Let's face it. When we embark on romantic relationships, we're leaving ourselves open to receiving a lot of junk. At the time it might have sentimental value--like X is trying to share their passionate interests with Y. In the flush of love, we go along with the flow.
But when the passion has fizzled and the relationship has gone by way of the dodo, that accumulated junk can just get annoying. You know. It's sitting around your place, but you have no real use for any of it in your current life. Not that it reminds you of affection gone sour--more like it's just plain taking up space, or is otherwise irritating.
So do what I'm doing. Pay it forward.
Look, in these economic circumstances, none of us can afford to ignore any source of gifts for the people we love. What better use for a pile of ex-gifts than to regift them to people who can genuinely use them?
Of course, I mean after you have given your ex every chance possible to reclaim their things. It's only decent, and it's the difference between giving the stuff away free and clear and still having some overhanging dirt smudging it up. Hey, I gave my ex (the ex before the ex that came before my current beau) months to retrieve his things. No games, no gimmicks, just his stuff returned. Well, he's never shown any interest in doing this, so I decided to pay it forward.
He left a guitar in excellent condition and fairly valuable as such things go, but didn't want it back. All right. So I've given it to my boyfriend, who needed a better quality guitar and actually is professionally involved in the music industry.
He left a sack full of comic books of various vintage and topics. I let my boyfriend's nieces and nephews have at them, except for the editions of the illustrated Bram Stoker's Dracula, which I passed on to my friend Marilys.
He gave me a pile of Led Zeppelin CDs. Great, but I'm more of a punk girl myself. I gave them all to a good friend who's going through some tough times and really appreciated the escape. I gave her the DVD he'd gotten me as well.
He left the first season of the old Twilight Zone, which I gave to my sister's boyfriend.
Justice League went to my neighbor. Return to the Batcave went to a friend in my boyfriend's band. The Tick ended up with a friend of a friend of a friend.
He left some Simpsons books too, which my father has promptly seized.
Look at all the people I managed to make happy out of my own mess! Above all, I feel great about it. I mean, if my ex couldn't be bothered to reclaim this stuff, why shouldn't other people get pleasure from it?
The practice of burying the dead may date back 350000 years, as evidenced by a 45-foot-deep pit in Atapuerca, Spain, filled with the fossils of 27 hominids of the species Homo heidelbergensis, a possible ancestor of Neanderthals and modern humans.
There are at least 200 euphemisms for death, including "to be in Abraham's bosom," "just add maggots," and "sleep with the Tribbles" (a Star Trek favorite).
No American has died of old age since 1951. That was the year the government eliminated that classification on death certificates.
The trigger of death, in all cases, is lack of oxygen. Its decline may prompt muscle spasms, or the "agonal phase," from the Greek word agon, or contest.
So much for recycling: Burials in America deposit 827,060 gallons of embalming fluid—formaldehyde, methanol, and ethanol—into the soil each year. Cremation pumps dioxins, hydrochloric acid, sulfur dioxide, and carbon dioxide into the air. Alternatively, a Swedish company will freeze-dry your body in liquid nitrogen, pulverize it with high-frequency vibrations, and seal the resulting powder in a cornstarch coffin. They claim this "ecological burial" will decompose in 6 to 12 months.
Zoroastrians in India leave out the bodies of the dead to be consumed by vultures. The vultures are now dying off after eating cattle carcasses dosed with diclofenac, an anti-inflammatory used to relieve fever in livestock.
In Madagascar, families dig up the bones of dead relatives and parade them around the village in a ceremony called famadihana. The remains are then wrapped in a new shroud and reburied. The old shroud is given to a newly married, childless couple to cover the connubial bed.
During a railway expansion in Egypt in the 19th century, construction companies unearthed so many mummies that they used them as fuel for locomotives.
Well, yeah, there's a slight chance this could have backfired: English philosopher Francis Bacon, a founder of the scientific method, died in 1626 of pneumonia after stuffing a chicken with snow to see if cold would preserve it.
For organs to form during embryonic development, some cells must commit suicide. Without such programmed cell death, we would all be born with webbed feet, like ducks.
In 1907 a Massachusetts doctor conducted an experiment with a specially designed deathbed and reported that the human body lost 21 grams upon dying. This has been widely held as fact ever since. It's not.
In 19th-century Europe there was so much anecdotal evidence that living people were mistakenly declared dead that cadavers were laid out in "hospitals for the dead" while attendants awaited signs of putrefaction.
More people commit suicide in New York City than are murdered.
I was laughing so hard that I'd become a geyser of popcorn and Mountain Dew.
You see, I'm what they call "low maintenance". Yes, I wash regularly, thank you, but I don't go in for all the goofy hair products and sealing waxes for extinguishing skin imperfections. I figure I am what I am and that's what I am and that's that.
Anyway, you can imagine how much of a grain of salt I take with my corporate advertising. That's where the geyser comes in.
It was a commercial done in all seriousness extolling the virtues of a "new" body wash made with...yogurt. Well, of course. I mean we all know the intrinsic value of having yet ANOTHER body wash on the market. And this one wastes food at the same time.
Later on, though, I had a thought. Yogurt is made from milk. Milk is a byproduct of blood. And who used blood as a treatment for fairer skin but Erzebet (Elizabeth) Bathory, the Blood Countess of Cachtice Castle.
Making a long and twisted story short, Bathory had hit one of her servants so hard that the woman's blood splattered Bathory's skin. Later, the Countess noticed that her skin seemed softer and more beautiful where the blood had landed. Having no one to answer to as a member of the highest aristocracy, Bathory went on a murderous rampage, slaughtering peasant women and her servants so that she might bathe in what she believed was a rejuvenating cocktail.
Back to the yogurt body wash. Is it possible that the creators of this "breakthrough" were on some level replicating Erzebet's regime from the 16th century? Do blood and yogurt possess the same skin-refreshing chemicals? What other stories from around the world exist to attest to blood as a beauty product?
And so, today's theory is that the good corporate rodents manufacturing yogurt body wash may have heard the tale of the Blood Countess, which in turn gave them at least the notion of using a blood byproduct.
Well, actually I'm funning with you. It was neither big nor fat.
This is the tale of how I went about getting married to who was once my longtime college sweetheart. He was a physics major, so you might say it was the law of attraction--or maybe bodies in motion. We didn't have the nicest of endings, but it was fun while it lasted, and there’s still lots of fun in the telling.
We watched the gold-banded ring swirl 'round and 'round in the toilet bowl of reality, and we realized we were on an alternative path to matrimony. Having been discouraged by pudgy, interfering fingers from "Wedding On A Tightrope", "Getting Married By The Muppets" and a celebration in the stale beer and pot-reeking basement of my betrothed’s frat house, we decided we were bored with the whole ceremony idea anyway.
But, oh yeah, that was right. We, like, still wanted to get married and stuff, so that if either of us croaked or got smashed up and mangled, we'd at least be able to pick out coffin attire for each other (pink chiffon, thank you). Okay, that wasn't the whole reason, but you get the idea.
From time to time I lose my sense of humor. (Or, so claims my husband.)
I have to admit, during these times, I roll my eyes at even the most immature attempts of comedy.
In retaliation to my request for another "meaningful chick flick" he pulled The Gamers: Dorkness Rising into our Netflix queue.
Yeah. Um... yeah. I laughed my ass off.
Here's what they say about it:
DeadGentlemen—July 03, 2007 — "The Gamers: Dorkness Rising" is the feature-length follow-up to Dead Gentlemen Production's award-winning short film "The Gamers." Buy the DVD here and support more DG projects: http://paizo.com/store/byCompany/d/de...
All Lodge wants is for his gaming group to finish their adventure. Unfortunately, they're more interested in seducing barmaids, mooning their enemies, and setting random villagers on fire. Desperate to rein in his players, Lodge injects two newbies into the distrust: a non-player character controlled by Lodge, who the power gamers immediately distrust, and the rarest gamer of all — a girl. Can the group overcome their bickering to save the kingdom, or will the evil necromancer Mort Kemnon triumph unopposed? A parody of fantasy films and the adventure gaming community, "The Gamers: Dorkness Rising" is a hilarious romp through the world of sword and sorcery — in this case, a world of exploding peasants, giant house cats, and undead roast turkeys. Game on!
I have to admit, initially I didn't think I'd like the movie. It looks as if a bunch of college students got together and filmed it with their Dad's camcorder and then edited it on a Mac. (There- I said it. And I feel so ashamed.)
However, aside from the lack of high-end production quality, this film is HILARIOUS.
The film follows a writer/DM (hey. I'm a writer and a DM!) named Lodge who has unsuccessfully run his group through the same module twice. Out of sheer stubbornness, the group decides to run the game one more time- this time with a few new players added in. However, the group has a bit of a reputation for being hard-core gamers and are only able to find one more player- a female who has never played D&D before.
The entire movie is a wonderful farce on the multiple levels of stereotyping that are common in the RPG world:
1) Gamers are awkward males
2) Female gamers don't know what they're doing
3) GMs have control issues and no first names
4) Everyone drinks Mountain Doom or Dr. Leper (which, looking at the table from last night's game just might be accurate...)
5) Late night games are always followed by a trip to Waffle House
and finally
6) That Bards really suck.
Overall- be certain this is one movie you put in your Netflix queue. I've seen it twenty times now and can quote it, but it makes me laugh every time.
Folks, you know you want your own Brontësaurus. Seriously.
Now I'm thinking of other Feminist Mega History Action Figures that I want. Queen Elizabeth I. Her enormous outfits could hide all sorts of weaponry and gadgets. Amelia Earhart. She'd have her own plane for mowing down enemies of all sorts. Who else?
Oh look! It seems that Marie Antoinette already has one. Complete with weaponized ejecting head, no less. Awesome!
Encouraged by the positive reception the above introduction received, the acclaimed scholar behind the effort is translating the saga and making it available online:
Space shuttles are for sale, people. And as sad as I am that the shuttle program is ending, I'm also curious to see where NASA is going to go with their next program.
Unfortunately, I'm a little short of the $28.8 million price tag as far as my personal funds are concerned. Wanna split one?
We can keep it in the field behind my house, and the engines are free! All we need is a few mechanical engineers, and we can start our very own commercial spaceflight business. Let's give Richard Branson a run for his money.
Even better, let's actually go through with the plans I gave my university for my degree: let's equip it with phasers and torpedoes and go build a base on the moon.
From there, who knows? I think the grand majority of Cool Space Stuff is going to come from the market at this point instead of from NASA.
I know. I'm totally behind the curve on this, but I love them. I've been culling through the dregs of YouTube enjoying the wonderful things that happen when you arm the populace with video cameras and digital editing software. I've ranted before about how awesome it is to put the power to tell visual stories in almost everyone's hands. Even when the product is little more than audio-visual collage, I still believe this is a Very Good Thing.
One thing I had failed to come across until now, is the miracle of Literal Video. These are videos produced by the marriage of over-the-top music videos and comic ingenuity. People with varying degrees of wit and ability add their own versions of the lyrics (with helpful subtitles) that describe, in an amusingly literal way, exactly what is happening on the screen in the original music videos. As with every category on YouTube, some of them kind of suck. Okay, MANY of them have issues (from failing at being adequately literal to microphone crackles on plosives, and bad singing).
The best ones, however, take the absolute most wacked-out videos, and describe the action to the tune of the original song. (It is a tactical mistake to use a visually bland video such as James Blunt's You're Beautiful, no matter how much I personally love to see anyone give him a bit of piss over that song.)
So, my sister geeks, having done some leg work, I must say that the following is my favorite. I have a great pre-emo affection for the song itself, but holy cow, what a video.
Aside from the Rifftrax guys' ubiquitous Christmas carol version of "Pokerface," there is an entire album you must purchase for great lulz this holiday season.
Okay, I love Aqua Teen Hunger Force, but even if you don't (and there are plenty of people who don't), there's a good chance you'll find this album hilarious. Especially those who've had just a little too much stress to handle. They have some pretty fantastic, if not family-friendly lyrics.
The tracks and my favorite lines are as follows (be warned that by clicking "Read more," you will likely be amused, scandalized, and/or insulted):
I don't even know how to introduce this video. It's so packed with awesome, I don't even care that it's going to break the front page untill the next article goes up.
I would like to give credit to Fluffy Bunny for bringing it to my attention, and apologize for not having it up sooner (I had internet connectivity issues). Without further ado, I give you the rockingest Harry Potter-related Parody I've ever seen:
You know, sometimes at this time of year, I get to feeling that something is missing. Gifts, parties, increased charitable donations, kitschy stuff on TV, lights (open flame and electric), shrubberies of various sizes, people reading from scriptures that are meaningful to them and their faith communities.
Food. Lots and lots of food.
But I ask you, where are the blood-thirsty pirates? I found 'em! So, for those of you with pirate-shaped holes in your heart this holiday season, I give you Captain Dan & the Scurvy Crew's A Pirate Christmas:
Some weeks ago, we had a spasm of reactionary posting here at GeekaChicas, all related to a blog post whining about "wimmin in ur syfy, puttin' frilly petticoats on ur manly mens." We had a lot of fun with it, as did many other bloggers and genre writers.
I stand behind everything the GC bloggers said at that time - women have always been a big part of SciFi and science, though they have been often enough subjected to the Invisibility Gaze of their male counterparts.
I've had some time to reflect upon the episode, and various intervening bits of news have given me some perspective. I'm the sort of person who sometimes has to boil ideas on the back-burner for a bit, and see what floats to the top. This time, I ended up thinking about something that happened a long time ago.
When I was a youngster, I would often take long walks in the evenings, up and down the roads near the rural home where my family finally settled after my father retired from military service. It was a lovely place - rolling hills, mountains in the distance and fragrant apple orchards nearby. Sometimes in the fall, I would go a bit farther than I had planned, and get caught out in the failing light.
One night, when I was still a quarter mile or so from home and the sparse streetlights had come on, someone stepped out of the trees in front of me.
In this time of good cheer and crazy stress, I takes my LOLs where I can get them. Here's a little gem that had me giggling beverages out my nose:
And if you ever had any doubt what a lovely* language German is, then you must be unacquainted with Rammstein. Just check this out:
*Written English really needs a form of punctuation to denote sarcasm. I lived in Germany as a child, and I promise that these lovely fellows exhibit somewhat atypical diction. But I couldn't pass up the joke potential. Rrrrawrrrr!
