Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Cool, I Have Fans!

It's been a while since I've paid attention to my blog; almost a year, infact. I'm really glad I decided I needed to get back into blogging, because random people have actually found me. Yay!

Most excitedly, I had a commenter looking for costuming help for a Manos robe. How cool is that? She apparently found my post from last Halloween by doing a Google search for Manos Robe. I tested it out and found to my pleasent surprise that I am listed third in Google for this particular search. Hmmm...how to get to number 1? If I'm going to be listed first in any search engine, I might as well be the go to place for Manos: The Hands of Fate costuming.

Of course I'll help with the costume. I think everyone should have their own Manos robe. Instead of the zombie walk, we can have the Manos walk. Or, even better, a Million Manos March! Isn't that a wonderful image? The Master will be served!

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

What Dreams May Come

Yeah, yeah, I know the theory. Dreams are your subconscious mind's way of expressing itself. I'll admit, I've always been fascinated by dream interpretation and the symbolism found in your dreams. I've never understood it, though, mainly because my dreams tend to be so
messed up that traditional symbolism doesn't really fit. Instead of flying or falling, my dreams have me being chased by sentient, toothy, and presumably carnivorous lawn chairs. That last statement is not an exageration, by the way. I actually had that dream at one point. I've remembered it all these years because it was just so messed up.

As a side note, I've also considered the fact that my dreams tend toward the Terry Gilliam and David Lynch side of the spectrum of strange to be a sign that I should never, ever drop acid.

It's important to note that I am a world class worrier, having inherited that trait from my mother. I shouldn't be too surprised that my latest string of dreams has my subconscious telling me that I'm going to fail at everything I try to do. It's just not helpful.

In the past couple of weeks, I have dreamt that I failed an important exam that in reality I am still awaiting the results, my apartment building burned down, I lost my job, I crashed my car, and my boyfriend dies. That last one truely freaked me out. Shut up, subconscious. You are not being helpful. I can worry on my own. Things are good right now. Deal with it.

Over the weekend, I had a dream that my boss and his family for what ever reason dropped by my house. Like an episode of the Honeymooners, everything that could go wrong did. It ended with said boss trying to leave and not being able to find his shoes. The parting shot I had before I woke up is my boss walking away in 2 random mismatched shoes of mine. To this I say, what the hell, subconscious?

One of these days, I think I would like to go to one of those dream interpreters, just to see what they say. I suspect that with my dreams, I may be accused of making stuff up.

Friday, April 23, 2010

A Modest Proposal

This story has been going around the internet for a little bit. Basically, an Iranian cleric, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, blamed a loss of morals and immodestly dressed women for causing earthquakes. As a small aside, this is not the first time a religious leader has blamed a natural disaster on society's loss of morals.

A woman on Facebook decided to test his theory. This got quickly out of hand, and her Boobquake Facebook event now has over 40,000 attendees.

With all of that said, I think this is a wonderful idea. In fact, I say we put the Boobquake Hypothesis through a proper scientific experiment. We can put the question of immodestly dressed women causing seismic activity to the test. With the proper experimetnal set up, I think we might even be able to get USGS funding for our research.

Unfortunately, Sedighi was a little short on information in exactly what was considered an immodesty induced quake. For example, how long of a lead time is needed for a boobquake or whether or not the epicenter would be centered in the vicinity of the cleavage. Like the flapping of a butterfly's wings causing a hurricane on the other side of the world, could scantily clad American woman be responsible for last weekend's earthquake in China? To control for this cleavage effect, I propose collecting global seismic activity for a month between experimental groups.

I suggest 3 data groups, a control group and 2 experimental groups. First, the control. That should be fairly easy; just dress normally. This will give us our starting baseline.

Now we're ready for our experimental groups. Let's take the modestly dressed group first. In order to provide proper skin coverage, I'm thinking proper Victorian dress with long sleeves, high collared shirts and about 10 petty coats. On second thought, perhaps we should all just wear loose fitting sweat suits, to kill any sexiness or fetish factor.

Next up is the real test, immodestly dressed ladies. Everyone break out your club wear. Short skirts and boob shirts for everyone. Maybe some pvc catsuits for variety. Groups such as FEMA and the Red Cross should be notified and standing by during this part of the experiment, in order to provide emergency response to areas hit by the quakes.

And just to cover all of our bases, we should throw in some experimental groups to test the guys, too. After all, all these earthquakes might actually be the result of Taylor Lautner's exposed pectorals.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Unfamiliar Familiar

I don't know any of my extended family beyond my parents and sibblings. It makes me a little sad and jealous when I look around at other's large extended families to know that I don't have that, but it is what it is. I never knew exactly why my parents kept themselves isolated from their families; I just assumed there must have been some kind of falling out years ago.

My brother's wife has a very large, and very close, extended family. She recently tracked down my father's brother, my uncle. He was happy to hear some word about his astranged brother and is open to reconnecting with us kids.

I think I need to at least attempt this connection, but terrified to begin. What do I say? "Hi. I'm sorry your brother, my father, was a complete and utter douchebag his entire life. What have you been up to for the last 30 years?"