Heat and Cold

"Hot" activities include: cooking, pyrotechnics, sunbathing, drinking tea, exercising, sleeping, welding, glassblowing, farriery*, and arguing.
"Cold" activities include: refrigerator manufacture, ice skating, snowball fights, Antarctic exploration, cryogenics, and sticking your head in the freezer.



*black-smithing to you

Excitement with Potatoes

While it may sound rather like an oxymoron, I assure you that it is true: potatoes can be rather exciting at times. Like when you boil them for a half an hour. Then they char and coat the bottom of the pan with a lovely shade of black. Don't put bleach on it. Baking soda works best. Also, potatoes that have been thus treated tend to make rather tasty mashed potatoes. Enjoy!

U2 Unwittingly Predicts "The Hunger Games"

It just occurred to me, listening to U2's "A Man and a Woman", how well the lyrics seem to capture the love story of Katniss and Peeta of "The Hunger Games". If Katniss and Peeta were inclined to singing, this song would be their debut. I shall now proceed to point out the Areas of Uncanniness, in the form of what could be viewed as a script for a musical. Great heavens, what a mix!

THE HUNGER GAMES, RETHOUGHT: THE MUSICAL OF DEEP PHILOSOPHY AND SELF-EXPLORATION, OR SOMESUCH ROT
SCENE: KATNISS and PEETA have taken a brief hiatus from the suspense and thrill of the original story and are musing, thoughtfully. They are on opposite sides of the stage, with their backs turned to each other. PRIM enters center stage and kneels reflectively in the front. U2, lurking back-stage-left, visible to the audience but not to Katniss nor Peeta (for effect, you must understand), begin to play.

KATNISS, to PRIM: Little sister... Don't you worry about a thing today
Take the heat from the sun
Little sister
I know that everything is not OK
But you're like honey on my tongue

PEETA and KATNISS: True love never can be rent
But only true love can keep beauty innocent

PEETA: I could never take a chance
Of losing love to find romance
In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman
KATNISS: No, I could never take a chance
'Cause I could never understand
The mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

CHORUS, to KATNISS: You can run from love
And if it's really love it will find you
Catch you by the heel
PEETA: But you can't be numb for love
The only pain is to feel nothing at all
How can I hurt when I'm holding you?

KATNISS: I could never take a chance
PEETA: Of losing love to find romance
Both KATNISS and PEETA, in harmony: In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

PEETA: And you're the one, there's no-one else
who makes me want to lose myself
In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

Brown eyed girl across the street
On rue Saint Divine
I thought this is the one for me
But she was already mine
You were already mine...

KATNISS, to PRIM: Little sister
I've been sleeping in the street again
Like a stray dog
Little sister
I've been trying to feel complete again
But you're gone and so is God

KATNISS and PEETA: The soul needs beauty for a soul mate
When the soul wants...the soul waits ...

KATNISS: No, I could never take a chance
PEETA: Of losing love to find romance
BOTH: In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

CHORUS: For love and FAITH AND SEX and fear
And all the things that keep us here
KATNISS: In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

PEETA: How can I hurt when I'm holding you?

Lights fade as KATNISS and PEETA turn to each other and make minimal eye contact. U2 continues playing to the end of the song even as the stage darkens.

Lyrics from www.sing365.com
Song (lyrics, music) by U2

Eight-Twelve Status Report

Injuries: Sore Muscles. Curse You, High School PE.


Mood: Sleepy, mildly vexed, expectant.

Hungry? : Naw.

Outlook On Life: Aarrrghhh


One Wish: A very long, warm, deep bath with an excellent book.


Another Wish: A frock coat.

Quote That Happens to Describe Me: "You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling." --Eames, "Inception" :JT)


Alter Ego for the Day: My own point woman Original Character, as of yet unnamed. Re: :JT)


Comfort: What is this comfort of which you speak?


... I should greatly like to see "Inception" again. Mehhhhh

INCEPTION

(meant to write this ages ago. La ti da)

INCEPTION!!!!!
I love this movie. That has got to be the most worthwhile 2.5 hours I've ever had the fortune to experience. Well, at least I think it was 2.5 hours. It may have been shorter. I dunno. I don't place time limits on awesomeness.

INCEPTION'S CLAIMS TO GREATNESS

Arthur the Point Man

The Breakneck Action

Arthur the Point Man

The way Ariadne understood Cobb in an unobtrusive way

The intelligent plot and the idea of Dreaming

The movie's ability to make several hours very enjoyable

Arthur the Point Man

The Hotel Fight Scene

Testing Kicks on Arthur

Eames, occasionally

Arthur's Ability to Wear a Vest With Charisma

The driving skills of Yusuf the Chemist

The Unpredictability of Mal Cobb

The Minor Allusion to "TITANIC" in the beginning, har har

Arthur the Point Man

Ariadne's wise naiveté

The Penrose Staircase

The Lovely Cliffhanger, which carries the possibility of a Sequel, within a Sequel, within a Sequel, in Limbo. >:}

Have I mentioned Arthur the Point Man?

Watermelons and Energy

The two types of energy are kinetic and potential energy. Kinetic energy is the energy of motion, and potential energy is energy that is stored. A hurled watermelon has kinetic energy, and a precariously perched watermelon has potential energy. The hurled watermelon is moving, and the perched one has the potential to fall and create kinetic energy.
The precariously perched watermelon is an example of gravitational potential energy. A watermelon in a catapult has elastic potential energy, for when the catapult goes off the stationary watermelon becomes a hurled watermelon.

One-thirty-six Status Report

Injuries: None. Scars, on the other hand...


Mood: Hot, restless, and otherwise content.


Hungry? : I have not eaten lunch yet.

Outlook On Life: Won't high school up and begin already?


One Wish: A deerstalker hat.


Another Wish: An Inverness overcoat.

Quote That Happens to Describe Me: "Oh, no, no, that's all right. You go get the girl. I'll get the bomb." Al Giordino, from "Sahara"


Alter Ego for the Day: I'm channeling Tony Stark a little.


Comfort: It's hot. Feels muggy, too. Otherwise all is well on the Holmesian front.

An Ode to a Jeweler's Glass

It Is:
Conical
Flared at the end
Black
Wrapped with the finest gold wire
That is twisted 'round and fashioned into an earpiece
To make vision easier.
It Does Not Work.
(Not really)
I am
Compelled to squint
At whatever I observe to Hold the Glass in Place.
I can see my fingers better than usual.
I pay the canyons of my skin no heed.
I am uninterested in my skin.
There is a slender chain that
Commands my attention far better
Than my fingers can.
If it were any more tangled, all hope would be lost.
The same fate if I am without Magnification.
I lost track of how long it took
To rescue the chain from the grip of its own Tendrils.
The pendant, an uncomplaining flower of Some White Material
Lays quietly along my fist.
Damnably delicate links of metal--
They take forever to unhook.
But
(I still don't remember when)
The last ludicrous loop is undone.
The pretty little pendant, on its fussy little chain
(Tinted bronze, as it were)
Has been rescued.
Without my Jeweler's Glass
It would not have been accomplished.

Whoever Thought Up High School Fever, Please Step Out and Bang Your Head Against the Wall.

Oh. This appears to be me. Please excuse me for a moment. *bang bang bang* "Ouch! Ah, hell!" *bang* "I should have seen this coming!" *bang, bang* "Cripes!" *bang*

A Slight Detour From Myself, If You Please

Will talk about someone else this day. Will not use the first-person proper noun (or any variant thereof) if it can be helped. Grammar may be a bit stilted as a result. Oh well.
Today's subject is Doctor John H. Watson, of the beloved Sherlock Holmes canon.
Watson, before he met the illustrious Holmes, was an army surgeon in Afghanistan. He was injured in either the arm or the leg (the latter is constantly referred to, but Watson has been known to have complaints that originate in his arm) by a Jezail bullet (a nasty piece of work that is filled with shrapnel, possibly) fired by the opposing force, or the Ghazis, although that may be a mistake. Watson met Holmes through a mutual friend named Stamford, who introduced the doctor and the detective at Saint Bartholomew's hospital, commonly known as Bart's. Stamford had served as a surgeon under Watson while both were employed there. Holmes and Watson sought the same thing: to share lodgings with one who would pay a portion of the rent, as it were. Watson and Holmes hit it off, and lodged at 221B Baker Street, which may not actually exist. Conan Doyle wasn't very meticulous with his locations. It may be that Baker Street only goes up to 85, unless one counts upper Baker Street, but [the author is] unaware of how high the addresses go there.
Watson met his first wife, Mary Morstan, when she enlisted the help of Holmes in the case Watson titled "The Sign of the Four". Ms. Morstan was embroiled in a conflict over a great huge Indian treasure her father had helped protect. Or something. Must read it again to be sure, but there was a vast treasure to be had, and Ms. Morstan had been receiving pearls from a mysterious benefactor.
Damn the tab key! It won't tab properly. Not here, anyways.
Mary Morstan died later in the canon, and Watson remarried. Unsure of to who, tho' she may not have ever been named. Possibly, Watson's second wife was another Mary. So many Marys! Victorian London appears to have had a slew of them. "Hey, Mary!" [Forty different women look up.] "Ah, hell. Mary Morstan! Your husband's mourning your death! Don't forget him!"
In all the pastiches that [the author] has read, Watson refers to his dear Mary (presumably this is Ms. Morstan, but [the author] can't be sure, as no reference to the second Mrs Watson has been made, save for in the Table of Contents of The Annotated Sherlock Holmes.) and how he misses her gentle personality and sweet disposition. One story in the excellent anthology "Shadows Over Baker Street" (highly recommended), entitled...oh, hell, what was it called....erm, "..." ah... Oh yes! "The Adventure of Exham Priory", it must have been! It goes as follows:
Jephson Norrys, who has been cursed by the Epic Cephalopods of Doom, or the Dark Ones, or the Old Ones, or somesuch nonsense to slowly become one of them*, comes to Holmes to have him explore the mysterious portal in his basement. Moriarty, who incidentally did not die so thoroughly at Reichenbach, wants Holmes dead, and intends to rid the world of the Great Detective by bringing him to...get ready for it... the dread city of....Yith...from which he can never return. Holmes is tempted into the portal by the plethora of great minds that promise him eternal knowledge; Watson is tempted by the sweet visage of his dear, dear wife; Moriarty is tempted by the illusion of a mortal soul; Norrys is tempted by nothing, as his life is sort of forfeit anyways, because he's turning into one of them, and not doing it very gracefully. Um. Norrys diverts Moriarty by pushing him into the portal, and Holmes and Watson escape from the hanging threat of a one-way trip to the Dread City of Yith with some of the regret that always plagues people who didn't succumb to temptation and die a horrible painful death in a portal, in a mysterious, poorly named city, as a result. Possibly. [Am] unsure about the precise feelings of guilt, but there must have been some.
The tab key? It has been forsaken. [The author] has thoroughly given up on the tab key. Thrice-accursed piece of useless plastic.
But canonically, none of that happens. *cough cough so what else is new*
You know, Watson said in the very beginning that he kept a bull pup, who was never seen again throughout the whole canon. Not hide nor hair was seen of the beast. Much speculation, there is, about the dog's fate. Some think Holmes experimented on the creature, as was explained in the new movie. Others believe that Holmes couldn't stand the dog and insisted that Watson find him a new home. Possibly the dog vacated after one whiff of Holmes' exquisitely evil-smelling chemical tinkerings. Or an Irregular adopted him, or Stamford came to rescue him, or he fled from indignity at Baker Street and became the DREADED PROFESSOR MORIARTY! Or not. It seems unlikely. Bull pups aren't that malignant. [The author] wouldn't know, however, having never kept one.
Ohhh, Watson is such a fascinating subject! There's so much to write about him! Not nearly all that could have been written about him has been written here! However, if the post continues there may be cybernetic repercussions that the whole world will feel, and tremble at.
Mehh, who['s the author] kidding? This is nothing. [The author] appears to have exhausted her reserves of Watson-isms, as she keeps digressing into other things, but fear not! Justice shall be done to the magnificent John Hamish Watson, doctor, husband, and Not-Boswell-Necessarily.


*that is to say, they're similar to sinister octopi, and he looks like he's turning into a fish, but what the hey! It makes for a good curse. The poor buggers at Exham; that is, the poor buggers whose ancestry originated there, are thus cursed. Bugger.

Think About This One, Captain Deepthoughts

I thought I was going to write a post today, but then decided against it.

I Have Nothing To Write...

...but that's hardly stopping me. I am troubled. I am reading way too much realistic fiction. It's getting to me. I can hardly wait for school to begin so as I am enabled to impose my eccentricities upon the general public. By the way, you needn't suggest that I get out and do so anyway. I do not intend to leave my lair for much of anything. Sort of. I think this attitude has something to do with a badly-informed notion of the "world;" i.e., Why waste my awesomeness on those people? Which brings me to another point: my crippling case of wanderlust. Despite all that I say, I really WANT to leave my lair (I've got a portable one, you see) and impose my eccentricities. (How I love that phrase.) Mostly, I suppose, I want to get into the school atmosphere and wreak havoc there. I'm dying to find a relationship, just like the ones in those damnably intrusive reality stories I'm currently reading, and manipulate it. BLA HA HA HA HA! I should like to get my Cosmic Mixing Spoon into the mess that is the Universe and stir things up a little.
AND IT'S DRIVING ME MAD!
Which brings me to another point, regarding the Universe and Cosmic Mixing Spoons and Stirring Things Up a Little: Maybe I could create a rent in the Fabric of Time, which opens onto a different time period. (Sorry, I've got Kate and Leopold, which is a pretty good movie about a man from the 1890s who comes to the 21st century [and falls in love, which is irrelevant] through such a rent, on the brain...) and then hang around there! I think I'd do rather nicely there...seeing as I can't really stand the people I rub shoulders with today... (nothing personal.) (Actually, come to think of it, I don't rub shoulders. I can't stand physical contact. It drives me crazy. So HA!)

Oh, but I like being contradictory.

I Exist!

Hullo, world! Holmes here, at your service. Or something. It was suggested to me that I keep a blog of my everyday happenings, so I took the suggestion to heart and decided to post my rantings and ravings about a world in which no one cares to spell many things correctly, punctuate any sentences with the utmost care, or capitalize, capitalize, CAPITALIZE!

Always remember: don't eat the yellow snow. During a yellow-snow-shortage, avoid stewed cabbage. Creative minds are rarely tidy! May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house. (George Carlin, rest his wickedly funny soul, came up with that one. I love it dearly.)