Bumper Sticker(s)

Alrighty, I felt like posting some photos of bumper stickers. My sister's and mine, as a matter of fact. Too bad the pictures are so dark...my flash isn't going off for some reason. Anyhoo, I like this one. It's my sister's. She speaks Russian and knows at least one person who works for the mafia. It makes her giggle.

Last Virgin in America

"Last Virgin in America" in Russian. Just beautiful. This is my sister's as well. I thought about buying one of these, too, but that would be a tad contradictory, wouldn't it?

Aragorn/Faramir 2004

And here is my lonely little bumper sticker. I haven't decided whether or not I should remove it now that the election is over. Re-vote! Nooooooooo...make it stop...

The Sign of the Chimp

The first chimpanzee to be taught American Sign Language is Washoe, right here in this state at Central Washington University. My anthro prof was telling us anecdotes that he's gotten about Washoe and Koko, that famous gorilla who can sign as well.

One day one of Washoe's trainers was wrestling with her a bit, and Washoe got a little carried away with the excitement, peeing all over him. As he stood up, completely covered in urine, she rolled around signing the word for "funny" over and over again.

Koko was being shown some pictures for a demonstration, and was apparently getting bored. Then she was shown a picture of herself, and was asked, "What is this?"

She signed, "A gorilla."

"Who is the gorilla?"

"It is a bird."

"What is a bird?"

"I am a bird."

"Are you a bird?"

"No, you are a bird. Me gorilla."

"I am a bird?"

"You are a nut."

"What do you mean I'm a nut?"

"Nut, nut, nut, nut, nut." Koko then wandered away and began to sign to herself, "Damn I'm good. Good one, Koko."

In discussing whether these animals really understand the words that they are using, my professor introduced us to the concept of productivity; or, whether the user of the language can make up a new word which makes sense. When Washoe was given a watermelon to eat, she didn't know the word for it, so she referred to it as a "drink fruit." Koko, on seeing somebody don a mask, coined the term "eye hat", and came up with "finger bracelet" to describe a ring. So, it would seem that these animals really do understand the concepts of language, although syntax takes a long time to be learned (syntax is innate in humans, we have a "Universal Grammar").

In other random information, chimpanzees who can sign seem to consider themselves far superior to chimpanzees who cannot.

Fascinating. Well, I think so.

Kitschy kitschy ya-ya, da-da!

I got to hang out with my friends Raissa and Sara today! Woot! We are the queens of Kitschy, and we celebrated our Kitschyness by colouring fuzzy posters all evening! Exclamation mark!

Perhaps the #1 movie I am looking forward to this year: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

The amount of kettle corn I have consumed today is irrational.

I am ecstatic-happy because this week in anthropology we're looking at linguistics! My favourite!

Speaking of linguistics, read this. A great layman's guide to linguistics that I encountered years ago as a young Tolkien enthusiast. It will never let me go...

Huzzah for blogging nakie! Unfortunately, I have no anecdotes to relate, nor any amusing photos. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

And btw, is it a little freaky that while I am "Jane" most of my commenters are "Jen," "John," and "James"?

Don't ask.

Don't tell.

Mixed Renaissance Can-Can...Yeah

Here we are, a bit off-center...Bonnie, me, Courtney, and Robin before heading off to Ren Faire and gettin really really sunburned on my boobies. This was in August.

Personal Space

Average American personal space: 17 inches
Average English personal space: 24 inches
Average Middle Eastern personal space: 11 inches

And the English think we're pushy. ;p

In personal news: the Divorce. I've been doing pretty well I think, except for that every time I tell another friend or acquaintance what's going on (I'm letting it out kinda slowly) I just want to cry about it again. Nothing wrong with that I guess. But I'm the queen of supression--I'd just rather not think about things sometimes.

I have my library card number memorized. I wasn't trying to memorize it. I feel really dorky now.

And ooo...got another old disposable camera developed. Let's see if I can upload something from Renaissance Faire this past summer...

I better go do my homework. I'll reward myself with a decaf latte and maybe a fuzzy poster!

Things That Make Me Happy Today

1. Talking to friends.
2. Seeing that people have commented in my blog. :)
3. Peanut butter on bananas.
4. Orville Redenbacher's Kettle Corn.
5. Reading.
6. Watching Brenna spy on our neighbors across the lake with binoculars. "They're taking photos of each other in their swimsuits! They must be freezing!"
7. Spending the afternoon watching a dumb but entertaining movie (Constantine) and then feeling irrationally superior for knowing to stay after the credits.
8. Checking out my blog's tracking stats. (People read this! Maybe I should think of something better to write about.)
9. Coffee!
10. Watching old Janet Jackson music videos and dancing around in my basement a lot. Black Cat is her greatest song by far.

"What have you done for me lately? Ooo, oo-oo-ooo-yeah!"

As soon as my leg wakes up again, I just may go Dance Dance Revolution...

The Chinese Language

Because I can't bear to stay too sad and leave on a sour note today, here's an excerpt from a book I'm reading, Breaking the Tongue by Vyvyan Loh:

Chinese is a language that floats. No tenses, no moods, no declensions or inflexions, syntax malleable. Read left to right it can mean one thing, right to left another. A Chinese character is flexible--now a verb, now a noun, an adjective, an adverb--an actor comfortable in all parts. Its nature is architectural; meaning is designed by relative position, by auxiliary words, parallel beams, juxtaposed elements. Tone is critical, as is perspective. A word is not just a word--it is a made image of the world, an idol to be venerated. Chinese is often spoken with the index finger painting strokes in the air, pictures that reveal all and nothing: the perfect vehicle for poets, historians, rulers and spies. (p. 90)

I just thought that was beautiful. I have learned some Chinese, and I have fallen hard for this wonderful language. No other language that I've encountered arouses quite the same feelings from me that Mandarin does.

Mom and Dad

Alright, enough about clothes. Shortly after I posted here yesterday, I headed downstairs, joining Dad and Brenna (my sister) in the kitchen. They were making themselves breakfast and everyone was a little awkward. Needing to get out of the house, I offered to go get everyone Starbucks. To the drive thru and back again. I give everyone their drinks. My dad proposes a toast to a new existence, and I leave the room to keep myself from pouring really hot liquid on his pants.

Sometimes he's really clueless. Who am I kidding? He's always really clueless. My mom left home six months ago because her depression and anxiety problems were flaring up her fibromialgia symptoms. Her health was in such a poor state that she almost died. She's been trying out all kinds of different drugs and things, but her doctor, psychiatrist, and counselor have all told her that she probably wouldn't need anything if she was just away from my dad. He has never once apologized for being unkind or inconsiderate to her (actually, I've never known him to apologize to any of us for anything), and never said once that he missed her, even though he said he wanted things to work out. He has courted her friends and family, persuading them that she's crazy. Before she even left he told her that they were never really married! What's that all about?!

Yet I feel sorry for him, too. When I'm not busy being angry and silent.

Not that Mom is without issues. She is the queen of pessimists. We took her out to a nice restaurant for her birthday, and all she could do was bitch about how she didn't like Japanese food (it was not a Japanese restaurant) and so on. Dad didn't say anything, he behaved as well as he could all evening, but Brenna and I were pissed at her. She paints everything so black...the opposite of my dad, who charges ahead in spite of all evidence.

In a way I'm relieved that some of this might end, but it's never going to really end, is it?

The Shoes

I feel like a really shallow ditz right now, but I don't care. Here are my shoes. And my nastily long toenails.

The Dress

In preparation for Take Two of our drama improv thing to occur this morning, I headed down to Bonnie's yesterday around noon, still rather upset but okay. We finally made contact with the third member of our troupe, Courtney, around 1:30, and she wouldn't be available until later, so Bonnie and I went Adventuring. We both needed shoes for our costumes for the murder mystery next weekend; we managed to find some delightful glittery heels. Mine would have worked just perfectly with the dress I was going to make (notice my verb tenses and so on here).

But then we had a little more time to waste--insert appropriate cursing or praising of fate here--and so we chose to go try on dresses, feeling very girlie and having my camera in my pocket.

Oh dear.

So of course I find the dress that not only would be 1930s-passable, but it fits me and would be perfect for the character I'm playing and it exactly matches the shoes for which my signature on the receipt was still drying. And now my dilemma: I put it on hold at the store for today. Do I buy it? It costs $179 (ouch!). But I'm getting recompensed for this year's tuition from my dad soon, which will more than cover it. The last time I bought an item of clothing for myself was this fall, and it was because all my pants were falling down due to weight loss. But I was going to make my dress...I could take the fabric back...nnnnn...I don't know! Anyhoo, getting very shallow and girlie over a dress has certainly taken my mind off things...not really. Sort of. I think I'll buy it...See picture below.

Divorce Papers

So it's finally come. My mom just served my dad with divorce papers. They've been separated for six months or so now, my mom living in a hotel down the hill. I was expecting them to get divorced years ago, plus they've both talked to me about divorce recently, so I'm not "shocked," but knowing that it's actually happening, now, is different.

My mom doesn't want to ruin my dad. I don't know what she wants anymore. All of Dad's friends are guys who have gotten divorced at least once, some many times, and they're all very "you can find someone else." Nothing against his friends, I like a couple of them. But it's not like my dad has even tried to keep it together. I don't think he's clinically a sociopath, but he surely comes across that way in private.

While I hardly know whether I'm ever going to get married and have kids, I was thinking about how I would explain why Grandma and Grandpa don't live together. I know how common divorce is, but that doesn't make it any less horrible. I don't have anything else to write about it right now. I think I'm feeling sick again.

Bachelorette Party

My digital camera magically started letting me upload pictures to my computer again! Weehee! So I'm going to be posting some random stuff. This here is from my friend Raissa's bachelorette party. Hayley (sp?), Sara, Carmen, Raissa, and me, from left to right. We're at Uwajimaya's.

In the News Today

Item One: My fever has broken! Huzzah!

Item Two: Photos take a loooooong time to post to my blog. I'm trying to load one...it's been quite some time now...

Item Three: Kenyan boys have penises rebuilt. Science is absolutely amazing these days. And people are, always have been, and always will be completely insane.

Item Four: I missed seeing Eartha Kitt at Jazz Alley last night because I was so sick. That sucks.

I wanna be evil...I wanna hurt flies...

Feet, Fishnets, and Flannel

These are my feet. Hello, feet. Also visible in this photograph is a bit of a genuine barely-post-grunge flannel shirt that I wore around my waist every bloody day in the seventh grade. Ooo...museum fodder...

My Sister's Graduation

Yes, I dug up a disposable camera and decided to see what was on it. This is my sister and I just after her graduation last spring. I will have you know that I am 30 pounds lighter than when this picture was taken (not that you can see anything with my beloved bag lady coat).

Vintage Vogue 1934 Pattern

Aha...my latest sewing project. I shall be attending a murder mystery party that takes place in the 1930s, so I sought out a 1930s gown pattern. The dress shall be gold crepe-backed satin, and the contrast that nice off-white satin. Love the godets...I shall feel Dolly Levi-ish, though, not really in character ;p.

Um

Wow. Hey, I was feeling dorky and I needed to waste some film. This was Saturday before the concert. Some people might not post such an unflattering picture of themselves. Guess I'm not some people.

Ill, Lonely, and Deeply, Deeply Disturbed ;p

So now I have a fever, whoop-de-doo, and have nothing but to sit here and wonder how some other people manage to come up with things to write about.

Valentine's Day? Yes, I avoided posting on the day itself. I say that being unattached on V Day isn't a big deal to me; after all, I've never had a significant other at that time of year before. However, pretending like it's not there just makes me feel like I'm in denial, and I really was very lonely on Monday: generally so, not just romantically or whatever. And then I only had contact with 2 people I knew all day! And only one person wished me a Happy Valentine's Day, kudos to Erick ;p.

It's always been hard for me to admit to being lonely. Maybe that's partly due to being in a family where your feelings are your own problem; if you're not happy, something's wrong with you. Really a "take your problems elsewhere, I can't help you" approach. My dad has always told my mom that it's her problem if she doesn't feel loved. So, while I "know" in my head that it's okay to be vulnerable in that area, I still see it as a weakness in myself. Really bad when coupled with insecurities about not being good enough to be loved by anyone anyway.

Well, I'm getting better. Sometimes.

Ack! Cut the angst!

On another note:

Being ill and whiny, I feel the need to share the love. Watch this and vomit along!

Zombie

Nrr...I think I may have bronchitis.

It's been a slow recovery from the shock of this weekend. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My head is considering exploding. There are large bruises up and down my arms. And somebody made my sister and me sick. I'm skipping class today as a result, though I did drop by my homework. I've become a zombie.

Speaking of zombies, I made my sister watch Shaun of the Dead last night. Oh. A wonderful movie. Go out and rent it immediately. I saw it in theatres on a perverse whim, and now I'm thinking about buying it. Peter Jackson, the director of The Lord of the Rings, called it "the most entertaining film I've seen all year." I feel pretty confident in saying that this is the funniest movie to be released this past year. Enough of that. Go watch it.

You've got red on you.

Flogging Dragon Ballet

Yesterday evening began with the usual pre-concert girlie flurry of taking clothes off the hangers, trying them on, throwing them on the ground, and hunting for something else to think about wearing. Makeup, hair, the lending of jewelry, and we were set to go.

Or so we thought.

We arrived at the parking lot with a single $20 bill. Now, parking would only have cost $5, but, not only did my sister's search to find a pen to write a check with prove fruitless, but there was nowhere around to get change. Besides which, they really do tow those people who don't pay for their parking. Feeling like a complete ass, she paid the full $20. Ouch. (BTW, she had told me that I didn't need to bring my wallet...sitting at home...full of luscious fivers...hmm.)

We ran in to the club from the freezing cold and plunged into a sea of smelly middle school boys. Yeah, I'm still stuck going to these all-ages shows. The upside was that most people were shorter than me, so our view for the opening band was pretty good--we even managed to stay in about the same place.

Kane Hodder was...alright. I was entertained...well, I jumped up and down a lot. Yeah. Fun times.

Forty-five minutes between shows. This kind of timing, especially for as tiny of a venue as we were in, should be abolished. I think people drag their boyfriends/girlfriends along to concerts just to have somebody to make out with in that in-between time. It's not like you can talk.

Oh, we were going to have the ideal view for Flogging Molly...almost front and center. Of course, the moment they began to play these football players (who I swear were not in the room for the warm-up band) instantly shove their way through, and we got the full brunt of that whirlpool/tsunami thing that happens in mosh pits.

I don't mean to sound poopy about it, it's really fun, but when you have breasts there's only so much beating they can take before you worry about bruising ;p. I made my way slightly more to the side, my sister's nails practically in my veins, and we finished the concert with only the occasional elbow in the gut, which I'm fine with. We even pretended that we could do Riverdance for an hour or so, and the people around us thought we were really doing it ;p.

Overall, a good time.

Oh yes, there were some guys behind us who, when "Oliver Cromwell" was played, asked, "Who's Oliver Cromwell?" "I don't know." "Oh, he was a writer."

Hmm. Good luck to them.

This morning I had a hard time standing upright, but I was able to drive and went out and joined a couple of my friends in doing a little drama improv along the lines of "Whose Line is it Anyway?" Our dirty little secret: it was planned out! Shocking! The kids loved it, though. We used some 3rd-5th grade kids as volunteers in a couple of the stories, which they were ecstatic about (they got to be pirates, Olympic swimmers, and one blushing young laddie got to slay a dragon which came back to life a few times). Two more Sundays to go: how can we top pirates and a dragon?! I'll have to think on this a great deal...

I also drove out to see the PNB ballet this afternoon (urnfmglk, this weekend much too busy), which was good, though I would have appreciated it more at a time when I'm less tired. The Firebird was unpassionate, but with great costumes. Apollo was grand, and one of my sister's ballet teachers was the lead (excellent). The crown of the afternoon was The Rite of Spring--that's an experience. Very raw, primitive, fascinating, intriguing, wow. The story is of a village that sacrifices a young man (originally a young virgin girl, but people do it differently) to ensure the fertility of the crops (the sacrifice scene was intense). The parents of the young man then copulate (or just dance around a lot together--suggestively, but kids in the audience were probably blissfully ignorant ;p) and bring the young man back to life. Or something like that. It ends with the guy in the air, posing sacrificially (don't know how else to describe it) over a tableau of all the other dancers. Just beautiful. And they were all in their undies. Hey ya.

P.S. It seems that I should prepare an entry about my sugar sensitivity, but I'd like to give the subject justice when I have time and when I don't already have an entry that's running much longer than its content merits ;p.

Hasty, hoom-hoom!

I really want to shape a story around this.

And now for something completely different.

The Feast of Saint Julian the Hospitaler, date unknown
Patron of boatmen, circus performers, epicures, fiddlers, innkeepers, travelers
When he saw a couple lying in his marriage bed, Julian, assuming the worst, slew them. Then he discovered they were his parents, who had made a surprise visit while his innocent wife was at Mass. In penance, Julian set up a hospice for poor pilgrims.

Also Lincoln's birthday.

In other news: after screaming my lungs out tonight at a concert, I shall be performing in an improvisational drama thingy early tomorrow morning. Unremitting tea-drinking called for in the morn, then?

Have yo' ass hugged a banana today?

This makes me very happy. You type in a website, and BOOM! My blog is the bomb-diggity. I was much entertained by reading my older entries; try it out on your site!

Upsetitude

I was going to be so good and not have long angst-ridden tirades in this blog. Most of the other ones I've had over time were neglected except for in my moments of utmost upset-ness. (Upset-itude? Upsettedness? Upsettal? Whatever.)

But I've just had a very not-fun evening. My dad took me out to dinner, which was very nice, and I ordered some salmon that was not described as having any kind of sauce in the menu (I can't have sugar, see this website to find out the quickie version of why not). Of course it arrives smothered in sauce. No biggie, I'll sponge the sauce off a bite or so with my napkin, box up the rest, and take it home for more heavy-duty restoration. This isn't very fun when you've been starving all day and you're watching somebody dig into their food making grunting noises, but it's liveable.

The part that got to me was when my dad brought up the subject of my parents' marriage. Not good timing. Especially not good timing to talk about divorce, and really not good timing to talk about getting married again to somebody else. My coping skills are getting pretty good, but I'm not good at being okay with several distressing things all at once. And the whole finding another spouse thing? They're supposedly not giving up on the marriage yet.

Dad does get minor kudos for, after rambling for some time, asking me, "Are you not wanting to talk about this?" and then stopping. Really minor kudos. But hey, it stopped; I'm better now and fed, too. And I can count my blessings: my mom waited until I was older to start the serious wrangling.

And now I'm going to go lose myself in the columns of numbers in my accounting homework.

God bless us, everyone!

Horrible.

Some people love Valentine's Day; others despise it. Others really don't care. However you feel about this conspiracy perpetuated by the greeting card, chocolate, and floral industries, this is NOT the way to go.

All I can say is that I really really hope they find that lady before Monday.

Brown Butcher Paper

Once upon a time in America, papermakers used linen rags to create writing paper. To get all these linen rags at a good price, they would send out ragmen to go from home to home buying old clothes. This worked out very well for quite some time, but then the Depression came along. Ragmen continued door-to-door, but nobody was selling; they couldn't afford new clothing, so they just kept patching up the old.

So, how were they going to make paper?

An entrepreneur had an idea. He undertook a voyage to Egypt, bought as many mummies as he could, and shipped them back to the United States. Papermakers then unwrapped the linens from these ancient mummies and created paper from it. However, in the preservation process these linens were soaked in oil, so the resulting paper was brown and greasy, making for terrible writing paper.

You want to know what they did?

They sold this special mummy paper to butchers. Butchers would wrap cuts of meat in this mummy paper before they sent it home with their customers.

And that is why it is traditional for butchers to wrap meat in brown paper.

Crazy for Ikea

I love Ikea. I have wasted many hours walking there, some of them because I was lost, but most of those hours were spent in letting things inspire the designer in me. I have never bought anything for myself there, but I have helped assemble some bookcases and desks of friends and family. I like hammering things. I leave the glue to other people, but putting together furniture appeals to the little kid in me who was once a lego addict. Of course, their products' quality is certainly not the highest, but it's cheap, and some of it's fun. However...

It's not worth fighting over!

After all, the store will still be there in the morning.

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world.

You may play cricket, but you may not play chess.

I was clicking along and noted this blog entry. Intrigued by the illegality of chess, I googled some more and found this article. I am not a muslim, and I must profess ignorance of some of the values and culture of Islam. I am given to understand that chess and such games are considered "useless play," and are therefore forbidden. While I am in no position to be criticizing this major religion, I strongly disagree with determining morality by whether something is "useful." After all, whether a task or item is "useful" has a lot to do with the conditions at hand, as well as the perceived value of the result of performing said task or item.

I gave up seriously playing chess some time ago, but I still don't think I'm likely to convert to Islam at any point in the near future. I don't think they'd approve of the Sims.

Good things come in threes...and fours....

Good things:

1. No class today! Teachers get to learn things about helping students in crises and such-like.
2. Flogging Molly concert on Saturday!
3. Stravinsky ballet on Sunday!
4. Bananas. They're just so good for you. They taste nummy, too, and are relatively cheap. The vibrant yellow uplifts the spirits, and pretending you're the chiquita dancer burns calories and launches endorphins. Potassium is great for muscle cramps. Have you hugged a banana today?

The Trials of King Solomon

DNA test on disputed tsunami baby

Anne of Green Gables as a comic book hero? Excuse me while I run away.

Seattle is enough to make me believe I have supernatural powers. Not very good ones. I won't be immortalized in a comic book. Supply and demand...and I haven't got the body, anyway. Or the wardrobe. It's a surreal city, Seattle. Everything is a little out of place, and we call it "funky." This is a problem when it comes to practicalities, but don't get me started on the Washington Department of Transportation.

One day I was sitting in class and expended my entire concentration on materializing a friend of mine beside me. It didn't work. Does anybody else out there try things like that? I don't even believe in that stuff, but in the moment that I try myself, I do. Or I pretend to. This may be related to my state of mind when I'm late for school because I was sitting imagining that this guy was in a coma and his sister unplugged the machine and I tried to stop her but I couldn't and I was sitting through his funeral crying...wow. There's got to be a name for this.

Anne of Green Gables Disorder? Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. If you think of a better, do tell me.