Don't believe anything you read on the net.

Doomsday Clock Friday

Niff — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 23:12:29 +0000

Such is the theme this Friday.

Preface:
The Doomsday Clock.

The doomsday clock is an imaginary clock created by the board of directors of the magazine Bulletin of the Atomic Scientiststo illustrate the threat of total destruction posed by nuclear weapons. On the clock, midnight is “doomsday,” the time of global destruction. When the clock first appeared on the cover of the magazine in 1947, scientists set it at seven minutes before midnight. In the decades since then the clock has been adjusted to reflect changes in global stability.

Prompted by the fact that said Doomsday Clock has in fact dropped a couple of minutes and thereby snatched yet more time away from our immensely profound yet relatively comical lives, I made it this Friday’s official theme. ‘Doomsday Friday’ seems to have a rather sinister undertone to it, no? Oh, what to do?

Run amok, you bastards! Run amok! Shennanigans and tomfoolery abound!!

My goal before the end of life as we know it in 2012 is to finish my rubberband ball. This is what I need to do to make me feel as if I have contributed to humanity. I’m not sure just yet at what stage I would consider it completed, ie, circumference, etc., but when it happens, I will just know. We shall jetascend a time capsule into the vastness of space which will contain, alongside such hits as the Virgin Mary French Toast and the World’s Largest Kidney Stone, the summation of my life that is The Rubberband Ball. It’ll be beautiful, I tell ya. The likes of which this doomed planet has never seen.

The contemplation of my own life’s work led me to ponder what others would consider meaningful and contributive as their final salute to humanity.

So, I have sent the question out into the void that is my email address book. Observe:

Dear Friends, Family, and Random Naked Mole Rats:

Here’s the thing.

Being that today is Doomsday Clock Friday and all, I am naturally inclined to make my friday blog about the aforementioned topic. In order to enhance my contribution to the blogsphere, I hereby pose this question to you as a sort of survey to see what people would like to accomplish before 5 minutes to midnight on December 22, 2012. Any replies will be graciously accepted and considered, and there is no wrong answer. Unless it involves midgets and donkeys, and in that case you can keep it to yourself, you sick freak.

Thanks
Niff

I am awaiting responses.

Thus Far:

Dawn: I hope to find the right guy to chain to my bedroom wall.

Carrie’s Sister: get a lion from the zoo. Put a remote control bomb up its butt. When the lion starts tearing you up, press the bomb button.
You and the lion die like as one.

Carrie: To be able to pat my head, rub my belly, and chew bubble gum all at the same time.

Peter, aka Rexorg, Destroyer of Worlds: I want to beat WoW, while landing on Mars. The second part isn’t strictly necessary.

Matt: I want to be finished having to use CSS and scripting hacks for IE 6.

Dan: I would like to reach the summit of Mt. Everest on a clear night…remove my pack…and watch the world end.

I will continue updating as the responses come in.
Although thus far I am somewhat disappointed by the lack of responses I have received…sheesh people…y’all are probably the type that don’t like sales calls, either.

More Thursday.

Niff — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 23:56:31 +0000

Damn the broccoli,
Damn you,
Damn the Wright brothers,
And double damn Thursdays.

Yep. Still here. I am in the Seventh Circle of Hell.
It is winter. It is beautiful out. And because it is winter, that ceaseless motherfucking thief of sunlight, I will spend every last second of potential exposure to unobscured solar radiation behind a desk.

Somehow the Wright Brothers must be at fault.

Sometime back my coworker and I had decided that since Thursdays were so bloody pointless we would obliterate them altogether and create “First Friday”. It was ruddy brilliant. Jumping from Wednesday to Friday? The sheer brilliance of it was blinding. “Second Fridays”, or what the rest of the sane world considers to be the only Friday, became somewhat of an event. We had themes.
– “Alice’s Restaurant” Friday. We had Arlo Guthrie looping nonstop for 9 hours solid. It was absolutely beautiful.

– “Dunce Cap” Friday : Self-explanitory.

– “In-a-godda-da-vida” Friday: Awesome in theory, but I must confess, this one was a bit trying.

– “Pi” Friday: A tribute to all things 3.141592653589793…

Unfortunately, the concept of “First Friday” was solely based in dellusions of grandeur. Once you lose the ability to delude yourself, you’re fucked, and once again left with Thursdays.

Double damn Thursdays.

I am supposed to be working. You can see how well that is going.

“This must be Thursday,” said Arthur musing to himself, sinking low over his beer, “I never could get the hang of Thursdays.” – The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Thursday Afternoon Musings

Niff — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 22:51:48 +0000

Why are legal pads yellow?

Did someone just wake up one morning and say, “I know…yellow…”

This must be investigated. Let me call upon the “Series of Tubes”…

AH! Here we go.

Dear Yahoo!:

Why are legal pads yellow?

Chris
Middletown, New York

Dear Chris:

A company called the American Pad and Paper Company, or Ampad, claims to have invented the legal pad in 1888. A young inventor named Thomas Holley made the tablets from cheap leftovers, or sortings, from paper mills. His low-cost lined pads were quickly adopted by the scribbling professions, and the legal pad was born. AMPAD made business headlines a few years ago when it filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. But fortunately, the Plano, Texas, based company was bought out of extinction, and now sells an array of office products, including EnviroTech Dual Purpose Legal Pads, made from 100% recycled materials.As for their distinctive hue, an article in IS Magazine claims that, “The yellow legal pad — a must among lawyers, executives, students, writers and thinkers of all sorts — was devised specifically because yellow was thought to be a color which stimulated the intellect.” The piece goes on to mention that F. Scott Fitzgerald was a big fan.Though we couldn’t verify the claim (considering AMPAD’s origins as a discount retailer, perhaps yellow dye was simply the cheapest?), in general dark text on a light background is considered optimal for reading. And yellow tends to be easier on the eyes than a harsh white background, a fact that 3M took to heart when they invented the Post-it note.

disclaimer

Niff — Thu, 28 Sep 2006 04:59:54 +0000

Okay, so before everyone decides to get all nitpicky on me…yes, every one of the previous blogs has the same date. The reason they all have the same date is because I have hereby decided that Blogger.com sucks, and as such I have decided to make use of their servces no longer. Enter WordPress. However, seeing as how I had invested much time and effort into aforementioned blog, I coul not just let the more clever of my entries go the wayside. So, thanks to my new illness keeping me homebound, I had the time to copy all of my more treasured entries into my new blog. However, I could not alter the date as I did so. So get over it.

I really should be in bed, but due to my cold I spent about 10 hours sleeping this afternoon, and as such have now found myself to be unintentionally wired. So here I sit, and not a goddamned thing to write about at the moment. Shit.

So, I shall consent defeat and crawl my not-so-happy ass into bed.

when Cameron was in Egypt’s land…

Niff — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:48:36 +0000

Indeed.

So in the course of human events when it becomes necessary to decide upon a “just woke up with a cold” breakfast food, do not opt for Cheerios sans milk. The reason I say this, as well as the reason I know this, is because oftentrimes when a cold has made itself known to your immune system, your immune system reacts by way of creating an inhospitable environment for said organism. ergo, a sore throat. Sore throat + unmoistened Cheerios = supreme discomfort.

Hypothesis tested, lesson learned. Noted.

I think soup may be in order for lunch. If I can make it to lunch. I am dying, after all.

Ah. Interesting segway here. Ready? Here goes.

So. Wednesday. Walking to work from the bus stop.

I take the bus to work, and as such I usually have a good 3/4-mile culmulative trek from my front porch to my desk. More often than not this is a nice, pleasant peaceful stroll through some of the more eccentric parts of Pioneer Square.

Eccentric can be a rather subjective term.

So. As I said. Wednesday. Walking to work from my bus stop.

As I turn the corner onto second ave. south I feel a tug at my sleeve. I look down, and find myself trapped in some random Japanese-horror flick remake.

Attached to the hand tugging persistently at my sleeve was a ragged-looking old woman, seemingly homeless with thinning hair and – I shit you not – blind in one eye.

Like I said. Japanese-horror flick remake. Right here amidst my Wednesday morning stroll.

The fact that she tugged on my sleeve is not what I found startling. Nor was it the scraggly gray hair, the no-longer functioning right eye. No, it was none of these things which completely jarred me and threw my entire morning into one befuddled turmoil.

It was her words.

As she peered up at me, with her one good eye, she rasped at me out of the corner of her gnarled lips, drooling slightly as she spoke…

“You’d do well to make your peaces, missy…”

side note: what the $@$%&*!@???

I’m sure the confusion registered completely on my face as she continued:

“I see a curse…over your head…”

Ahhh…hmm. Yes. You know, I was just thinking that same thing. Thanks for clarifying that for me.

When something like that happens to you before your day has even begun, it tends to set a tone, despite your best efforts…

It was at this point when Dan reminded me that he had experienced a rather odd feeling on the previous Monday that something unpleasant was going to occur to someone in his life. Brilliant. I had forgotten about that, most likely because I had brushed it off as I believe not in such things.

And I still don’t.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must call my mother and apologize for tormenting her when I was a teenager.

Voulez-voulez-vous karma.

there are few things…

Niff — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:46:54 +0000

in this life more beautiful than a well-stretched and primed canvas. The well-formed corners, the resonating “thummm” when you tap the center…it just strums the tuning fork in your loins, I tell ya. Shivers down your spine, even.
I have spent the last 2 days on this beast. Assembling the frame, gluing and nailing the corners, then stapling the canvas on two staples one side at a time, which means staple staple, stand up, go to opposite side, squat down, staple staple, stand up, go to the right, squat, staple staple, etc. whilst pulling the canvas as tight as possible over the frame for each staple, which leaves serious chafing and blisters when you are finished. Please keep in mind this canvas is approximately 3.5 X 4.5 feet dimensionally, and the staples are about 3/4″ apart. I will begin to accept your sympathies now.
Once that’s done, the canvas needs to be sprayed with water and allowed to dry two or three times to encourage the canvas to shrink in order to remove any wrinkles or creases that may have occurred. This particular canvas took several times in strategic areas with a water-filled Febreeze bottle and a space heater. I was getting pissed. Bryan knew I was fussing. As a joke, he comes down to my studio, my sacred haven, points and jokingly declares, “hey, ya got some wrinkles!”. I was not amused. I banned him from my studio. He is no longer welcome. But after a few more hours of process, complete and total tautness was achieved. I then told my husband to kiss my ass.

The priming is the last step, and the most time-consuming. The first coat of gesso (basically thin, white paint) goes on (but I use white latex wall paint as it’s more durable and cheaper). Once it dries, it has to be sanded sown with fine-grit sandpaper to remove the little fuzzballs that inevitably appear. Then you put another coat of primer on. Sand. Prime. Sand. Prime. By now the primer should be opaque and smooth enough to work on. If not, it is about this time that you lapse into a catatonic schizophrenia or set your studio on fire. Fortunately for me, neither was necessary this afternoon. But I still have one coat to go. I shall report back tomorrow.

People just don’t appreciate how much labor goes into building your own canvas.

I have found that building my own canvas creates a much stronger emotional attachment to my work. Which also increases my difficulty in parting with them. Which is something I need to work on.
My paintings, all 27 of them, have been occupying the walls of my apartment their entire lives. The only ones viewing them are me, my husband, and the rare guests we occasionally invite over.
For this I have been reprimanded by more than a few.
Apparently my paintings never leaving my home is an insurmountable waste.

So naturally the process of shooing them out the door requires incentive and motivation on my part. I need to have slides taken. I need to send these nonexistent slides out. I need to get my ass in gear. I need to get some freaking self-confidence about my work.

*sigh*

voles-voles-vous introspection.

it is risen.

Niff — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:46:12 +0000

As a tribute to Easter weekend I have decided to take part in my own personal resurrection.

Note: I have not recently delved into the fine art of Necromancy. But I’ll save that possibility for another blog…

No, the resurrection of which I speak is my studio in the downstairs garage. Thanks to winter being so ruddy cold and unpleasant my studio was neglected; I just moved a few of my more important paintings upstairs which made my husband not at all pleased as I kept placing them in rather inconvenient locations throughout the living room. I just closed the door and let my beloved studio sit there for several months as there is no heating and, because of our violent windstorms we suffer here on a frequent basis, the frigid cold air would work its way in, not providing an ideal working environment.

So in a frenzy of boredom and malcontent at having to keep my works-in-progress upstairs, I decided it was time once again to reopen the doors to my studio and get back to work. Unfortunately, I encountered some obstacles.
Despite my own weak efforts, my studio had become an unwilling impromptu storage facility. Christmas decor had taken it’s toll, the old steam cleaner had worked its way in. Folding chairs, bags of old clothes, dog kennels…all of which, unless you are working on a rather odd still-life, are not exactly what you’d call official studio equipment.

Once the extraneous odds and ends were returned to their rightful places, I came across some pieces I had started and completely forgotten about. Which is agreeable, as I do require several active projects going at once. I do this so I can jump from one to the other rather than stagnating on one particular piece for weeks on end and suddenly finding myself resenting it. It’s my thing. Let it go.

Another bonus involved a box of stretcher bars I had ordered some time ago but had never unpacked. Also a bonus. I just have to make sure I have enough canvas on which to stretch it. Then it has to be primed, a subject matter must be decided upon, then I will have yet another active piece to add to my already impressive arsenal of unfinished canvases. I should have them all finished sometime next decade.

So this is where I have parked myself.

I should try and sell some paintings to pay off my ruddy cell phone bill.

voulez-voulez-vous I do not have unlimited minutes.

the forecast today

Niff — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:45:37 +0000

Fog.

I am in a fog. A depressing creative fog which has impaired my ability to conjure up any wit or cleverness and hence impaired my ability to blog. A blog-fog. Yep. That’s it.

So this is all I’ve got:

I’ve recently decided to alter my typical conversational response from “uh-huh” and “yeah” to indeed. It throws people off a bit. Intimidating, in a way. Most people aren’t prepared for it. We’ve become indeed-desensitized. Intolerant, even. Obsrerve:

- “So, my man callz and say, ‘I want tostadas for dinner’ and I’m like, ‘foo’, get ya own damn tostadas’ and he’s all, ‘bitch…you do-za what’s I say, and I-za wantin’ some tostadas!’”

To which I reply,

- “indeed.”

I am thus presented with:

- “Indeed? What da hellz that, indeed? What, choo tink youz all bettah than e’erybody else? Bitch, ya don’t know shit. Indeed. To hell witchoo and yo’ fancy talkin’”

(Note: the above conversation is indeed fictitious as I could not tolerate conversing with nor being associated with people who actually spoke in that manner. I would have to thump their skull with the Blue Book of English Grammar.)

I think I shall attempt to resurrect other words in the English language that seem to have gone the wayside. I’m sure we can re-integrate them successfully into modern conversational vocabulary. It will take some work, I’m not denying that. But if we band together, things will happen.

Such as:

Feckless: lacking purpose or vitality; feeble, ineffective; careless, irresponsible; from Scottish “feck”, for efficacy, short for effect+less.

(I particulary like this one…)
Chasmophile: a lover and seeker-out of nooks and crannies.

Isn’t that brilliant? It just rolls off the tongue…“chasmophile”…

I’ve got some more alluring yet curious words for you, but since I am a victim of the blog-fog, I shall save them for a later date to preserve blogging material.

Voulez-voulez-vous chasmophile.

Postscript: if anyone has some fascinatingly odd words to contribute, please feel free to leave them in my comments section. I assure you I will accept full credit for them and give no mention of you.

don’t forget the fortune cookies

Niff — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:44:40 +0000

bloody hell.

So, I’ve been tagged by Dariush, or called out, I suppose, to do the “meme”. I have no idea what the hell a “meme” is, but since I am such an uber-cool friend I shall cater to his whimsy and “meme” away. Here goes.

Tickle Your Pickle:
List seven songs you’re into right now.

* Waiting – Michael Tolcher. Heard it on an HBO promo and thought it was the coolest little ditty.
* Tangled – Maroon 5. Their “bitch go to hell” tuneage strums a chord in my vengeful lil heart.
* La Tortura – Shakira. Booty shakin’ is always a good thing.
* Geek in the Pink - Jason Mraz. I feel like Mrs. Robinson sayin’ this but this baby boy is cute as hell. (She can take her toys outta the drawer, then, cuz I ain’t comin’ home…) Brilliant.
* Don’t Dream it’s Over – Crowded House. Pure nostalgia.
* Enjoy the Silence – Mike Shinoda Remix – Depeche Mode. A kick ass rendition of some classic DM.
* In the Rough – Anna Nalick. One of my few indulgences in poppy chick music.

and one more just cuz Bry and I are Jammin’ to it right now:
* Come Baby Come – K7. Ya gotta gimme lovin’ and ya gotta gimme some…

Band for a Lifetime:
Choose a band/artist and answer ONLY in titles of their songs.

As much as I hate to admit it, Tori Amos.

1. Are you male or female?
Girl. Self-explanatory.

2. Describe yourself:
Sweet Sangria. Sweet indeed.

3. How do some people feel about you:
Strange Little Girl. Not so little, but it’s all I got.

4. How do you feel about yourself:
Little Earthquakes. Just unstable enough to be interesting…

5. Describe your ex-boyfriend/-girlfriend:
The Wrong Band Definitely.

6. Describe your current significant other:
Real Men. Hell Yeah he is.

7. Describe where you want to be:
In The Springtime of His Voodoo. Relevance = none. Coolness = 100%

8. Describe how you live:
A Sorta Fairytale. Although not so sorta.

9. Describe how you love:
Sweet the Sting. (devilish laugh)

10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish:
Snow Cherries From France. Well, why not?

11. Share a few words of wisdom:
The Power of Orange Knickers. Heed.

12. Now say goodbye:
Goodbye Pisces.

*whew*

I am done. All for you, Dariush. All for you.

I suppose this is like a chain letter type of system, so I must share the wonder that is the MEME with others.

Thus:

I hereby tag Shannon and Jason, since Shannon is on spring break and has plenty of time on her hands, and Jason ‘cuz he shall not escape the meme unscathed. Now GO, my young Padawans! Go forth and “meme” unto the world! (And no cheating! Keep your eyes on your own paper! And NO nook-ing!)

The Meme has you…

Voulez-voulez-vous meme

endorphins are the i-ching

Niff — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:44:00 +0000

I just realized what a depressing fucking blog that was.
What a pissy whiner I am. No wonder no one visits me anymore. I’d just turn them into a load of suicidal zombies. You are right to stay away from me! Get as far away as you can! Flee! Run away…run away!!!

Oh, you do love me. I knew you did.

Lucky for you I went to the gym and worked out my hostilities. Otherwise, the verbal lashing that may have ensued would have left you quite incapacitated and unable to prepare 23 baloney sandwiches for the Earl of Windsor when he decides to visit.

Exactly.

And in case you had forgotten:

The square root of 9 is 3
Red and yellow make orange
It is possible to walk and chew gum at the same time
and let sleeping dogs lie.

That is all. I bid you bonsoir, buenos noches, hugs and kisses.

Voulez-voulez-vous nitey nite.