Stuff that comes up in conversation:
Hyena: One of the sexiest outfits any woman can wear is a tank top, jeans, a leather jacket, and boots. Little or no makeup, plain or black nails. It works for nearly any age, and almost any body type. But you have to have the attitude.
Hyena: Come to think of it, I have only ever dated one woman who was inclined to dress like that, and look how that has turned out. (Dementia, who owns and and has worn THOUSANDS of variations on that outfit, laughed.
Hyena: No amount of Spandex or factory processing can EVER make a pair of jeans as sexy as a pair of 501s that have EARNED their softness...
We watched a (pretty lame) movie tonight that had an Ariel in it, and of course I recited the relevant couplet. I have never sat down to memorize "52 Vincent Black Lightning"; I suppose that I should. I know most of it already.
It's a night for it, in any case. My portion of the linked post was written on the heels of my Aunt Mary's sudden death in 2005... http://unclehyena.livejournal.com/89037.html
It's H.P. Lovecraft's birthday. Feel free to do something unspeakably horrible.
There was a woman I saw a couple of different times at Bristol, yesterday wearing a blue sort-of tie died tee shirt that featured a unicorn head silhouette and the words, "Spirit animal." I resisted the urge to talk to her, and just gnashed my teeth. I understand that unicorns have been transmogrified, over the course of the last century, into fluffy bunnies with hooves, but GODS! There has to be a limit to the stupidity, doesn't there? (Don't answer that...)
It's Christopher Robin Milne's birthday. Tell a plush toy that you love it. Be sincere.
Dementia came with me to Bristol today. We were looking at flags when I noticed a young couple looking at the pirate flags. I pointed to the first one. "This is 20th century junk." Then on to the second one. "This one, on the other hand, is about 300 years old, and pirates fought and died under it. It belonged to a pirate named Jack Rackham." The girl lit up, didn't quite squeal. She said she knew about Rackham from the show "Black Sails." This led to my quickly recounting the details of Rackham, Anne Bonney, and Mary Read. The girl was rapt; her fellow obviously wanted me to die a fast and horrible death. I didn't care. And they bought Rackhams's flag.
(Courtesy of the Facebook Dredge, from 2015):
During a stray moment this morning, I came across an old poll that had been done on "Wait but why?". Respondents were asked to make a choice; some super powered being was going to either kill 100 random people, or destroy all of the art in the Louvre. Failing to decide destroyed everything. This didn't take any thought at all for me, and I was surprised that (as far as I could see; I did not have time to read the whole thread) the response was unanimous against me. (Though it is worth mentioning that when I put the question to Dementia, she felt the same way I did.) OF COURSE you save the art; people are just people. And if you are wondering: My answer does not change if I am one of the one hundred. Let's phrase it another way: Which is more valuable: 100 humans, or an irreplaceable piece of humanity's SOUL?
A successful writer died, and a few years later, his wife died. After that, his children cleaned out the family home and found a locked safe. Once the safe was professionally cracked, they found that it contained the manuscript of a novel that their father had written more than 50 years earlier, when he was working as a journalist. They showed the manuscript to their father's publisher, and it was decided to publish it.
The writer? George MacDonald Fraser
The novel is called, "Captain in Calico."
Time between knowing it existed and having a copy on the way to me? About three minutes.
Dementia's primary computer lives in the TV room, which is not climate controlled. The other day, the keyboard freaked out, though the mouse was still functional. She managed to log in once, and did a lot of limping around, got a backup to run, and then did her normal computer things with the backup travel computer. At my suggestion, the computer was taken to the air conditioned bedroom and allowed to run for several hours, then powered down and put in a sealed bag before it could cool off, and then was taken back out into the world and allowed to acclimate (still in the bag) and THEN it was taken out and fired up. Ambient humidity had fallen in the meantime. All is now well. Proving once again that hairless apes are still occasionally smarter than forces of nature.
It's Mary Shelley's birthday. She was 20 when her monster made its lasting mark on world literature, though she didn't get her name on it for another five years. Celebrate by creating an archetypal character (or two) that will be remembered 200 years later. (Alternatively, create life in your basement (or attic) lab. Body snatchers are not required; Shelley's Victor did his thing without raiding the local cemeteries, somehow.)
(Courtesy of the Facebook Dredge, from 2015):
It's amazing how little yard work you have to do before Stockholm syndrome sets in, you forget you are being tortured, and it starts to seem like reasonable behavior. It's downright CREEPY. Fortunately, all you have to do to recover is STOP.