Thursday, January 12, 2012

A Thriller.

The Woman in Black is a play I saw in London in 2002. It scared the tar out of me. It was great to see a horror story played out live on stage. It featured 2 actors and was incredibly well done.

I see they've made a movie of it, starring none other than Mr. Radcliffe, who, after impressing people after HP on Broadway, seems to be going the right way to not be shackled to one character. Good - I'm glad, because he seems to be a genuine talent, and very funny, too. Well, funny, anyway.

Well, Woman in Black seems to be opening in early February here in Canada, and while I'm not usually one for scary movies, I think I'll have to take it in. I wish Sparklin' D and I still lived in the same city... Not that she'd go see ol' Danny Radcliffe in a movie with me...

Tuesday, January 10, 2012


I like to think of myself as somewhat enlightened. Sophisticated, maybe? Maybe not, but enlightened works. I assume most people consider themselves enlightened, too. I doubt most people would straight-up consider themselves dim-witted without comparing his- or herself to someone else.

Anyhow, I've said it before on this interminable missive that I'm uncomfortable describing a man as "hot." It's demeaning, and, because I have self-esteem issues regarding my own looks, I would like to pay the opposite gender the courtesy I hope it would pay me by not reducing a man to superficial blah blah blah, you get the point.

I think I'll start using the term "hunk." It's old-timey and therefore somewhat harmless, and maybe doesn't put quite so fine a point on it.

Kate Beaton's rendering of two hunks. My birthday's coming up. Just sayin'.

Sigh. I've been thinking about this subject again because I've given myself some sort of proto-bedsores and already put myself behind in my courses because I've spent the last few days tearing through the entire (albeit truncated) series Firefly and its feature film. Yeah. About 12.5 hours.

That's not cool.

I mean, it's not cool for several reasons. Reason the First: I am a grown-up and I should be able to say, "That's enough. You have things to do." Reason the Second: when the phrase "pressure ulcers" comes into one's mind it should be enough of a clue that one had sat on one's ass long enough. Reason the Third (and this is the most true-to-the-meaning of "cool" of all the reasons): I should not be so into sci-fi*.

This all comes around to me once again talking about hunks. The new hunk in my life? Oh, Mr. Fillion, of course. He's just fantastic. I have to watch more of this man. (It's a little too early to include him in the illustrious Husband List. I have to do my sue diligence and start watching Castle.) Mal Reynolds was a great character and I love the bittersweetness of never getting to really see him again. Wheadon et al. were just starting to tell the story and we were just getting to see what the hell was up with River.

And then it was cancelled. Bleh.

Happily, I didn't watch it when it was actually on the air - I guess I was in grad school and sans TV. The cancellation may have been traumatic.

Then, today, this little exchange-du-hunque went on on Twitter, and I lost my mind for the timing of it all.

Nathan Fillion

Watching #Community. Haven't laughed out loud this much since (fill in blank).

Joel McHale

Dear @NathanFillion, the cast would like to say thank you & that they love Castle, Serenity, Firefly, your big hands, dreamy face, & body.

Anyhow, please, friends and random strangers, don't judge me for my susceptibility to hunks. Higher reason doesn't have anything to do with this. Look lovingly at your steady partner as you enjoy a meal together and say, boy, I'm so glad I'm grown up and don't let my mind wander to the broad shoulders and strong arms and I am a contributing member of society. 

Wait - maybe normal healthy people think about hunks all the time, but just don't discuss them. That would be nice, if that were true.

It's probably more likely that I have some sort of endocrine imbalance.

*I was chatting with S today, and she said something about how awesome Wil Wheaton is but how funny it is that when he was on TNG everyone hated him. I told her he was the reason I started watching! Hey, I was in the early throes of puberty and I thought he was cute and it was cool that there could be such a young, clever character on a show. But I digress. Sorry that a discussion about hunks ends with Wil Wheaton. Some (not necessarily me) might consider that a buzzkill. Let's never speak of this again.

Thursday, January 05, 2012

Come On, Sorel!

I know Sorel shoes are better known for their quality and functionality than aesthetics, but when they name a boot after me, you think they'd consult. 
They're pretty cool, I guess... Well, no. I don't like them. Or, at least, I don't think they look like something I could pull off. I don't tuck my jeans into my boots, so all that business going on above the ankle would be lost.  

Well, it's my bad luck. Camper? Your turn.

Wednesday, January 04, 2012

University Semester #29 (Or Whatever The Hell It's Up To By Now).

A new year, and a new semester of school. I'm still trying to get into a Speech-Langauge Pathology program, but I'm now applying in the States, and for a Master's prep program called a Post-Baccalaureate year. It's for people who don't have an SLP background to get all the brainy goodness of a 4-year SLP (or, more accurately, Communication Sciences and Disorders) undergrad in one year. I think I'll be in Massachusetts next fall, if all goes to plan.

I guess that means I'll have to learn how to spell Massachusetts without looking it up.

So, these coming months will be applications and researching hoops about how to get into Yankee-Doodle-Dandy-Land as a student, and so on and so on... In the meantime, I'm still in a couple of courses that will hopefully make applications pretty sexy for when I do apply for the MA portion of this odyssey.

I'm tacking on another psych this semester. That's Psych 102. Yup, like 101, but two-ier.

I really wish I could take the second half of Astronomy this semester, but, while I killed in the first half (89%, yo!), I can't risk tanking in the second half for a course I don't need. (I only need one physics course to study SLP in the States.) It sucks, too, because Saturn was behind the Sun last semester but will be visible this semester, and UPEI has a 40cm telescope. Ballin'. I wanna see Saturn! Wah!

Ugh. I don't like the turn that last paragraph took. Still, I'm going to leave it because it tickles me.

This morning I had my first class of this semester's Linguistics course. The prof said unless we'd taken Differential Calculus, this will be the hardest class we ever take. This probably isn't hyperbole, because Linguistics is a fascinating but extremely precise science, and most of the people in the class are English majors who read shit and write about other shit they read and it's all pretty subjective. (I was an English minor, so I know these things.) The prof is a Newfoundland firecracker and doesn't suffer fools. I love her.

Right. I should do some reading. I'm also in a course through Athabasca. It's called Psychology as a Natural Science, and it's reviewing a lot of stuff from Psych 101 so far. Fine by me. [shrug]

Monday, January 02, 2012

2012 Resolution.

I want to work on being less of an asshole bully. Making someone feel small is just cheap and sad and I do it too often.

I'm especially dickish to my mother. Living at home puts me in close personal contact with her little tics, like the way she easily gets worked up and agitated, but then denies it angrily when it is suggested she chill. Sigh. Right. Back to me.

Anyhow, can I please just not indulge it, or react, or poke the bear and respond in a way that I might respond to a stranger? Actually, maybe that's not a good plan, because I don't suffer those reactions from the general public, so maybe I should be more patient with the public, too*. 

This just happened: I asked Mum whose coat the broken zipper pull on the kitchen window sill belong to. She said, Dad's coat, but then came over to the window and started to get worked up because she couldn't see it. (It was behind a small bottle; I could still see it.) I said something like, "Why do you have to see it? You obviously know which zipper pull I'm talking about." She got pissed off, shifted 4 inches to the right and saw it, and then got POed because I didn't just point to it. She suggested that there could be two broken zipper pulls on the sill and she might be referring to the wrong one.

So, this irrational anger and stretch of statistics is something I clearly felt I had to be a dick about it. Why couldn't I have just nudged aside the bottle or pointed to it? No, I saw a moment where I had a weird, sad, advantage, and I didn't relinquish it, but had to get some mileage out of it. What a dick.

I want to be a little more adult and quicker at recognizing when I'm falling down the dickhead rabbithole and pulling myself out of that nosedive.

My insecurities should not leave my little brainpan, and I have to remember that making people feel small only makes me feel smaller.

And, if anyone wants to comment on this, can you leave suggestions on how to apologize about being a dick without going into my full psychological profile?

*Actually, I think I proved that I am the fucking Heavyweight Champion of the World of Patience with the general public after working the 2 weeks of the BOGO sale for next summer's Charlottetown Festival. People of PEI: please do your research about what show you want to see, when you want to see it, and what the prices are, so I don't feel like I'm making you take out a mortgage to see high-calibre live musical with seats that cost no more than $71. Compare if you dare. (Dancap, Mirvish.)