white cold blood
Mar. 10th, 2020 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yamamanama9 days until the vernal equinox
The final thirteen days of winter seem so much longer than the first thirteen days.
Olivia describes her writing process as “get drunk, word vomit, and then turn said word vomit into something coherent.” That sounds a lot like my process, minus the getting drunk part. In lieu of that, I'll type notes on my iPod and then attempt to decipher them.
Cat food pate is very gelatinous. I wondered what exactly is wrong with cats.
It’s a new fashion accessory, said Ellie, holding half a guinea pig.
I said we need a guillotine. Or maybe a lightsaber, which would make them extra-crispy, says Olivia. Olivia said we need a meat grinder so we can make guinea pig burgers, which probably taste as good as they smell, and by that, I mean that I’d rather eat unpasteurized plastic. Ellie thinks the people who send us the guinea pigs should cut them up for us.
The thing that Nikole made looks like a houseplant and Olivia said to put it on a windowsill and water it.
Olivia said “no, it’s a plate of food. Dova’s upstairs.” It was for Dova, though. I’d be fooled because there was hardly any red on it.
We have a creature. We’re not sure what it is, but to me, it looks like an ordinary baby raccoon aside from the white tip on its tail. We’re treating it as if it’s a raccoon. Maybe it will grow up to be a raccoon if we do that.
Olivia wonders if that’s possible for human babies, as raccoon babies offer much more entertainment and less commitment.
We have two young hawks, which are whiter than adults and their tails aren't as vividly red. At least one of them is suffering from rodenticide poisoning. We have a herring gull, which Jacob said has taken the place of the usual waterfowl. The rodo has a bacterial infection which, amongst other worse things, makes his poop smell really bad.
Turtles are amazingly single-minded creatures. I want to be over there. I don’t care that I can’t scale the walls of this bathtub, I’m going to do it anyway. That’s why when you see one crossing the street, you push it towards its destination. Jacob said “don’t go down the drain now” and “that’s how nature weeds out the losers.” The baby snapper doesn’t seem to like people watching over it while it eats while Jacob says the painteds will eat even if someone was shooting at them. They’re like a lawnmower for bloodworms, says Jacob. Ain’t no party like a turtle party, says Olivia. Or Jacob. Ellie said “stuffed in a sock and sent to China.”
One of the turtles pooped and Jacob said it was like childbirth.
Dova was doing her dance. She wants to mate with you, says Ellie. Makes sense, because I was wearing a black hoodie. I don't know if that's a mating dance or a "hey, pay attention to me! Stop messing around with that hawk!"
The herp (did you just say herp? Olivia asked. Yeah, the herpetological calls themselves that, Jacob said) society brought almond dark chocolate toffee cookies by Lacey’s which are really quite good. I was thinking of letting a dog named Napoleon smell it in hopes that he'd lose interest but I really doubt he'd see things that way.
I’m hoping the assassination attempt on Hamdok is some sort of John Wilkes Booth style disgruntled NCP member or a Charles Guiteau style book promotion and anger over not being made a cabinet member or ambassador to France or effort to impress Jodie Foster and not a Russian, Syrian, or Iranian attempt to put down yet another nascent democracy, a la Libya. And meanwhile, Trump is handling the coronavirus like the central Asian dictator that he wishes he could be. The one who shut down all the hospitals outside of Ashgabat. And surprise, surprise, the states that are the hardest-hit are the ones that would never vote for Trump even if it was true that the sun only rises with his gracious permit.
burning question: Oh, Trump, can't you go five seconds without humiliating yourself?
The final thirteen days of winter seem so much longer than the first thirteen days.
Olivia describes her writing process as “get drunk, word vomit, and then turn said word vomit into something coherent.” That sounds a lot like my process, minus the getting drunk part. In lieu of that, I'll type notes on my iPod and then attempt to decipher them.
Cat food pate is very gelatinous. I wondered what exactly is wrong with cats.
It’s a new fashion accessory, said Ellie, holding half a guinea pig.
I said we need a guillotine. Or maybe a lightsaber, which would make them extra-crispy, says Olivia. Olivia said we need a meat grinder so we can make guinea pig burgers, which probably taste as good as they smell, and by that, I mean that I’d rather eat unpasteurized plastic. Ellie thinks the people who send us the guinea pigs should cut them up for us.
The thing that Nikole made looks like a houseplant and Olivia said to put it on a windowsill and water it.
Olivia said “no, it’s a plate of food. Dova’s upstairs.” It was for Dova, though. I’d be fooled because there was hardly any red on it.
We have a creature. We’re not sure what it is, but to me, it looks like an ordinary baby raccoon aside from the white tip on its tail. We’re treating it as if it’s a raccoon. Maybe it will grow up to be a raccoon if we do that.
Olivia wonders if that’s possible for human babies, as raccoon babies offer much more entertainment and less commitment.
We have two young hawks, which are whiter than adults and their tails aren't as vividly red. At least one of them is suffering from rodenticide poisoning. We have a herring gull, which Jacob said has taken the place of the usual waterfowl. The rodo has a bacterial infection which, amongst other worse things, makes his poop smell really bad.
Turtles are amazingly single-minded creatures. I want to be over there. I don’t care that I can’t scale the walls of this bathtub, I’m going to do it anyway. That’s why when you see one crossing the street, you push it towards its destination. Jacob said “don’t go down the drain now” and “that’s how nature weeds out the losers.” The baby snapper doesn’t seem to like people watching over it while it eats while Jacob says the painteds will eat even if someone was shooting at them. They’re like a lawnmower for bloodworms, says Jacob. Ain’t no party like a turtle party, says Olivia. Or Jacob. Ellie said “stuffed in a sock and sent to China.”
One of the turtles pooped and Jacob said it was like childbirth.
Dova was doing her dance. She wants to mate with you, says Ellie. Makes sense, because I was wearing a black hoodie. I don't know if that's a mating dance or a "hey, pay attention to me! Stop messing around with that hawk!"
The herp (did you just say herp? Olivia asked. Yeah, the herpetological calls themselves that, Jacob said) society brought almond dark chocolate toffee cookies by Lacey’s which are really quite good. I was thinking of letting a dog named Napoleon smell it in hopes that he'd lose interest but I really doubt he'd see things that way.
I’m hoping the assassination attempt on Hamdok is some sort of John Wilkes Booth style disgruntled NCP member or a Charles Guiteau style book promotion and anger over not being made a cabinet member or ambassador to France or effort to impress Jodie Foster and not a Russian, Syrian, or Iranian attempt to put down yet another nascent democracy, a la Libya. And meanwhile, Trump is handling the coronavirus like the central Asian dictator that he wishes he could be. The one who shut down all the hospitals outside of Ashgabat. And surprise, surprise, the states that are the hardest-hit are the ones that would never vote for Trump even if it was true that the sun only rises with his gracious permit.
burning question: Oh, Trump, can't you go five seconds without humiliating yourself?
