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What could we do to create a world with less violence?
Get rid of all the humans.
I just can't be bothered lately to blog. But there are small things I want to share. So, here is a quick recap of the last several days.
Thanks to my friend (and coworker) Starlight (yes, real name), I ate at Costa Brava not once, but twice in the last week. The first time it was just Brock and I, the second time we took the kids. Brock ate roast rabbit, my youngest had octopus for the first time, we all had the (mouth watering) patatas alioli. The chorizo was delicious, the chicken impressive, and although we didn't try the Paella Mixta it was served at a nearby table and it looked good enough that Brock asked me to steal some (I didn't).
It's been a year. Over a year, really. I won't explain that one any more - not here - but a few people will know what I mean. I still find myself wondering what the catch is, and there have been some difficult times, complicated by distance and my innate pessimistic streak. But it's good. It's very good. I can't say more or I'll jinx it. Even things that I thought might break it, only made it better.
Movies I've seen lately:
Two of my photos are being published in a book of lolcats. I can haz famez! Well. My two cats can. I'll keep you posted.
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Submitted by Jack Yan.
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In honor of Earth Day, show us something (literally or figuratively) green.
Some time back, there was a vox qotd on pet peeves, and at the time, I thought "Well I can't think of one!" so I let it slide. But it just hit me. There is something that completely annoys me, more than anything else.
When I watch a movie, I like to get a bit absorbed in it. I don't mind talking, if it's brief, and in lowered voices, and when there's a lack of dialog in the film (montage moments, that sort of thing). But when someone just talks to hear the sound of their own voice, and when it happens constantly, and you miss entire sections of dialog because they are oh, I don't know, cooing to the dog, or asking DO YOU WANT POPCORN? or um, telling you something that happened to them today, or asking if the director also did that movie, or the other, well. It makes me want to hit them. A lot. What is the point of watching a movie if you aren't going to listen to it as well?
What happened the first time you were left home alone as a child?
Submitted by Warhead.
Someone just presented me with the bestest present. Roller skates. White, with four red wheels, a stopper at the front of each one, and red shoelaces. She bought them for a halloween costume some years ago, and they're a size and a half too big for her, but she thought they might fit my feet.
I was cranky, sitting at my desk, surrounded by post-its and headache inducing notes, and two monitors screaming at me: "WORK WORK WORK!" I got up and went to see my friend, who, you know, practically runs the place, and we went to her car so I could try on those bad boys.
Not only did they fit, but they were perfect. I skated around the parking lot. Yes, me, yes, at work, yes, with windows facing the lot. My coworker Chris came out, and saw, and shook his head, but you know something? I don't care. I was a freakin gazelle*. Only, you know, on wheels. It is much harder now than it was 20 years ago, but it didn't stop being fun. You think a girl my age could get into a roller derby career?
*a very drunk gazelle, perhaps on acid, with bricks strapped to its legs.
What have you lost that you wish you still had?
Submitted by gunderson bee.
Where do I start?
The metabolism that I had until I was in my mid twenties. I could have eaten a steel bar for breakfast and digested it within an hour.
The smooth skin that used to be around my eyes, which is now getting marked up with wrinkles.
The black cat with green eyes I received for my sixteenth birthday. She ran away two weeks after we brought her home.
Pictures of me from high school, and ones from those mystery years between graduating and having kids.
My sanity.
My energy, flexibility, agility. I used to be able to do a handstand and fall into a back bend. I used to be able to do a lot of things. Now just a cartwheel is a stretch.
The money my ex and I made on our house, when we sold it. The money that was spent without my knowledge, to keep us living a lifestyle beyond our means.
My grandfather's house. Though it was never really mine, I cried when it was sold. He and my grandmother designed it and paid to have it built. After the flood of 1955 they took scores of photos, and spent months cleaning out the house and making it livable again. There were water marks an inch from the ceiling in the closet housing the hot water heater. It was the one place in my life that always felt like home, to me. But when my grandfather passed, my aunt and dad decided it was better to sell and split the proceeds.
My idealistic beliefs.
