Cockwaffles and the Wages Thereof
Oct. 8th, 2011 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greygirlbeastSo, there's some asshole next door, guy has a lawn the size of a postage stamp. No, seriously. A postage stamp. And he's out there with a motherfucking leaf blower. Now, longtime readers will know that, as far as I'm concerned, no lawn is big enough to warrant the profound laziness, the unnecessary waste of energy derived from fossil fuels, the damage to the environment done by leaf blowers, or...and this is important, so please pay attention...the noise produced by the goddamn things. There is this marvelous invention, dating back, well, a long damn time. It requires a little sweat, sure. But that's why evolution gave us muscles and sweat glands and the ability to burn calories. This invention of which I speak is called a rake. And, in a sane world, I would go outside with a claw hammer, dismantle that leaf blower, gaily strew the shards across that cockwaffle's lawn, then offer him a rake with which to clean up the mess I've made. We do not live in a sane world, kittens.
Yeah, it's gonna be that sort of a day.
Doesn't help that it seems the DeLorean time machine didn't quite hit its target date (almost, but not quite...so now we have Bill Gates and Ann Coulter, neither of whom existed yesterday), and I'm going to spend the day chasing ripples through the matrix of space and time in order to make this the Present Day that the experiment was intended it make it into. Ripples.
Should a traveler appear earlier in the timeline of his own existence, he would be but as a pebble cast upon still water. But the ripples he creates would, over time, radiate upon far distant shores—geometrically altering events in their path.
Exactly.
I've gotten distracted.
Yesterday was a frustrating sort of day, waiting for that news from the past and all. But I worked on this and that related to the shooting of the book trailer for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, which will be happening next weekend if it's ever going to happen. The three million details. You know, scooping up all the itty-bitty bits of brain and shit. I did some of that, while I watched the chronometers. I watched dozens of movie trailers, thinking, thinking, thinking. I made notes, and sent them to our cinematographer, Brian Siano. Gods, there are some beautiful movie trailers, an art in their own right, and I especially admire the ones that make shitty movies look like gold. Now, mind you, I'm not admiring the intent of whatever studio exec had those trailers made, the marketing people, all those deceitful assholes trying to pass shit off as gold. I'm applauding the poor schmucks who were tasked with the editing jobs, and who will do the job well, unless they wanted to go looking for another line of work. They are among the all-but-unsung heroes in the shitstorm of ballyhoo and jackassery that is Hollywood. Though, I will say, the trailers are frequently my favorite part of going to the theatre. But...I've gotten distracted again.
Oh, also I received sample design pages from Penguin, for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir (of course). Overall, it's looking good, except for some hideous curlicue font used in the headers, a font I am assured will be replaced with something appropriate, something that doesn't make me want to gouge out my eyes.
Anyway, Spooky came home from the market with a cardboard shipping tube containing another nigh-unto-unspeakably beautiful piece of Philip George Saltonstall's artwork, created, of course, by the incomparable Michael Zulli, one which will appear in the book trailer. Seeing it was like being punched in the chest. And yeah, I've been punched in the chest, so I know what it feels like.
The evening's entertainment consisted of watching Serenity for the five-hundreth time (it's still a great and inspiring ride), and then playing my part in an Insilico RP that was almost very good...except—at some point it descended into "You're stealin' my man" soap-opera nonsense and utterly failed ooc communication—and, also also RPers online need to learn the difference between godmoding and how actions would realistically unfold in particular circumstances, cause and effect, and fuck the whiners. By the end of the scene, which went on for about three hours, I was just tired and wanted to go to bed. But it had it's moments.
Anyway, now I must go attend to those ripples.
Thinking wormholes,
Aunt Beast
Yeah, it's gonna be that sort of a day.
Doesn't help that it seems the DeLorean time machine didn't quite hit its target date (almost, but not quite...so now we have Bill Gates and Ann Coulter, neither of whom existed yesterday), and I'm going to spend the day chasing ripples through the matrix of space and time in order to make this the Present Day that the experiment was intended it make it into. Ripples.
Should a traveler appear earlier in the timeline of his own existence, he would be but as a pebble cast upon still water. But the ripples he creates would, over time, radiate upon far distant shores—geometrically altering events in their path.
Exactly.
I've gotten distracted.
Yesterday was a frustrating sort of day, waiting for that news from the past and all. But I worked on this and that related to the shooting of the book trailer for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, which will be happening next weekend if it's ever going to happen. The three million details. You know, scooping up all the itty-bitty bits of brain and shit. I did some of that, while I watched the chronometers. I watched dozens of movie trailers, thinking, thinking, thinking. I made notes, and sent them to our cinematographer, Brian Siano. Gods, there are some beautiful movie trailers, an art in their own right, and I especially admire the ones that make shitty movies look like gold. Now, mind you, I'm not admiring the intent of whatever studio exec had those trailers made, the marketing people, all those deceitful assholes trying to pass shit off as gold. I'm applauding the poor schmucks who were tasked with the editing jobs, and who will do the job well, unless they wanted to go looking for another line of work. They are among the all-but-unsung heroes in the shitstorm of ballyhoo and jackassery that is Hollywood. Though, I will say, the trailers are frequently my favorite part of going to the theatre. But...I've gotten distracted again.
Oh, also I received sample design pages from Penguin, for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir (of course). Overall, it's looking good, except for some hideous curlicue font used in the headers, a font I am assured will be replaced with something appropriate, something that doesn't make me want to gouge out my eyes.
Anyway, Spooky came home from the market with a cardboard shipping tube containing another nigh-unto-unspeakably beautiful piece of Philip George Saltonstall's artwork, created, of course, by the incomparable Michael Zulli, one which will appear in the book trailer. Seeing it was like being punched in the chest. And yeah, I've been punched in the chest, so I know what it feels like.
The evening's entertainment consisted of watching Serenity for the five-hundreth time (it's still a great and inspiring ride), and then playing my part in an Insilico RP that was almost very good...except—at some point it descended into "You're stealin' my man" soap-opera nonsense and utterly failed ooc communication—and, also also RPers online need to learn the difference between godmoding and how actions would realistically unfold in particular circumstances, cause and effect, and fuck the whiners. By the end of the scene, which went on for about three hours, I was just tired and wanted to go to bed. But it had it's moments.
Anyway, now I must go attend to those ripples.
Thinking wormholes,
Aunt Beast
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 06:16 pm (UTC)Yes, I have few friends, in case anyone's wondering...
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 06:22 pm (UTC)In a better world, you would offer him the rake by plunging the tines into his face. And there would be no sirens and no reparations and the only applause would be in the form of leaves falling softly and unhindered to the green-grassed, red-specked ground.
Thank you. I needed to smile.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 07:25 pm (UTC)And they're usually the same asshats that are out there, come Spring, with some kind of chemical treatment to make the fucker grow and become green, when, if they'd put up with some leaves piling up? It's be green on it's own. As if by magic, even!
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 08:16 pm (UTC)hen, if they'd put up with some leaves piling up? It's be green on it's own.
These marvels of simple horticulture are lost on them.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 08:55 pm (UTC)Thing is, these particular people are usually pretty good about how they do things. They have a completely manual push-mower (you know, those old fashioned ones that have 2 wheels and cylindrical shaped area with twisty blades), they keep bees, they compost... And I look outside to see the guy sort of haphazardly waving a leaf-blower around the yard. Other years, he's raked. Maybe he was proving a point about how inefficient the damned things are. To whom, I do not know.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 07:30 pm (UTC)That was YOU?
That's it, I'm becoming a whale hunter. I'm going to hunt them with bears. RARE bears. That I shoot out of a cannon.
I don't want to do it, but if they're still here tomorrow I'll know that you aren't open to reader comments and that I should buy eighteen leaf blowers and give them to dudes with flannel hats. And I never bluff.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 08:17 pm (UTC)That was YOU?
They made me.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 07:34 pm (UTC)You are not alone:
First day of autumn when the trees are turning gold
Visions fly like leaves in front of me
Autumn days when the grass is jeweled
And the neighbor's hung from the chestnut tree
—Rebsie Fairholm, "Leafblower"
another nigh-unto-unspeakably beautiful piece of Philip George Saltonstall's artwork, created, of course, by the incomparable Michael Zulli, one which will appear in the book trailer.
I look forward . . .
Anyway, now I must go attend to those ripples.
I knew something had to explain Mitt Romney.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 08:19 pm (UTC)First day of autumn when the trees are turning gold
Visions fly like leaves in front of me
Autumn days when the grass is jeweled
And the neighbor's hung from the chestnut tree
Exactamundo.
another nigh-unto-unspeakably beautiful piece of Philip George Saltonstall's artwork, created, of course, by the incomparable Michael Zulli, one which will appear in the book trailer.
I look forward . . .
This one you're gonna...well, you'll see.
I knew something had to explain Mitt Romney.
I am so screwed.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 07:39 pm (UTC)Ha! Great word and I'd never heard it before. Thanks for a new insult that I'm sure I'll find many uses for.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 08:20 pm (UTC)Thanks for a new insult that I'm sure I'll find many uses for.
You're welcome
no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 03:24 pm (UTC)(But him saying "Oh, bitchcakes" would be a stretch.)
At least.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 03:24 pm (UTC)He'd have fucking loved the word.
He'd have used it at least a hundred times a day.
Cockwaffles...
Date: 2011-10-09 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 03:26 pm (UTC)They should be banned globally.
They're high on my list of Technologically That Really Only Exists to Make Lazy People Happy.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 12:29 am (UTC)Here in LA, those who use leaf blowers are equated with the asshats who water their concrete driveways with their automatic sprinkler system to create an artificial, unsustainable eco-system.
Thank you for using Al Swearengen to get your point across.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 03:28 pm (UTC)leaf blowers do NOTHING. NOTHING.
Actually, they do a lot. Of Bad stuff.
They should be outlawed.
And they have been in some enlightened places.
The joy of raking, especially in the Fall, with the sweet fragrance of the season, taking the time to make piles of leaves, jump in said piles and re-rake should not be missed.
I think we're two generations removed now from people who remember that world.
Here in LA, those who use leaf blowers are equated with the asshats who water their concrete driveways with their automatic sprinkler system to create an artificial, unsustainable eco-system.
Don't you just want to see how much herbicide they can swallow before, you know, they die?
Thank you for using Al Swearengen to get your point across.
You're welcome.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 02:45 am (UTC)I noticed the other day that the universal symbol for save is still a stylised floppy disk, even on devices, like tablets and phones, that not only don't use them, but have never used them. There are probably people who have never seen or used a floppy disk, who recognise its image as the symbol for saving data.
Just one of those odd things.