I think Siri is annoyed by me trying to teach her the Auburn fight song.
sigh…
Siri is getting more hostile
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Category Archives: Amusing myself
A clam-based interlude
Whoa, it’s been a week since I posted. When you have that “Friday” song as an earworm, it sorta stops all other activity.
I have several real posts in the works, but until then, let me show you what hell looks like when it bubbles to the surface and spreads over the Earth. In a can!
Facebook, Facebook, gotta be scared of Facebook
Facebook told me I should be friends with Rebecca Black. The Rebecca Black.
This isn’t fair
They can fly now?
What's that? You're safe on a boat? Hahahahahahah
I knew if we kept it up with that Shark Fin Soup bullshit, we’d regret it.
My mom worries that I SCUBA dive. It looks like I’m a hell of a lot safer than people who water ski.
(Here’s the actual story where I found this picture.)
UPDATE: Okay, I just had a mental image of Jesus walking on some water when Chewie there pops up.
Matthew 14
22: And Jesus did stand upon the waters and spake “Verily I say… what the holy hell is that?”
23: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Ruuuuun!” For lo, did his sandals slap upon the waves as he legged it back to shore.
24: “Quit laughing, lest ye die.” Yet our mirth abated not. And Simon the Crunchy did gather himself into Heaven forthwith.
Feeling our guilty pleasures
I had a minor epiphany just now scrolling through the TV shows I have queued up waiting for me.
- Survivor
- Pretty Little Liars
- Ringer
- The Vampire Diaries
- The New Girl
I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t just been walking the dogs with some Katy Perry. My Netflix queue is similarly eyebrow-raising, but I blame Rifftrax for that. Rifftrax totally did a version of (500) Days of Summer, right?
I just now noticed that my entertainment media is skewed towards Zooey Deschanel. Hmmm. Even Katy Perry looks like a buxom Zooey. I need to think about this.
Actually, no. I'm okay with it.
Zooey aside, I seem to be floating in a sea of guilty pleasures. But that’s not right, either, because I don’t feel guilty about any of it. The last time I felt embarrassed about my TV choices was when I clicked over to see my first episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because I felt like a huge pig — my only reason for watching it was so I could stare at Sarah Michelle Gellar for an hour.
To be fair, she was doing a lot of ads like this at the time
I did somehow find a way to enjoy Buffy despite an endless parade of hot women. I’m trying to get into Ringer now because of my general affection for SMG, but it is slow going. I keep expecting her to stake Nestor Carbonell.
Anyhow, we should stop thinking in terms of guilty pleasures*. So I’m not in the target demographic for The Vampire Diaries and I would look like a chaperone at a Christina Perri concert. (Maybe I just have a thing for musicians named Perry. That would explain all my Journey albums.) Who cares? I promise not to sing along with Jar of Hearts if anyone is in the car with me.
Ha! Arrow just perked up. Sorry boy, that offer doesn’t apply to dogs. You’re getting the Full Christian Multimedia Experience.
I’ve let the guilty pleasures concept go. Just in time, too — the Project Runway finale is tonight! Is anyone else rooting for Anya? Her stuff is just incredible, and I hope she ends up sewing Josha onto the subway tracks.
(* Not applicable if your pleasures are also felonies. Go ahead and feel/plead guilty about those.)
Frankenhound
You guys remember my dog Arrow:
I am the Lord thy Dog!
Oops! Wait a minute… ARROW! Quit messing my with photo library, damn it! That’s Arrow as he would be if he were 100 pounds heavier, 14 billion percent more scary, and an actual predator. Here he is as a fuzzy throw pillow who sleeps in the fetal position on his own cushion:
I am STILL the Lord thy.... Lord thy... thy.... ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
If he could, he would tell you he needs some extra TLC. He would probably have been saying that every day for his entire 14 years and counting, but today he might have a point.
I told him to stay way from the Weedwhacker, but no
My little Krypto wanna-be had surgery. To make sure he looks as ridiculous as possible, the vet shaved him in a nearly perfect square, for they too have had enough of his shit.
Don’t worry, Fans Of Arrow: it was nothing major. Just a cyst. But I got worried that he was about to sprout another dog, like how Bruce Campbell grew Evil Ash in Army of Darkness. (“Name’s Arrow. [cocks collar] Housewares.”) Once the anesthesia wore off, he was back to normal.
I do have to keep it from getting wet until it heals a little more. It hasn’t been raining, so that’s easy enough — or would be if I had a good dog. Naturally, the first thing Arrow did was to roll in something disgusting, knowing I can’t bathe him for a couple more days. Those who follow me on Facebook know that Arrow has recently learned to escape from cages and to recruit other dogs to his cause (whatever the hell his cause is — I hope we never know, because it will be either evil or stupid). Now he’s learned about getting revenge for perceived wrongs.
He couldn’t give me a real wolf-like comeuppance, since I am the Food’N'Walkies guy — unless wolves normally attack via glares while sitting on a dog bed. But I expect the vet to get a DefCon 1 growling-at next time. I wonder if she’ll notice. (“Who’s phone is on vibrate? And who set fire to a chipmunk? Do these windows open?”)
If you see me soon, I probably smell like a rabbit that exploded on hot pavement. Apologies in advance. It’s just Arrow’s way of marking his territory. I kinds wish he’d just peed on me.
Moneyflick
I saw the new Brad Pitt film Moneyball. Probably the most unusual baseball movie I’ve ever seen that didn’t involve the ghosts of dead players performing for Darth Vader. It was a little like Major League, but from the front office perspective. I enjoyed it. Pitt has become a talented, likable actor, which is rare for someone who’s perpetually in the “sexist man alive” conversations.
Interludes: Dream Theater
I will have the Science Smackdown championship game up tomorrow. It’s been a hectic few days and I want to give the final matchup the attention and respect it deserves. In the meantime…
It’s a popular complaint that nothing is as boring as someone telling you about a dream they had, then asking you what you think it says about them. This is true enough. But it’s not that psychoanalysis itself is dull, it’s that the dreams getting relayed are exceedingly mundane.
What other secrets do you hide, weirdo?
I’m not thinking of anyone in particular, but I can recall more than one occasion when I would hear something like “man, last night I dreamed I was in New York, and I hailed a cab and ended up sharing a cab ride with Neil Gaiman!”
I’d wait for the shoe to drop, and it never came. My suspicion is that something else would happen that would genuinely make this dream bizarre, but the details got lost when waking up – leaving only the setting and the vague feeling of unease. Not that that helped me at all, trying to cope with the concept of a successful author going to a place like New York City and decide to take a taxi somewhere.
All of which is a buildup to this from last night:
The actress Kristen Stewart is my sister, although we never made any mention of her being an actress and Robert Pattinson wasn’t around or anything. More like she was playing the role of my sister. She was in a bad mood the entire time, so she could have been acting. Anyway, she and I were traveling with our father who was not anyone I recognized but was about the proper age to be Kristen Stewart’s dad, although nowhere near old enough to be my own. But we both deferred to him like dutiful children, which you’d expect because he was emotionally abusive. We pull up next to Kristen’s car, which is at the base of a hill that’s too steep for her underpowered engine to make it up, so Dad chews her out while she sits there (glumly, of course) and takes it. I get protective, so I get out of the car we’re in, and get into Kristen’s and eventually drive it over the steep hill using a zigzag pattern where I could build up speed traveling horizontally and use it to climb slightly higher. At the end, Kristen is glumly grateful and Dad is silent but pissed off.
If you have an idea of what this says about me, you are under no obligation to share. I think I should stop playing Desert Bus while watching Twilight movies.
What have you done to me?
Coming this week: Science Smackdown Championship, and a review of Moneyball! It will haunt your sleep…
Comparing Apples and Hyperviolent Girlyman Sports
One of the the things I like most about the life I’ve carved out for myself is that I’ve befriended some amazing people. Scientists, authors, musicians, comedians, short people… the list goes on and on.
For example, take my friend Evelyn Mervine. From the bio on her blog:
Evelyn Mervine is a geologist, writer, traveler, and aspiring polyglot. She is currently a Ph.D. student in the MIT/Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution Joint Program and will obtain her doctorate in Marine Geology & Geophysics (with a Geochemistry focus) in 2012.
She’s also very kind, friendly, and funny. All in all, an impressive woman. Even moreso when you realize she suffers from brain damage so severe that she thinks rugby is a superior sport to American football.
There’s no need to fear
With the traffic that’s come from Brian’s pimping of last week’s post about diversity, I’m preparing a follow-up. In the meantime, this amused (probably only) me.
The Black PS3 Controller is here! You evildoers knock that crap right off. My crimefighting skills are roughly on par with with my EASports NCAA Football 09 skills, so you are truly doomed. You are looking at eight consecutive BCS Championships, baby.
At least until my battery runs low or I get too far from my base station.