Alarm Clock Blues

The beginning of a new school year has caused me to become aware of just how pathetic our highschool graduates really are. Or perhaps just how poorly they learned from their parentals.

People who have gone to school since they were six from 8ish a.m. to 3ish p.m. suddenly find the notion of waking up early a catastrophe. Questions like the following have been littering my social networks for two days straight;
Why do I have to wake up so early?
What will I do to wake myself up?
WHO will wake me up?
How am I going to manage!?
Who took my waffles?

I cannot even begin to comprehend these new students’ feelings (except for the waffle question – it’s simply a tragedy), as I have never faced such a dilemma. I can’t see how people are this worried. Unless you’ve got parents with the internal clocks of the Gods, they’ve probably been using alarm clocks to wake themselves up to wake you up for years now. You must have seen, if not used and relied on one by now.

To the unwise youth of today: you press the alarm button, select the hour you wish to awaken, and in most cases just place the alarm clock back down, perhaps after adjusting the volume.



Society for Creative Rock Anachronism

“And I wonder, am I the only one who’s disappointed when I goggled the name and found out the band doesn’t exist?”

Alas, there are many a soul who has searched in vain for such a band. Curse you, Jeph, curse you for depriving myself and countless others the thrill of listening to the first notes of “Balloon Ride” or the beautiful steam-whistle solo that would have come later on in the piece.

I have had to create an entire new category for such woe. “Broken Dreams.”

Crabs Are Shrimp Too!

Today I went in and bought some dried whole shrimp “for turtles” because I simply am running out of room in my aquatic food mini-fridge, so figured the dried stuff would give me some extra time to clean out.

Now, see, right there on the can it says “100% Shrimp”, “Ingredients: Dried Whole Shrimp” only and so forth worth of promises/etc.

And what do I find, at the very top, just as I remove the protective seal?

A crab claw.


Yesterday I received in the mail a book I had won in a draw, since April was (Inter)National Poetry Month. I throw that “Inter-” in there too, because face it, there’s more than one country whose inhabitants celebrate it, as the writer who had to send their book to the Phillipines found out.

In any case, the book in question was Drew Myron & Tracy Weil’s selection of horoscope-inspired poetry and interpretive paintings – with Myron the writer, and Weil the artist.

An online version of the content in “Forecast” may be found here:
Click me!

I loved the book. Just loved it. I was, honestly, expecting it to be a bit too stuffy or straight to read – yet it flows beautifully. Poems end where they should, and start where they begin. There’s never too much content per poem, and while you always want more as you’re reading, there is never too little either.

Particularly I enjoyed “Start Now.” (Leo), “Grace” (Taurus) and “Tend” (Aquarius.) It’s natural that I feel some connection to “Start Now.” as I am a Leo myself, however “Grace” and “Tend” I simply like due to their beautiful wording. “Tend” for example holds my favorite line in the entire collection.
“…solve just one thing.”

As for Weil’s paintings? They’re just beautiful, though it may take certain eyes to see that beauty. Each piece has bits and chunks of realism stuck in a beautiful sea of seemingly oddly placed color and other shapes. The one she did for “Intention” (Aries) has been my favorite since I first opened the book, accidentally to page 14.

I honestly enjoyed the little note Myron put in the package along with the book most, though. Nothing better than something to use as a free bookmark, that’s also quite quirky and quail. (No pun at all, not that I can see how you’d get one!)

Ah, Selfishness

Seems my subconscious has finally given me conclusive proof that self-preservation is of my utmost concern.

This morning I dreamt that for some reason or another the entire world was flooding. The only way to save myself was to follow the path of this very kind guy, who was willing to lead me to a hill that was conveniently only big enough to hold two people until the waters passed.

We reached the base of the hill, with the water already around our ankles. The way up would be very steep, slippery due to ice, and dangerous. We needed to hurry.

After a few minutes of climbing I tripped and fell into the raging waters. The man jumped down and pulled me back up, claiming he would never leave me behind.

We began climbing again. The waters were about halfway up the hill, and we were almost to the top. Suddenly, he slipped.

And what did my dream-self do? Reach out a hand to him? Try to pull him back up, as he did for me?

No. I turned my back, blocked out the screams, and climbed to the top.

Gaga’s Telephone

Ah, Gaga, you’ve found yet another way to prove that you’re not a shemale. This time by barely dressing!… oh wait, you already did that.

Lady Gaga’s “Telephone” music video was highly amusing. The jail scenes were hot, the sandwich scene moving into dancing in pieces of the US flag was weird, and Beyonce jerking around like a fish out of water was just hilarious.

Really, the only parts worth watching is the minute or so of singing at 3 minutes in, and Beyonce’s face around 8:20. The horribly made ending is a scene most people who love Gaga probably won’t recognize. Heh, for that matter, I only recognized it because Kramer did one in Seinfeld too.

Looks like she’s been dieting, though. Lost a lot of the smoothness in her body – bones are starting to show.

Personally, I prefer Miss Nataly Dawn’s version.


Ah, government, how nice of you to bring us yet another story of stupidity. This time, from the UK.

Recently a 70 year old grandmother was fined $1000, put under a seven week curfew, and forced to wear a tracking tag.

Is this old lady a pedophile? Likes to stick up the local convenience store? Enjoys the occasional joyride in that lovely stolen Mercedes?


All of this came from selling a goldfish to a fourteen year old “agent.” It was a set-up, plain and simple. What? What’s that you say? It’d be smarter to send barely pubescent boys out behind the school to counter weed deals? You’d be right.

Yes, it’s illegal to sell pets to people under the age of 16 in the UK without a guardian present, but c’mon – tagging and curfewing a 70 year old? They even threatened her with jail. Kinda severe for a first-time offence, especially since to my knowledge nothing’s really stopping her from going to work and just selling more.

Taxpayer’s, this is where your money is going. Setting up old ladies, Agent Cody Banks style.

On top of this, apparently an “Animal Welfare Agent” adopted the goldfish that went through the deal. Makes the whole story better, right? Nice and happy in the end the goldfish is saved, Mommy, yay!

A goldfish needs twenty gallons for a fancy, and thirty for a common or Shubunkin. How much do you want to bet that the obviously knowledgable animal welfare person doesn’t have it in so much as a five gallon.