i want to get some scope
my sister and i saw knives out over the weekend and i liked it a lot. it's a lot of awful people behaving badly, plus james bond daniel craig and a stunningly gorgeous house. seriously, it's amazing. oh, and also there's chris evans playing an asshole in a very cozy-looking sweater.
the other thing i did saturday was volunteer at the curling club (we had a bonspiel to help raise money for a maine club, so they can build their own place and not have to curl at a hockey arena) - i was in the kitchen and didn't have a ton to do besides wash and sanitize dishes and make sure there was enough lunch. (there was.) i met a girl from seattle whose mom curled out there for twenty years - with the same people! - the girl didn't want to curl where her mom did, but now that she's in greater boston and mom is in philly, she can join a curling club. mom is very excited. i thought it was adorable.
sunday my team lost. sigh. i made some good shots, too! we were just kind of outplayed.
i may or may not have started bigbang 2020. look, as long as wendy is running spn-j2-bigbang i'll be writing for it. i'm casting and plotting and i need to sit down and actually make a timeline of what happens when, because stuff actually happens in this one. theoretically, anyway.
work started yesterday with a fire drill! in the rain! so exciting! >.< i think it was a malfunctioning smoke detector or something, not an actual fire. which i guess is a plus, but we still had to stand outside in the rain until the all-clear.
vikings is back and i'm not sure how i feel about it. i'm meh on ivar and meh on bjorn and wish there was more lagertha. but it's just the season premiere so far, so we'll see.
have some poetry! first, the bad poetry, courtesy of rayaso and the bad poetry generator:
each leaf is destroyed
to be quite quite succinct I have found the cure
Swimming in black tendrils, feeling annoyed
my unyielding path is yet crossed by the lowly Moose of Failure.
--"Mendel's Serenade"
the moose of failure, heh. and now the good poetry, by which i mean written by an actual poet and not a bot:
The morning is clouded and the birds are hunched,
More cold than hungry, more numb than loud,
This crisp, Arizona shore, where desert meets
The coming edge of the winter world.
It is a cold news in stark announcement,
The myriad stars making bright the black,
As if the sky itself had been snowed upon.
But the stars-all those stars,
Where does the sure noise of their hard work go?
These plugs sparking the motor of an otherwise quiet sky,
Their flickering work everywhere in a white vastness:
We should hear the stars as a great roar
Gathered from the moving of their billion parts, this great
Hot rod skid of the Milky Way across the asphalt night,
The assembled, moving glints and far-floating embers
Risen from the hearth-fires of so many other worlds.
Where does the noise of it all go
If not into the ears, then hearts of the birds all around us,
Their hearts beating so fast and their equally fast
Wings and high songs,
And the bees, too, with their lumbering hum,
And the wasps and moths, the bats, and the dragonflies-
None of them sure if any of this is going to work,
This universe-we humans oblivious,
Drinking coffee, not quite awake, calm and moving
Into the slippers of our Monday mornings,
Shivering because, we think,
It’s a little cold out there.
--"December Morning in the Desert", Alberto Ríos
rip, caroll spinney. i'm glad he trained a successor for the big yellow bird suit, but the voices are going to sound so weird now.
the other thing i did saturday was volunteer at the curling club (we had a bonspiel to help raise money for a maine club, so they can build their own place and not have to curl at a hockey arena) - i was in the kitchen and didn't have a ton to do besides wash and sanitize dishes and make sure there was enough lunch. (there was.) i met a girl from seattle whose mom curled out there for twenty years - with the same people! - the girl didn't want to curl where her mom did, but now that she's in greater boston and mom is in philly, she can join a curling club. mom is very excited. i thought it was adorable.
sunday my team lost. sigh. i made some good shots, too! we were just kind of outplayed.
i may or may not have started bigbang 2020. look, as long as wendy is running spn-j2-bigbang i'll be writing for it. i'm casting and plotting and i need to sit down and actually make a timeline of what happens when, because stuff actually happens in this one. theoretically, anyway.
work started yesterday with a fire drill! in the rain! so exciting! >.< i think it was a malfunctioning smoke detector or something, not an actual fire. which i guess is a plus, but we still had to stand outside in the rain until the all-clear.
vikings is back and i'm not sure how i feel about it. i'm meh on ivar and meh on bjorn and wish there was more lagertha. but it's just the season premiere so far, so we'll see.
have some poetry! first, the bad poetry, courtesy of rayaso and the bad poetry generator:
each leaf is destroyed
to be quite quite succinct I have found the cure
Swimming in black tendrils, feeling annoyed
my unyielding path is yet crossed by the lowly Moose of Failure.
--"Mendel's Serenade"
the moose of failure, heh. and now the good poetry, by which i mean written by an actual poet and not a bot:
The morning is clouded and the birds are hunched,
More cold than hungry, more numb than loud,
This crisp, Arizona shore, where desert meets
The coming edge of the winter world.
It is a cold news in stark announcement,
The myriad stars making bright the black,
As if the sky itself had been snowed upon.
But the stars-all those stars,
Where does the sure noise of their hard work go?
These plugs sparking the motor of an otherwise quiet sky,
Their flickering work everywhere in a white vastness:
We should hear the stars as a great roar
Gathered from the moving of their billion parts, this great
Hot rod skid of the Milky Way across the asphalt night,
The assembled, moving glints and far-floating embers
Risen from the hearth-fires of so many other worlds.
Where does the noise of it all go
If not into the ears, then hearts of the birds all around us,
Their hearts beating so fast and their equally fast
Wings and high songs,
And the bees, too, with their lumbering hum,
And the wasps and moths, the bats, and the dragonflies-
None of them sure if any of this is going to work,
This universe-we humans oblivious,
Drinking coffee, not quite awake, calm and moving
Into the slippers of our Monday mornings,
Shivering because, we think,
It’s a little cold out there.
--"December Morning in the Desert", Alberto Ríos
rip, caroll spinney. i'm glad he trained a successor for the big yellow bird suit, but the voices are going to sound so weird now.