Found My Old Autobiography

Several years ago, I wrote out a brief outline of my life. It’s around twenty pages and growing. I did it mainly as a form of catharsis due to all the negative stuff I’ve had happen in my life. It worked too, so I’d highly recommend this as a supplement to therapy. In its current form, it goes from ages 0 – 27 years or, roughly, the years 1981 – 2008. I have plans to expand upon it up to the present day (I’m now 34) over the next few days as a means of getting my creative juices flowing for NaNoWriMo.

 

In other less boring news, I’ve harvested all the rest of the Jalapeno peppers.

I was watching YouTube’s Praxxus55712 and he explained how taking the first flush of peppers off would yield another two or three harvests down the road. So, up the stairs I went and cut the little fiends off of the plant. Already, there are new flowers coming in and signs of more growth. I’m really hoping that the tomatoes catch up with the pepper plant soon. From the looks of things, I might have to raise the hood light again.

 

Now, I just have to figure out what to do with all the jalapeno peppers I have. If you, my dear readers, have any suggestions, please leave them in the comments? I was thinking Nachos or homemade salsa or something. So far, I’ve been putting them in my eggs but that gets old quickly. Plus, everyone around me is a lightweight. So, giving them away isn’t an option.

 

Onto Project Central. Nothing is happening there. I’ve been so busy chasing down the Maternal Parental for some quality time that I haven’t been doing much with my projects. We’ve been trying to look at the last Hobbit movie but she gets sleepy, then I do, then she wants cigarettes. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I should just focus on my own stuff for now given I’ve signed up for something so big as NaNoWriMo but I like spending quality time with her.

 

The Caregiver’s Cardigan is only a few more rows completed. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll make the deadline for NaKniSweMo for this thing. Still, as long as I get it done before the Holidays, I’ll be happy.

 

The Mystery Stuffed Toy hasn’t been touched since I mentioned it in the vlog days ago. If I focus on any project, it’ll probably be that one. I can bust it out in a day or so of crocheting compared with days and days of knitting for the Caregiver’s Cardigan.

 

Doily and various other projects…*hangs head in shame*

 

I’ll get to them all eventually. I should probably focus on them once NaNoWriMo is over with so I can have winter accoutrement. I’ve still not finished my winter gear.

 

The next vlog should come this weekend, if I can squeeze in the time and manage the quiet. I’m up in the air about what to read though. It’ll either be something I’ve written (fanfiction or original story) or another Fastback Horror series book.

 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a moment of “me time” and read the rest of Julius Caesar’s Commentaries on the Gallic War before binging on Paul Bettany and Karl Urban movies.

 

Later!

Not My Clowns, Not My Circus…and Crocheting Too

This whole situation regarding the Cosby allegations has certainly been triggering over the past few weeks. Last night, I donned the asbestos body suit and dived into the comments of one of the Facebook article links. In that unhappy land, were a bunch of apologists, making brash assumptions about exactly what and how a person victimized by Rape should do and act. If it weren’t so pathetically sad, it would have been laughable. Most of the people tapping their fingers and flapping their gums have no experience being victimized and yet they felt honor bound to not only call the accusers every conceivable derrogatory name in existence, but to actually have the audacity to dictate, in their view, how someone who has dealt with such a trauma should behave. Madness.

Really, spare me such ridiculous nonsense.

None of these self appointed guardians of Cosby’s virtue were in the presence of accusers and accused at the time of the incidents, so how could anyone stand there and so vehemently declare his unblemished innocence?

I don’t know either Bill Cosby or his accusers. Nor do most people taking sides in this dogfight.

In all honesty, I don’t like him and never have. I think he’s an arrogant shithead who uses people for his own ends and castigates when he hasn’t got an ethical leg to stand on. Yet, you don’t see me screaming from the rooftops that he’s either innocent or guilty in this situation because I wasn’t there. I would hope that, when the full bevy of facts come to light, everything will fall into place on one side or the other. Sadly, I know from experience that cases like these often go unsatisfied because of gullible people who become staunch defenders even in the face of overwhelming evidence.

The whole thing just sickens me. Not my clowns, not my circus.

In brighter news, if I can ever get from under this somnolent haze I’ve been under these past few days, I am almost finished Ari’s scarf. I’m going to work on it tonight, provided I don’t pass out again and sleep for twelve hours.

Here’s the most recent picture of the scarf.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, loves the pattern and the colorway of the yarn. The pattern is called the Noro Windowpane Scarf by Adrienne Lash and the yarn details are Knit Picks Chroma Fingering weight yarn in the colorway Prism. I honestly don’t know if Knit Picks will ever sell this colorway again but it’s worth a try petitioning them.

Now onto my craziness. I have been doing a lot of updates with regard to my online accounts recently. I’ve updated this blog’s appearance a bit, got a few new accounts that I’m looking forward to playing with and I’ve even updated my public Facebook page. I’ve also updated my OK Cupid page again, expanding on my interests on my profile. Hopefully, this will all aid me in meeting people I actually want to meet (OK Cupid), aid in my production of fresh new online content (everything else) and over all just save me from the headache of keeping up with multiple accounts of differing names.

Last but not least, I’ve been eating grapefruit. Ye gads, it’s disgusting! Being a completely unobservant silly person, I saw citrus-y fruit in the spot marks “Oranges” at the market and picked up a bag. Little did I know that what I picked up was, in point of fact, the most foul thing to evolve from the citrus line. Grapefruit. Ruby red grapefruit. I didn’t notice it was grapefruit until the Maternal Parental and I had gotten home and couldn’t return it since it’s a perishable. So, there I was, stuck with grapefruit that neither I nor the Maternal Parental could eat owing to medication interactions.

I tried to give it away but no one who was close enough to take it would come and get it. (glaring at Joel and Mike) So, after initially trying one grapefruit and swearing them off for all eternity, I began to eat the rest of them. Mike, in his infinite wisdom and goodness, explained how to eat them with a minimum about of bitterness. Apparently, you have to peel the membrane from the flesh of the grapefruit for it to be palatable.

Why do we eat this again?

I did this and was met with a bitter but not impossible to eat fruit. Then, I started getting dizzy and thought it better that I suspend taking my medications until after this little lesson in paying attention at the supermarket was over with. From a maximum of ten, I have two left after almost a week of eating them.

Of course, the downside is that I’m more dizzy than I’ve ever been before in my life. Somewhere at the intersection of medication still in my system and grapefruit consumption, I am having some nasty side effects. Oh well, it’s one more day or less if I eat these last two grapefruit tonight. Then, it’s three days to clear the grapefruit enzyme out of my system before I can go back, blissfully, to taking my meds.

All because I didn’t want food to go to waste. I’ve got a pathological issue with this that really should be addressed. I know what it comes from: brutally starving as a kid and as a young adult but there’s no reason for me to make myself suffer like this anymore. Yeeesh. 😦

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to work on the scarf and other projects. Later. 🙂

The Growing Me

Wow, someone is going through my past posts for this blog. As they read them, I’ve been reading them. To whomever is reading, I wish you well and hope you enjoy the transition of my personality over the past ten years.

I have to say, I’m truly amazed at how much I’ve changed. I went from being a misanthropic Pagan to a cosmopolitan Atheist. Wrap your head around that, why don’t you? Still like Marilyn Manson though. Ha ha.

A Moment Not To Be Lost In Time

In 1999, I had the pleasure and honor of having a conversation with a man who introduced my attention to a group of heroes. In my silliness, I was going on about one of my favorite shows at the time, Total Recall 2070, and the surname of one character in particular distastefully stuck out at him to the point where he made comment.

Being educated in the savvy (BWHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!) public school system of Baltimore City, I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about when he mentioned My Lai. This was back in yonder days when Google was a relatively new giggle, so search was done via Yahoo and yielding very little in the way of results.

What I did find was still heart breaking enough that it burned itself in my memory for years until, one day out of the blue, I felt an inclination to search it out again. This time, there was Monster Google and more information that helped a great deal in my learning more. There were also a plethora of news articles about the incident by then, and a Frontline special transcript link on the newly updated PBS site. (More, More, and More)

I just went back and thanked the guy who intro’d me to this monumental piece of history. My main regret is not being able to shake hands with the men who did the right thing (Hugh Thompson, Jr., Lawrence Colburn, Glenn Andreotta, and also Ronald Ridenhour) when it was called for. All I can do is respectfully honor the memory of that day and hope that others learn to follow the example of the men who saved those peoples lives.

I’m not sure why this all came to the surface all of a sudden. I just felt an overwhelming urge to write it all out. If you’ve got a problem with my writing it out, then tough.

The Beatles Experience – I Can’t Hold This One In Anymore…

I have a relative who, for the purposes of my own shame, shall remain nameless and hopefully hidden under the deepest darkest crevice the Multiverse can come up with. According to him, he has never heard of…The Beatles. Never heard of their music, their presence in the world, or even any reference to them. He’s going to be twenty in a few weeks and he’s never heard of The Beatles or heard their music.

If you think you’re floored, imagine how I felt upon this revelation. He was not kidding either. I wish he were but he really wasn’t.

Keep in mind, he’s a fan of a lot of the programs on Fox that I can’t really stomach to watch. He’s otherwise quite the Rock Music fanatic, and has spent a lot of time studying musicians from a variety of backgrounds. Santana he knows. Hendrix he worships. Nirvana he bleeds. The Beatles? No clue. @_@

Now, I don’t really like watching Fox (with the exception of House) due to obvious reasons, their penchant for canceling shows I actually like, and the mainly hideous programming they normally bring on but I do know one thing: Even THEY’VE referenced The Beatles and on more than one occasion!

WTF…this is brown paper bag with eye holes territory. I cannot and will not credibly walk with him in the streets. I love him a great deal but…no. No. No. It cannot be done. This is beyond acceptability.

As if that weren’t bad enough, when he did think on the matter, he said while in a public establishment that he actually did recall hearing a song by The Beatles. He then proceeded to sing ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’ by Poison as the example. O.o

I am still…in too much shock. I…don’t know how to…process this data. H…e…l…p m…e…

My Mother and The Jimi Hendrix Experience

My mother was born months before the attack on Pearl Harbor. Bearing that in mind, she had no clue who…Jimi Hendrix was.

I know, I nearly died over that bit of information as well when I first heard it.

Being a child of PBS, I was raised on the Moody Blues, Beach Boys, and others from nearly infancy. Jimi Hendrix was in my blood in every way but genetics and it struck me as truly confounding that my mother, who raised me, hadn’t a clue as to what I was actually watching on television.

Then again…I mightn’t have ever seen Benny Hill, Monty Python, and others so scratch the enragement and just keep the mortified shock.

Where…was….she…when…the…world…was…happening…? According to her, she was working while this was all going on. She’d “heard” of some things but said she wouldn’t have known Jimi Hendrix if he’d jumped up and bit her. Well, considering how big he was compared with my mothers 5’3″ stature, it’s probably more appropriate to say leaned down…anyway.

She remembers James Brown. Heck, she even entered a competition to dance like him and won. Yet, she’s no recollection of Jimi Hendrix, the greatest of all time. The Legend, the man that the Ultimate Coolness can’t even get near because he’s just so much damned cooler. Wow…heavy.

Tonight though, on PBS no less, she had a chance to experience him for the first time. Her…jaw…dropped. It was like it was the first fifteen minutes of her life or something. She was speechless the entire time while, duh, I was going ballistic in copying the moves that every fan knows with my eyes closed.

My mom is now a fan of real music. I’m…just…so…proud…now. *sniffle*

One Night In Iceland

Wow, Bobby Fischer died.

How does one even begin to approach the complexity of that issue and not come away even more of a headcase than one already is?

Should he be remembered as the virulent anti-Semite or the maverick Chess genius he was? Is it really even a decision? Both were parts of him and, as much as others might like to whitewash, its the truth. I won’t even pretend I can sit here and separate his good points from his bad.

I guess, at the end of the day, he’s going to be one of those interesting footnotes in history. Over time, his views will lose teeth and he’ll become a semi-mythical character with no point of reference for the as yet to come era. I hope he finds the peace where he is now that obviously escaped him in life.

For the record, it was Kasparov who most directly inspired my interest in and love of Chess.