in the sway of desire
May. 6th, 2013 08:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yamamanamaabout titles: The title has nothing to do with today whatsoever. Also, I have learned the context behind "The Rose Show On The Moon" and it is to be taken literally, and I will not explain any further. You'll just have to read Yaleen. Pro Tip: It's cheaper to buy the paperback omnibus than the three e-books in the trilogy.
***
So, yeah, Carmina Burana isn't anything like O Fortuna or One Winged Angel. In fact, it's a bunch of paeans to spring, love poems, drinking songs, a lament by a dead and roasting swan, and a student lamenting his loss at the thirteenth century equivalent of a roulette table.
It was an abnormally cold night the day I went and I'm very glad it wasn't an outdoor concert. But seriously, fuck climate change.
***
Surprisingly few animals today. I think we're halfway through spring, even if it doesn't feel like it. Maybe the animals are the same way. I have a few animal stories to tell, but first, let's talk about the treasure trove of crapola somebody donated.
There were books. Nothing really amazing, except for a book on Office 97, for those people who's biggest concerns about Windows 95 isn't about how to get it to run in DosBox so you can play some vintage video games, something I have yet to figure out. Alas, that book on Office 97 won't tell me how to run it. Nina took Mr. Lightbulb, which is one of those incandescent bulbs with arms sticking out of the side of the bulb and legs sticking out of the screw thingus and a smiley face on the bulb. Nina took a CD and DVD and cassette of a a sci-fi fantasy adventure in music that I can not recall the name of, and she promised to tell me all about it as soon as she can. There was a book about saving the Earth. There was a VHS tape about hippos in Zimbawbe, and I'm beginning to suspect poachers are responsible for certain unenlightened views about tiger balls and rhino horns. An apparently really depressing five minute documentary on the fur trade, with a raccoon on the cover. Some rings from Thailand that Nina said were Power Ranger rings but Jean said were Planeteer rings. Some plug adapters for Egypt or Angola or the Federated States of Micronesia. Plastic stuff holders. CD jewelcases.
***
We watched Russel Brand interview Westboro Baptist. Something about Gandhi going to hell. Which he is. For sending nuclear ICBMs everywhere. See, in the first Civ, Gandhi's aggression level was set to low, and when a civ discovers Democracy, their aggression level drops two points. This causes Gandhi's aggression level to loop around and make him super-aggressive, so be prepared for a lot of cleanup. Or just get rid of Gandhi before he joins the nuclear club. This carried on into future Civs. It's an inside joke.
***
Once, Nina was doing electrical work and she ate some pasta from somebody's fridge and when asked about the smell, she said she put basil in the vacuum cleaner to make everything smell nice.
***
Humans amaze me sometimes. On one hand, you have Birkenau and Chelmno and Majdanek and Treblinka and you have genocides after Hitler's in Sudan and in Sri Lanka and Cambodia and Rwanda and Tanzania and Guatemala and Bangladesh and Indonesia and Lebanon and China and Russia and Bosnia and an ongoing one in Burma and not only does nobody lift a finger to stop them, but at the same time, there are wonderful and interesting people who make me think not everybody is a worthless waste of adenine and guanine, cytosine and thymine.
***
Christina told me how to make a rust color. Alizarin crimson and burnt sienna and something else. She's talking about how embarrassing it is to draw a guy with his pants down covering up his crotch with his hands and wearing heart-print boxers. But I wanted the actual rust for texture and effect and stuff. The rust powder mixed with watercolors was disappointing, really. I think the painting came out pretty good, though.
***
The cormorant and the translucent baby bird are dead, alas. On the bright side, the osprey is flying and we have a few gulls and somebody brought in a new baby bird.
***
Yolanda has a new bath toy, a rubber duckie. Nina and I sung the log song while I was moving the log out of Yolanda's cage. It's log, it's log, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood! It's log, it's log, it's better than bad, it's good!
***
A cat came in, a rare occurrence. He was black and looked like Christina's cat and he was not happy at all about having blood drawn from him. He let out a hilariously angry "mrgknao!" when he was sprayed with disinfectant.
***
An eighteen year old captive broad-winged hawk came in. He was blind in one eye and half of a wing was ripped off. And he wouldn't eat and we're not sure if he had a kidney infection. No crazy commentary from Nina because she was outside making faces while the rest of us were looking at the cataract and at this fluorine compound that glowed laser lemon under a UV light. Normally, it would just slide off the retina but if there was recent damage, it would pool up in the cuts. The raven was there too and once again, I had to leave before I got to see that.
***
Let's talk about movie ratings. So, these same people that make sure movies like Amadeus and THX-1138 or Amelie are slapped with an R rating because of a few seconds of nudity are griping about a movie about Breit Bart getting the R rating because Breitbart says "fuck" a few times.
Burning Question: What do you have to say to all those Marge Simpson wannabes who wish to suppress David's doodle?
***
So, yeah, Carmina Burana isn't anything like O Fortuna or One Winged Angel. In fact, it's a bunch of paeans to spring, love poems, drinking songs, a lament by a dead and roasting swan, and a student lamenting his loss at the thirteenth century equivalent of a roulette table.
It was an abnormally cold night the day I went and I'm very glad it wasn't an outdoor concert. But seriously, fuck climate change.
***
Surprisingly few animals today. I think we're halfway through spring, even if it doesn't feel like it. Maybe the animals are the same way. I have a few animal stories to tell, but first, let's talk about the treasure trove of crapola somebody donated.
There were books. Nothing really amazing, except for a book on Office 97, for those people who's biggest concerns about Windows 95 isn't about how to get it to run in DosBox so you can play some vintage video games, something I have yet to figure out. Alas, that book on Office 97 won't tell me how to run it. Nina took Mr. Lightbulb, which is one of those incandescent bulbs with arms sticking out of the side of the bulb and legs sticking out of the screw thingus and a smiley face on the bulb. Nina took a CD and DVD and cassette of a a sci-fi fantasy adventure in music that I can not recall the name of, and she promised to tell me all about it as soon as she can. There was a book about saving the Earth. There was a VHS tape about hippos in Zimbawbe, and I'm beginning to suspect poachers are responsible for certain unenlightened views about tiger balls and rhino horns. An apparently really depressing five minute documentary on the fur trade, with a raccoon on the cover. Some rings from Thailand that Nina said were Power Ranger rings but Jean said were Planeteer rings. Some plug adapters for Egypt or Angola or the Federated States of Micronesia. Plastic stuff holders. CD jewelcases.
***
We watched Russel Brand interview Westboro Baptist. Something about Gandhi going to hell. Which he is. For sending nuclear ICBMs everywhere. See, in the first Civ, Gandhi's aggression level was set to low, and when a civ discovers Democracy, their aggression level drops two points. This causes Gandhi's aggression level to loop around and make him super-aggressive, so be prepared for a lot of cleanup. Or just get rid of Gandhi before he joins the nuclear club. This carried on into future Civs. It's an inside joke.
***
Once, Nina was doing electrical work and she ate some pasta from somebody's fridge and when asked about the smell, she said she put basil in the vacuum cleaner to make everything smell nice.
***
Humans amaze me sometimes. On one hand, you have Birkenau and Chelmno and Majdanek and Treblinka and you have genocides after Hitler's in Sudan and in Sri Lanka and Cambodia and Rwanda and Tanzania and Guatemala and Bangladesh and Indonesia and Lebanon and China and Russia and Bosnia and an ongoing one in Burma and not only does nobody lift a finger to stop them, but at the same time, there are wonderful and interesting people who make me think not everybody is a worthless waste of adenine and guanine, cytosine and thymine.
***
Christina told me how to make a rust color. Alizarin crimson and burnt sienna and something else. She's talking about how embarrassing it is to draw a guy with his pants down covering up his crotch with his hands and wearing heart-print boxers. But I wanted the actual rust for texture and effect and stuff. The rust powder mixed with watercolors was disappointing, really. I think the painting came out pretty good, though.
***
The cormorant and the translucent baby bird are dead, alas. On the bright side, the osprey is flying and we have a few gulls and somebody brought in a new baby bird.
***
Yolanda has a new bath toy, a rubber duckie. Nina and I sung the log song while I was moving the log out of Yolanda's cage. It's log, it's log, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood! It's log, it's log, it's better than bad, it's good!
***
A cat came in, a rare occurrence. He was black and looked like Christina's cat and he was not happy at all about having blood drawn from him. He let out a hilariously angry "mrgknao!" when he was sprayed with disinfectant.
***
An eighteen year old captive broad-winged hawk came in. He was blind in one eye and half of a wing was ripped off. And he wouldn't eat and we're not sure if he had a kidney infection. No crazy commentary from Nina because she was outside making faces while the rest of us were looking at the cataract and at this fluorine compound that glowed laser lemon under a UV light. Normally, it would just slide off the retina but if there was recent damage, it would pool up in the cuts. The raven was there too and once again, I had to leave before I got to see that.
***
Let's talk about movie ratings. So, these same people that make sure movies like Amadeus and THX-1138 or Amelie are slapped with an R rating because of a few seconds of nudity are griping about a movie about Breit Bart getting the R rating because Breitbart says "fuck" a few times.
Burning Question: What do you have to say to all those Marge Simpson wannabes who wish to suppress David's doodle?
