PocketWatch Romances

Archive for August, 2008

So it’s announced that the incredibly attractive Governor Sarah Palin is McCain’s pick for Vice President. In addition to the rather gross “VPILF” comments that were made without second thoughts, there are other little gems studding the lefty-side reactions to said announcement:

Peeps on TPM are reporting that, prior to being governor for only two years (so far), she was mayor for—get this—a town of 6,700 people.

So mayoring a bunch of Eskimos and seals, followed by a stint of governor of a ridiculously corrupt state (if their congressmen are any indy), is enough to run the country should/when McCane starts pushing up daises.

[...] and two years ago [she] was mayor of a small village in Alaska.

Yes! That’s right! Alaska’s a fucking hick state where there’s nothing but fucking snow and Eskimos and seals! And fucking polar bears frolic with God-damned penguins all fucking day and night because the sun never goes down! And who knows why there’s snow anyhow, ’cause the fucking state’s a fucking island off the coast of fucking Mexico! And everyone gets around by dogsled, and eats moose all the live-long day, and if you’re not workin’ on the Slope, you’re off on a fishing boat! Or workin’ in the fuckin’ canneries!

The only entertainment in Alaska is shootin’ shit fulla holes! There ain’t no queers here, neither! Beer rules! It’s a fuckin’ frat party all fuckin’ year! But with guns! And you can’t get no tee-vee or nothin’; no one’s EVER mapped out anythin’ more’a the state than where the gun and liquor stores are… *bangs head against the wall*

Jesus fuck, you morons. I’m sure you think I’m overreacting, or perhaps I seem a bit disproportionate in my anger. Putting up with a lifetime of this kind of shit will do that to you, you know?

Also, just because the congressmen are stupid old fucks doesn’t mean the entire state is. Does everyone in New York patronize prostitutes like their Governor? How about the people of New Jersey — are they all adulterous child-support-cheats who give their gay lovers office positions?

Rested day before yesterday (but did laundry which = running up and down stairs); rested yesterday. Did a short loop today; should/probably will do a long (10 km+) loop tomorrow. Saddle wasn’t too bad today, which means something. Not sure what.

She makes the Olympic diving almost unwatchable — fortunately, I can mute the TV and still mostly enjoy it. She has a crappy vocabulary (“verticalness”, “analyzation”) and makes sweeping statements about what the divers should or should not be doing (which usually turn out to be wrong). I have never come closer to screeching “get up there and show us how it’s done, you bitch!” at the TV than during the women’s 10 meter platform diving.

Also, everyone’s up in arms over whether or not some of the Chinese gymnasts are 16, citing the rule that all competitors must be 16 (or turning 16 in the year in which the Olympics take place)… When there’s a fucking fourteen-year-old diving in the “men’s” category. Uh, hello? Outrage please?

I’m going to comission Littledoll to do pictures of Hanoki, Caleb, Master, and probably Pers and Cordialis. Partly because her stuff is awesome, partly because I love the way she does clothes/decorations. Mmm.

now my search strings are going to look really really bad. Oh well.

At least they’re unlikely since the Weekly World News stopped publishing. *Sigh* I miss seeing the WWN at the checkstand. I would even buy it — granted, it was a once-a-year kind of purchase, but still. Anyhow!

These are fake headlines, taken from the subject line of spam emails that I’ve recieved. Most are strange, some are funny.

– Angelina Jolie’s Lips Explode
– Brad Pitt and Angelina are adopting Britney Spears
– Britney Spears Confession: ‘I’m the Father of Anna Nicole Smith’s Baby!’
– Britney Spears is dating Obama
– Britney Spears shaken but unhurt after failed suicide bomber attack
– Britney Spears: Picking her nose! (okay, now they’re just getting desperate)
– Therapists ask media to stop diagnosing the Bi-Polar Britney Spears (I would not be surprised if Spears had some sort of mental health issues. As for whether she’s BP… *Shrug* Not for me to say. I don’t know enough about her.)
– The disciples stole Jesus’ body and faked His resurrection. ([citation needed])
– Britney Spears Denies Having Seminal Moments with Her Angina (I think you may wish to reconsider your word choice, there, spammer.)
– Paris Hilton: I will give my Body to the Winner of the French Open (Newscaster: “For the first time EVER, no one has been declared a ‘winner’ in the French Open…”)
– Britney Spears’ actions too Far Out for Newspaper
– Britney Spears a ‘Huge Cow’, Says Sis
– Vagina Vague about Spears’ Return to Concert Form (…I don’t even want to know.)

So, random quotes are back. Not so whee: I have to go back and take out ALL of the superfluous quotation marks. Oh well, at least the code makes it easy to do.

And now I have to go to sleep or else.

Or maybe the question should be just “was I thinking?”. It’s hard to say.

This all stems from finally finding the hard drive from my mother’s laptop, which I installed in Nilanthi last weekend. This allowed me to get all of the stuff that I’d saved on her drive off of it and on to my new lovely laptop. Most of it was stuff that wasn’t super-important — there were a bunch of WordPress themes that I didn’t need or want — but some of it was relatively important. Some of it I had forgotten about so completely that when I opened the file and read the contents, I just about fell over. And so I present, with a little further ado, an unfinished songfic. And not just any songfic, one that features a band that a number of people don’t like for any reason other than “they suck!” and “they’re poseurs!”.

The last line of the author’s notes says “Don’t ask, I don’t know either.”. And I seriously do NOT have a clue, even now. Apparently, I’d been listening to the song and thought that it sounded like Finch and Herbert all over. Looking over the lyrics, I can see/hear some F/H, but not as much as I once did, I guess. *Blinkblink* So, uh, here you go. There’s nothing in it that will give anyone conniptions outside of the warning, because I think mom’s motherboard went kerflooey the day after or a couple of days after I started writing this and I totally spaced the whole thing — there’s only one real paragraph or thereabouts. The rest is just lyrics, and unless you’re offended by non-profane Hunter S. Thompson, there’s nothing objectionable there, either.

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No, not what I did to make my hip hurt again last night — I figured out why I hate hate HATE all of the Rah Rah USA USA USA Uber Alles! crap surrounding the Olympics:

I’m one of those people that will do as they’re told under specific circumstances. Being presented with people (i.e. Team USA) and being told “You WILL cheer for these people and you WILL enjoy their performances and you WILL find their every move fascinating” puts my back up like nothing else. Excuse me? I will choose who I will cheer for and enjoy, thank you.

So, yeah, it’s mostly just my genetic contrariness.

I was thinking about the whole cycling=suffering=yay thing today as I was grinding up a (much smaller, shorter) hill to my turnaround point. When I got to the designated turning point, I threw a fist into the air and gave a whoop, because I’d made it and I still had legs left — I could have kept going instead of turning and heading home.

As I was working against a headwind on a false-flat that apparently is uphill both ways, I was thinking about when I used to work out at a gym — when I was done, I felt like crap. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck; I was starving, shaky, and nauseous. I wanted a quarter pounder with cheese, a medium fry, a diet coke, and then to sleep for three or four hours. I certainly didn’t feel all delighted and enorphinated* and like I could take on the world after I worked out — which was contrary to pretty much everyone else’s experiences, like, ever.

In retrospect, I think that I probably was starting out in a bad position: I was working out right after school, which meant that not only was my stomach completely empty, but I was out of glucose, too. So I wasn’t just burning calories, I was doing so without any other fuel — a surefire recipe for unhappiness.

With cycling, I usually have something to eat beforehand, even if it’s not much, and I feel a LOT better when I’m done. That fact makes a huuuuuge difference in my eagerness to get back out there. When I worked out, I never EVER wanted to it again. I tried to find ways to get out of doing it, every day. It didn’t matter that there were a couple of exercises that I enjoyed and was good at (particularly the leg machine that had me on my back, using my legs to lift a big platform with weight added to it — I could move more weight on that thing than on any other machine in the place. I really liked using it, not that I have any idea what it was called…), I just wanted to go home and read.

When I got home, today, I was all wobbly and soggy and out of breath, but I felt fine otherwise. I didn’t think about taking a nap, or pigging out on fast food (…okay, part of that was because I’d have to ride my bike to get to said food), or how much I hated what I had just gone through and how much I never wanted to do it again. I thought about how much I needed a shower, and what kind of chances I had of seeing some Olympic sport I actually wanted to see broadcasted and paid attention to, and whether I should feed the cats.

So, again, for me, cycling doesn’t equal suffering; cycling is not all about suffering; suffering is not the be-all end-all of cycling.

* This is in honor of Dave Henderson’s use of the silly non-word ‘adrenalinated’, which has worked its way into my family’s vocabulary.