Yes yes, it is another random post filled with randomosity and other random goodness. This is where I take a sort of mind dump to cleanse the soul and ruin the lives of innocent people who chance upon this entry. Then again, as the great philosopher
Hexina once said,
"No one is truly innocent," when asked why she socked that "innocent" mime in the face. I can live with that proclamation. That said, if you continue to read, you're getting what's coming to you.
I don't care what anybody says,
Hexed was a good movie. No, it was a
great movie. It's basically "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" retold with the Arye Gross (I love him) as the boy and Claudia Christian (yes, Commander Ivanova!) as the wolf. There are so many comic scenes the drip pure genius, my chakras just vibrate on a higher level thinking about them. With lines like this, how can a movie go wrong?
"She even attacked a mime. Just found out about it. Seems the mime had been reluctant to talk." In fact, I may abandon my serial killer extravaganza and pop in
Hexed, which is really just an extension of the whole Sunday Serial Killer motif. Hexina is one of my heroes.
When I was a kid, my favourite superhero was Spiderman.
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green_goblin7t and I share this common bond. Even though my greatest childhood love was Darth Vader and all my other heroes were villains, Spidey was the exception to my unspoken rule of "no nice guys!" I didn't just idolise Spiderman, I wanted to
be Spiderman. I would have given my left kidney to be able to shoot web out of my wrists and swing through town. My main thing was the animated series from the 70s. I've never in my life read a Spiderman comic. The only comics I was ever into were Archie comics. Nothing thrilled me more than to get a grape Slurpee and an Archie comic from the local 7-11. I was a simple girl, grateful for the little things. But the bigger the Slurpee, the better. Anyway, I still have a piece of my Spidey-drenched childhood: it's a Spiderman head water gun. When you pull the trigger, Spidey literally spits on you. It still works, too.
Aunt Tudi and I have a pool. I got it on clearance at the dollar store last year. It was normally like $70 or sommat. I got it for just under $20. It inflates as you fill it up and it's 3 feet deep, I think. Or 4 feet. Can't remember. Once I rid the back yard of fire ants, we're gonna set it up back there, so we can float about in privacy. It's big enough to need a filter and pump, so it'll be large enough for Aunt Tudi and me to enjoy some cool, watery goodness on the 3000 katrillion hot days of Summer enjoyed by us inmates here in South Carolina. I may have to chop down some bamboo and fashion myself a makeshift snorkel. I remember snorkeling in Mills River up near Asheville. The river was very deep in areas and quite peaceful. There's nothing quite like the sound of water flowing past your ears mingling with the sound of your own breath as you float like a dead body down the river, nothing showing but the snorkel. I get concerned now that a bird will land on my snorkel and poop in my mouth.
I just realised that I have a previously unremembered source of income. Lula'a'kei'a'Lani, the Hawaiian Goddess of Loose Change! It's the old coconut figurine bank I kept in the Pit. The scheme was to get people to put their loose change in the bank and make a wish. It wouldn't surprise me if I had $10 in that coconut bank! That's a half tank of gas. I could go somewhere and do something, if I so chose. But I don't so choose. I like being a hermit. If I never left the house again, that'd be fine with me. Screw the world, I have an iPod.
Oh, speaking of iPods, newbies here on the Cliffs may have noticed my referencing Son of iGor. That's my iPod and my second one at that. My first iPod, simply iGor, crapped out on me, but I had an extended warranty on it, so Apple sent me a brand new iPod. This is Son of iGor. If Son of iGor ever trashes out on me, I'll have to jump off a bridge because I can't replace him. If I could, though, my next iPod would be called Bride of iGor maybe, or Random Acquaintance of iGor. Or maybe even Distant Cousin of iGor, or iGor's Unfriendly Neighbour. Hell if I know.
What's wrong with Tim Burton? His movies used to be so wonderful but, here of late, it's been a hit-and-miss situation for him. His
Planet of the Apes was an affront to all ape-lovers everywhere. It was just....wrong. And, even though I adore the imagery of the film,
Sweeney Todd pretty much left me cold. I'm not big on musicals, though. No matter how lovely Johnny Depp was in that movie, I'm not keen on ever seeing the flick again. Speak your lines, Johnny, don't sing them. Tim Burton is the Goth culture's champion. He needs to stick with what he knows and not try to go beyond that. Just be yourself, Tim. Toxic Boy is who you are, not big-time hoity-toity director man. The next time you take a seat in your director's chair, remember
Beetlejuice and
Batman, and all else will naturally fall into place. Just sayin'. Oh, and don't go with any film composer but Danny Elfman. You make a magickal team. Don't try to fix something that ain't broke. Again, just sayin'.
I'm half-writing a new Joker-fic. No, I haven't revived the Date Series. This one isn't gonna be an erotic fanfic either. It's...I don't know what it's gonna be. All I know is that it's drawn from a discussion
paisleydaze and I have been having over the past couple of days. The occult and psychology play heavily in this one. I know it's gonna be short and, so far, it's totally unlike anything J-related I've written. One thing for certain: it has nothing to do with
The Joker Blogs. So far, this one isn't fun, and something tells me that Cadmus' influence has a lot to do with this more archetypal Joker. I'm being pulled back to the Vampire world, despite my best efforts to avoid it for a while and have a few laughs. Oh, and to answer a question posed of me by
delenn99: I'll submit my original work to publishers just as soon as I have an agent who is willing to take me on. Still looking for that. Any pointers on how I can lure a hapless agent into my Kung Fu grip? I'm all ears.
I want to go up to Cherokee and sit on a rock in the middle of the river up near the hospital. Maybe listen to some tunes on Son of iGor and contemplate Life, the Universe, and Everything.
The Cliffs of Insanity has a birthday coming up soon. The Blog will turn 7 years old. That's usually about the time a child starts becoming increasingly obnoxious. Since my journal started out that way, we can bypass that whole awkward phase and move on to greater pestiferousness and tomfoolery. Speaking of birthdays, Aunt Tudi turned 65 today. She has celebrated by sleeping. She does that a lot now. I'm by myself a good bit because she's asleep. I'm not complaining. I know it's because of her illnesses, but it bothers me a little because that's how Granny was a couple of years before she died. She had to wake up from a nap to go take a nap. I'm jealous of Aunt Tudi in that she can so easily sleep any hour of the day and I'm awake even when I am asleep, unless I drug myself into a stupour. Insomnia is the biggest bitch in existence, outshining even myself and
stacye13, and that's no small feat. Aunt Tudi is like a cat now. I sit around this house looking at her and the cats doze all day long and I want to kill them in their sleep, and I chalk all that up to my coveting their slumber. I covet. I'm a commandment breaker. Look at me. I'm out of control. I'm a coveting senior citizen murderer with red-rimmed eyes that quiver from lack of sleep. Yeah, fear me, bitches. Who knows what I'll do next? Rest assured, it won't be sleeping.
I need make-up. I'm almost out of lipstick, I
am out of powder, and my mascara is so old that it's dried up. I've still got plenty of faux kohl, so I'm good there. I'm just out of everything else. Don't know why I'd even need the make-up since I now spend the majority of my days at home, but you never know when I may want to do another webcam thingie. I still haven't figured out why my sound is off after I upload a video. It's fine until it hits You Tube. The mystery is maddening. I need to get a different kind of lipstick than the one I've been wearing. What I've been wearing almost instantly chaps my lips. Chapped lips drive me crazy because I can't leave them along. I'm constantly picking at my lower lip and peeling away the top layer of skin. It gets to the point of my bleeding. I used to have horrible lips as a young teen and I still have a diary where I'd leave bloody lip prints from the chapped horror through which I was going, usually from the big split right in the middle of my lower lip. It's no wonder teens are so difficult to get along with. Their lives are usually hell for one reason or another, so they may as well visit their suffering upon their friends and loved ones, right? Right. As for my make-up application, I learned how to apply make-up from observing Boy George and Robert Smith. Oh, and from art class. Undershadowing makes things look larger. That said, I apply very little faux kohl to my upper eyelids. Most of my eye colour and mascara are applied to the lower eyelids and lashes. It makes my eyes look much larger, and that's the intention. Case in point, this icon:
. This is from a picture taken in 1997. You can't go wrong with lots of colour under the eyes.
Theda Bara knew this. She was a smart lady.
Things I miss:
- Attending Circle. Sometimes even the most anti-social of us craves the group dynamics of a cast Circle. Not saying I'd want to do it on a regular basis, but it'd be nice to be with fellow Witches in sacred space for a little while.
- Bardic circles. These were almost as magickal as Sabbat and Esbat celebrations. But music is a magickal thing in and of itself. Tolkien himself contented in The Silmarillion that existence began with a song.
- Singing. Anywhere. Circle, Bardic, the UU Church. I miss singing.
- The Celtic music community of Greenville. I'll never be a part of it again, but that doesn't stop me from missing it. It's been 11 years now since I walked away.
- Quality Assurance and the people with whom I worked in that department: Doc, green_goblin7t, Richard, and Timothy. Sometimes even Raleigh and Terri.
- The Darth Maul Estrogen Brigade. It was 100% a positive experience and I made lifelong friendships because of that corner of smut on Teh Intarwebs, the most important being falkenna and Meche. It was a sad day when Darth Cleo shut the site down, archiving the majority for posterity's sake. I envisioned her turning out the lights in much the same way John Sheridan did at the end of B5. I often wonder about how Maulsmate, MaryCheetah, the Smut Brigade, MOTS, and Indigobunting are doing.
- My Friend Todd, every day, without fail.
My "nephew" Blake added me as a friend on MySpace. It's hard to believe that he's 17 now and has a beard and mustache. I remember when he was born. He makes me feel very old. I put the word "nephew" in quotations because he's not really my nephew, although I feel like he is. His mother and I were always like sisters, even though we're cousins, so Blake is my nephew in every way but the official way. So yeah. 17. I remember teaching him Talitha MacKenzie songs when he was 6, him rocking back and forth in the car to the beat of "Saor an t-sà bhaidh," singing the Gaelic like he'd done it all his life. But children are more open to language than adults, so I guess I can understand. Just recently, I asked him if he remembered any of that and he said he didn't. I bet if I played "Saor an t-sábhaidh" for him, it'd trigger the memory. He's always been a cool kid, and I don't like kids as a rule, so that's saying a lot. He's gonna be a groovy adult too. I have no doubt.
Mtzlplk or Mr. Mytzlplk was a villain featured on
Superfriends back in the 70s. A lot of you fools weren't even born when he wrought his vowel-removing havoc on poor Superman. I think Casey Kasem voiced him. Could be wrong about that, though.
1. Full name: Tracy Angelina Evans
21. Do You Have A Personal Phone Line: Yes
41. Favorite Vacation Spot(s): I don’t do vacations. My favourite place to BE is England.
51. If You Had The Chance To Professionally Do Something, What would You Do? I’m already a Professional Misanthropist.
