don’t know if the plot is well-crafted but everything is visually lovely (or horrible) as it should be, but the dialogue just really takes me out of this intricately-built fantasy world I’m supposed to be believing in. I would not be surprised if one of the characters mentioned a recent trip to Taco Bell, or was seen chugging a Red Bull. I would not be at all surprised but I might actually be less bored.
Fiddle Faddle
12/19/12
As fast as a thought, Captain America turned and hurled his shield toward the sound in the dark room.
"Jesus!" shouted Tony as he turned on the light switch near the front door. "You almost took my head off. Calm the fuck down."
"It's not my job to be calm," the Captain placidly replied, catching the shield on its return curve.
"Yeah, well it's also not your job to destroy the apartment. You know, SOMEONE has to pay to repair this place once the mission is over and we move out, and I bet it's not going to be you, Captain Army Pension." Tony glanced over toward the splintered ruin that had been the kitchen door. "Already preeeeetty sure I'm not getting my deposit back."
"He did warn you."
"He did, but I did not understand how serious he was."
"The man likes his Fiddle Faddle."
"I'll never forget to buy it again, that's for sure." Tony went into the kitchen, kicking pieces of door aside as he went, and put the bags he'd been carrying down on the counter. "Look," he said, pulling out the familiar box and shaking it in the Captain's direction, "Got three of them."
"Did you get my pie?"
Tony continued to put the groceries away, not answering.
"Did you get my pie?"
"Well, here's the thing."
"Darnit, Tony, I jus-"
"Now hang on, I got a pie. Here it is, right here. It's just that..."
"What?"
"They only had Dutch apple."
“Oh, perfect.”
Sighing heavily, Tony turned to look the Captain in the eye. "It's apple pie, like you requested. It was made right in the store, right here in America. By immigrants, probably. What could be more American than that?"
"Sure, Tony. It's like that old expression, 'As American as Dutch apple pie.'" Tony smirked as the Captain walked away.
"Well you've got me there." Tony, now laughing, shook his head. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"
"Must be the company I keep."
As fast as a thought, Captain America turned and hurled his shield toward the sound in the dark room.
"Jesus!" shouted Tony as he turned on the light switch near the front door. "You almost took my head off. Calm the fuck down."
"It's not my job to be calm," the Captain placidly replied, catching the shield on its return curve.
"Yeah, well it's also not your job to destroy the apartment. You know, SOMEONE has to pay to repair this place once the mission is over and we move out, and I bet it's not going to be you, Captain Army Pension." Tony glanced over toward the splintered ruin that had been the kitchen door. "Already preeeeetty sure I'm not getting my deposit back."
"He did warn you."
"He did, but I did not understand how serious he was."
"The man likes his Fiddle Faddle."
"I'll never forget to buy it again, that's for sure." Tony went into the kitchen, kicking pieces of door aside as he went, and put the bags he'd been carrying down on the counter. "Look," he said, pulling out the familiar box and shaking it in the Captain's direction, "Got three of them."
"Did you get my pie?"
Tony continued to put the groceries away, not answering.
"Did you get my pie?"
"Well, here's the thing."
"Darnit, Tony, I jus-"
"Now hang on, I got a pie. Here it is, right here. It's just that..."
"What?"
"They only had Dutch apple."
“Oh, perfect.”
Sighing heavily, Tony turned to look the Captain in the eye. "It's apple pie, like you requested. It was made right in the store, right here in America. By immigrants, probably. What could be more American than that?"
"Sure, Tony. It's like that old expression, 'As American as Dutch apple pie.'" Tony smirked as the Captain walked away.
"Well you've got me there." Tony, now laughing, shook his head. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"
"Must be the company I keep."
David Wong is Right
David Wong at Cracked.com has written a great article. It's called "6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person, and it couldn't be more accurate.
Because of this, I'm going to write every day for the next year. I'm going to do 500 words-ish or an hour about the picture in the top left corner of the Cracked website every day. That way my ideas will come from the same site the article came from, which has a symmetry I like. They also update daily, so there won't be any reasons for me to have any excuses not to do it. I'm going to put it all here, where anyone can read it, so that I'll be more likely to get feedback from more different kinds of people, which will, I hope, add to my learning process.
Here goes nothing.
Because of this, I'm going to write every day for the next year. I'm going to do 500 words-ish or an hour about the picture in the top left corner of the Cracked website every day. That way my ideas will come from the same site the article came from, which has a symmetry I like. They also update daily, so there won't be any reasons for me to have any excuses not to do it. I'm going to put it all here, where anyone can read it, so that I'll be more likely to get feedback from more different kinds of people, which will, I hope, add to my learning process.
Here goes nothing.
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