Insomnia + Internet = WTF?

So, my body (is not ready) has decided that it will only sleep sometime between 6 and 10 am. Which, really, is lovely. And leaves me so very alert for the rest of the day.

Random Thing I Learned Without Trying And Now Cannot Unsee:

There is such a thing as a sneezing fetish. No, really. And not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just so amazingly pointed. And with so many variations. I never considered how many types of sneezes there could be, and the various levels of classification.

And while I can't claim to have anything as exotic or interesting as an actual fetish, I do have a sneezing hangup: I hate it when people stifle their sneezes. It actually pisses me off. I blame the childhood lesson of "if you hold your sneeze in, you'll sneeze backwards and blow your brains out your ears."

FOR GODS SAKE...LET IT OUT.

In other news, if you are only going to get 4 hours of sleep a cycle, apparently you will have crazy mad REM time. I think everyone I ever known showed up in my dreams last night. It was practically a music montage. And then there was this Very Important Experiment for Science that I was discussing with my dad.

There had been some breakthrough with synaptic relays and the firing of neurons in the human brain. I spent the dream trying to determine if what was going on was that thoughts were now occurring without the expenditure of any energy or if a different route was being taken to fire those relays. I kept on asking, "But is the sodium ion channel cascade still happening, or not?" But no one would answer me. It seemed very important at the time. Please note, it's been a looooooong time since I took Biology, so I don't even know if my question was valid. Remember what I thought GPS stood for the other day? Exactly.

Have you watched Sherlock on Netflix instant yet? Why not? Do it.

It continues to be hot and muggy here. Which I'm pretty sure is against state law. SOCAL--I AM SO DISAPPOINT. I want my money back.

My eyeballs hurt. Signing off for now.

I Hate Everyone And All The World

If one finds oneself actually saying this out loud, it is perhaps a bad sign.

Makes check in "bad sign" column.

Financial woes fucking suck. I just got off the phone with a collection agency, all over this dumb charge from a cancelled policy that I've been trying to settle for MONTHS.

Faxed documents make no difference. Call to original agency shows records that indicate this was a bit of a billing snafu, but that I do in fact owe the money.

Go to check mailbox. Only correspondence is from same collection agency.

Being on the dole is difficult when checks don't come. Undoubtedly related to recent massive paperwork fuck ups and re ups and UP YOURS. Unfortunately, my landlord does not accept IOUs based off of EDD bureaucracy clusterfucks. Which could be very awkward in about 2.5 days.

tl;dr: Money is stupid. Worrying about money sucks. The weather is hot. I have a consistent headache. My stomach is in revolt. Sometimes there's just not enough rocks.

Quote of the Day

From the very beginning of a phone conversation. Said in earnest, not jest, from my friend:

My friend: Oh, you have pants on? I haven't made it that far yet.

I laughed through the next two minutes of conversation.

Mah friendz. Is besta, ya?

ETA: You don't often get two in one day.

Skype-ing with my family for the first time.

Me: It's been great talking to you guys. I'll just got throw myself in traffic now.

My Dad: Don't worry, hon. You'll miss.

My old man, inspiring ego melt downs since 1888.

BBC As A Spectator Sport

I'm a moron.

I'm watching a BBC miniseries on line, set in the 19th century. You know you've watched too many when the following occurs:

BBC Proper Lady in a Bonnet to a scurrilous dude: "You are not a gentleman!"

Me yelling at the screen: "Damn, you just got told, bitch!"

I don't know if this is better or worse than how I treat Law & Order like a sporting event, kibitzing the arguing attorneys:

"Objection, relevance?"

"Objection, your Honor. Badgering the witness."

I take a great deal of pride in usually beating Jack McCoy to the punch on those calls.

I now return myself to my regularly scheduled idiocy. (And secret stalking).


ETA:

What it's like to be in the room when I watch this stuff.

Romantically galloping on horseback to catch his girl?!?!?!

This is the actual pose I was in for half the show. I know because I saw my reflection in the monitor and was agahst. Also, you wouldn't believe how freakin long it took to find an appropriate image online. Thanks, Jeremy Renner.

Feel Free To Skip This Post

It's like an endless buffet of all you can eat shit.

Yesterday was the call from the unemployment office (following the three confusing form letters over the last 10 days, including the one that says "OHAI, UR INFO IS WRONG LOL KTHXBAI!).

That call necessitated paper wrangling and emailing, but it was at least doing something. I still have a call scheduled for Friday with these pricks (because they can call you, but you can never get them on the phone) and I have to go in for a personal interview next Tuesday.

Yesterday's mail brought a notice from my Cancelled For Five Got Dayum Months auto insurance. They have been trying to charge me on the auto pay form that I cancelled with them before I even cancelled the policy. Now they've turned it over to a collection agency, despite my months of emailing with the Allstate agent who was "taking care of it."

So I called the credit agency to contest the charge and left the house to go fax them some stuff that might or might not make a difference.

Came home to ANOTHER letter from the EDD (unemployment office). Requesting the same goddamn information I have now provided twice, and has once been rejected (see OHAI above). And it has to be to them in. . . four days. Which, if you are familiar with my mail drama, you know that ain't  happening.

So, got to dig up some more info and drive through the total craziness of this town to fax more shit. Think I'll do that tomorrow. Because of homicide and my proclivity towards it.

On the positive side, I got my printer to magically work again. How, you may ask?

Basically exactly like that.

No, really.

After a careful inspection of all moving parts, checking the ribbons, blah blah carefulcakes, I smacked it. Then I picked it up, turned it upside down, and smacked it again.

Flawless victory.

Now excuse me while I go curl into the fetal position and surf tumblr for ocd inducing images wonder why the world is so mean.

Because Who Wants to Sleep?

ME. THAT'S WHO.

But noooooooooooooooooooooo. No rest for the wicked.

BRAINZ!! Y U NO ACK RITE??

And may I just add, what really sucks is not being able to sleep, but still feeling all tired and low energy and not getting shit done anydamnway.

What's the point of all the extra free time if I just lay there? What?

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!?

Universe: I am so dissapoint.

***********************************

But here's something worth your while--actors and musicians reading poetry.

http://speakcelebrity.tumblr.com/

This is an interesting experiment for me, since I generally hate hearing poetry read. Nothing (not even my own vocalizations), ever match what I hear in my head.

Though I must say, John Hannah reading of "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden nearly brings tears to my eyes. I venture that the especially emotional tone of that rendition is due to it being pulled from a movie.

Also, John Hannah. Duh.

Blogging: Duty Versus Relief. And Eat Your Oatmeal.

Hey there, BlatherBlahg. Feeling neglected? Well, our relationship has been a little rocky lately. Trust issues and all. Where will we go from here? Let's not talk about it now. This heat is not conducive to rational and calm discourse.

On a related subject, my brain is like a cross between the results of "the push" from Firestarter and The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet. Say what you will of Stephen King, he has a handle on being Not Quite Right. In The Head.

Which is to say that things get kicking around in there and I should probably be purging them more often than I have been. Because the longer they ping, the greater the velocity, and the crazier shit gets. And the longer I wait, the less relevant things seem, and the less likely I am to write/talk/whatever. But the backlog never quite goes away.

Which is the long form way of saying you may be seeing some extra random posting in the FUCHER, as I attempt the Herculean effort of mucking out the stalls of my mind.

As noted before, this happend:

Double shot of my baby's love.

The New Beverly Cinema is amazeballs awesome. It's $8 for a double feature, the most expensive concession is $2.50, and I just found out that it's owned by Quentin Tarantino. Say what you will about his film career, the man loves movies with an unabashed joy and enthusiasm. He says, "As long as I'm alive, and as long as I'm rich, the New Beverly will be there, showing double features in 35mm." God bless him for that.

Now the double feature last Sunday had the director from Khan, Nicholas Meyer, do a little spiel before the film began. It's always interesting to hear how movies actually get made, like how much of a business it is, and how crazily that business is handled.

Mr. Meyers contributed several pieces of set trivia, the most important being the confirmation that Ricardo Montalban's pecs were indeed FOR REALZ.

Damn.

I know, right? Even with proof, it's still kinda hard to grok.

I am now going to refrain from the various geek minutiae that occupied our discussions after the movie. For now.

I had never seen the other film, though of course I knew it by reputation. John Carpenter's The Thing was an awesome surprise. Very well done and amazingly funny. The guys presenting the movie pratically jizzed their pants talking about how influential it was, so I'm sure you can find lots of critical analyses on the Interwebz if you are so inclined. Here's my quick take:

• Kurt Russell is such an effortless badass. Can you be badass in a parka and a floppy sombrero in the middle of Antarctica? Kurt Russell can.
• Furthermore, Mr. Russell does not get enough credit for his acting chops. There's a scene where he's in full beard, huge parka collar, and face goggles, and he stills gives a wordless reaction shot that is completely expressive. That is some mad actorly shit, right there.

Emote through this, bitches.

• The blood test scene is tense and freaky, suprising, ends with two different comedic beats that had the whole theatre laughing. All just with masterful pacing and editing, really.
• Speaking of funny, there is a visual gag in one scene with Wilford Brimley in the shed that is Pure Genius. I did a genuine double take, and when I finally realized what I was seeing I lost it. I'm not usually surprised like that, and The Thing has secured a place in my affections for that moment alone.
• Now, there is intentional humor. And there's the kind you bring with you, in your own head, that the filmmakers could never anticipate or counter. EVERY DAMN TIME Wilford Brimley came on screen with a concerned face, I got the uncontrollable giggles. Because some version of this was running through my head:

Space Diabeetus! The Silent Killer.

In other news, it is now officially Hot Season here. Which is still complete bewlsheet pantywaist conditions compared to other places I've lived. However, I am without A/C and the inside of my tiny abode is far warmer than I would like. If I hold real still and don't breathe too hard, I can avoid breaking out in a flop sweat. Anything more than that leads to yuckiness.

I don't know about you guys, but I have SRS problems sleeping in the heat. I can't think of a reasonable explanation for it, but it really messes me up. Well, this entry took forever, and doesn't even scratch the surface of my wellspring of neuroses and disturbing behaviors. More for later!

Montalban y Russell Es Muy Macho

So, still awake from Sunday. We saw a late double feature of ST: Wrath of Khan and John Carpenter's The Thing.

Fu. Reek. En. Awe. Some.

Hit up Mel's diner afterwards, for some truly ridiculous and wonderful conversation, including, but not limited to: Hitler/Stalin FTW, sexual deviancy and culpability, why I can't have sex with The Hulk, my lack of interest in sex with Thor, how guys never feel weird when they see a person they had a sex dream about the next day (noticing a theme here?), the vagaries of fandom and When Fans Go Too Far, Wilford Brimley, DIABEETUS, and some things I won't post because my mother reads this.

I know, right? Lookit at that list. That's the sanitized version.

Oh, this also happened. Really.

Now that the sun is up and the neighbor's babby is crying (again), I shall go lay down and maybe close my eyes for awhile.

Oh my, HELLO ALL THE MUSCLES THAT JUST REALIZED I DID 65 KETTLEBELL SWINGS YESTERDAY---WUZ WONDRIN WHEN U GAIS WOOD SHEW UP111111!!11!!!

For Lin Lin, the Woosters, My Daid, Omey Pie, and Twu Wuv

 

Oxymoronic Endeavors and The Joy of Silliness

I had this whole other post, but it was a major downer, man. And I don't feel like dragging my gentle readers through more shit, or in getting raked over the coals again by folks who draw conclusions without ever reading my stuff or actually speaking to me.

Let's just say that it's been a bit of a struggle to stay mellow lately. Some might posit that exerting effort to stay mellow means you're doing it wrong. Those people are idiots. Or just really stoned. Some days it just feels like this:

Flames. . . on the side of my face. Burning, heaving. . .

But that doesn't mean that cool stuff isn't happening as well. I went to a party last night and chatted about. Lovely weather, but since it dipped below 70 degrees we had to fire up the outdoor heater for Princess O. Most people don't know she's originally from Jotunheimr. So I guess she's never recovered from her icy upbringing.

Though, if she is a frost giantess, maybe she can hook me up with some Jotuns.

Yes. I'm looking at his headgear.

Anyhoo, the party was lovely. Though if somebody offers you punch made from champagne, rum, and maraschino liqueur, you should perhaps stop after about two cups. Just a suggestion.

My lovely friend Blau, in addition to offering me some replacement parts from spare items around his house (it's basically an Apple stockroom in there), casually threw in the Adobe CS 5. Just in a sealed package  he had laying around.

And to top it all off, when I left I was handed the fish bowl that had a sign on it asking for "Donations for the Punch Preparation." That turned out to be code for "Alms for Hawkeye's Dickensian Life." It was a lovely and kind gesture, and quite sensitively handled, as I have been having some real issues with handling being the Pitiable Wretch once again. When I was sorting out the change in the fishbowl today I found a Ralph's giftcard and a $250 card for Target. I almost started crying.

Princess O's response summed up why this was so nice--it's not the gifts themselves: Most welcome. That's one of the things community is good for.

And in other fun news, there have been some goofy texts flying back and forth lately. My current faves.

After sending out a Michael McDonald lyrics spam, I got this:

K: I'm so taking to the streets and make you listen to the music just when you keep forgetting its only what a fool believes.

And my bro and I don't communicate often, but when we do it's super random. This exchange had me in tears. I couldn't even shoot pool, I kept laughing so much. I thought we might get thrown out of the place.

Bro: Diarrhea is like a storm raging inside you.

Me: Wwhat? Lol...wut?

Bro: I'm watching MST3K Fugitive Alien 2.

Me: I hope you are happy. I now cannot shoot pool for shit.

Bro: Diarrhea.

M: God damn you. You go to hell. You go to hell an you DIE.

B: Die...arrhea?

M: I hate you so much. My mascara is running. Running like the explosive sharts down your pant leg.

B: Just a little diarrhea? Or just a little torture? (Teenagers From Outer Space)

M: I thought for sure that diarrhea would hit them. (Eegah)


B: Why don't they wipe? (Eegah)

M: You are srsly gonna get me kicked out of this bar. Also: Squirt McChunderpants. (Space Mutiny)

Yup. More than you ever wanted to know. Classy all the way.