You know, for a long time now, I've stayed out of the whole Marriage Protection Movement debate. I'd read about the people who said marriage is a sacred act to exist only between a man and a woman. I've seen those bumper stickers that say "Marriage = Man + Woman." On the other side of the debate, I've gotten the emails from the Human Rights Campaign urging me to writing letters to my representatives. I've listened to what my friends have to say about the issue, but for the most part, I've keep my mouth shut about the issue.
Well... now it's time to make my stand. See, today in the U.S. House of Representatives, The Anti-Gay Marriage Amendment Failed. Sure, the amendment only failed by a depressing 49 votes and will probably be pushed for a re-vote this time next year, but still: In some respects, the argument is over and I can tell the world what I really think:
The whole gay marriage issue is just STUPID!
Now. Before you write me mean letters saying, "How can an open-minded, well-educated and generally nice person such as yourself make such a comment?" allow me to further detail the reasonings behind my stance:
My point is: Who Cares? And for the people who -do- care, Why Do You Care?
I don't understand all the fuss! If two people love each other enough to get married, why the hell should their government have diddly squat to say about it? I mean, unless I'm mistaken, it is the year 2004 -not- 1804, right? I mean, yeah, back in the day, the government got to say who married whom and who got to boink whom and who owned whom and blah blah blah, but we have progressed at least a little teeny bit past that, haven't we? Maybe I'm wrong?
I mean, maybe I do live in a country where my government, the great overseeing authority, gets to say whom I get to boink. I mean, I didn't know... Is there a form I have to fill out first?
Cuz, that's what it all boils down to isn't it? Sex, pure and simple. Some people are so dirty minded that when they see two people of the same gender holding hands or something that they immediately construct this whole little fantasy of what those two people do in the bedroom that soon they get all hot and bothered and goddamnit they can't be the bad people so it must be those darn gays. It's a bunch of crap!
I haven't had much to say about the Marriage Protection Amendment because, honestly, I thought it was such a ridiculous notion to bring before the ruling powers of the good old United States that I could scarcely believe that, yes, this is a -real- issue that people actually waste -real- U.S. taxpayer dollars debating in Congress. It almost seems like a joke, doesn't it?
I mean, you know, I hate to keep beating a dead horse here, but we've got hurricanes killing poor folks in third world nations by the thousands, wars in other third world countries killing poor people by the millions, we have assault rifles sold legally to people who might just be walking around on the streets of our fair Greensburg with them. We have a million and one better things that our Congress could be doing with their time.
But whatever. I'm not a citizen of this stinkin' country anyway. So who cares, right? Who cares indeed.
Well... I guess I care. I'll be honest. I think it would be really cool if my gay friends could get married. And if I could wear a pretty dress to their wedding. And it would be cool to know that if I fell in love with a blind acrobatic juggler from Mexico, regardless of his or her gender, that I could get married to the object of my affection. And, it would be really really cool to know that when I go to bed with whomever I choose to go to bed with that the government could stay right on out of my damn bedroom. Thank you. And goodnight.
So I was playing this Interactive Fiction game called "Photopia" today. And don't think I was playing the game to waste time or anything: I had to play the game for a class assignment. I don't usually play games, computer or otherwise, so it was kind of nice to force myself to "waste time" today.
I dig interactive fiction. I think I spend entirely too much time sitting in front of a computer screen as it is so I don't see IF becoming my newest drug of choice, but I could see myself sitting down to play a game every now and again. I like the fact that the action is text-based: Sitting down and figuring out a puzzling scene in a game is much more interesting to me than shooting a bunch of aliens with a tazer gun. I like how the text in Photopia and other such games is too beautifully descriptive that the player doesn't even need pictures to imagine the scene before her.
I was confused at first in the game because of the switches from color to color. By the end of the game, however, even after initially quitting in a fit of rage after being stuck in that damn crystal maze, everything tied together more clearly. Playing a few games prior to this in class helped as well. Once you’ve played a few games of interactive fiction you learn some of the key rules:
1) Expect the Unexpected – Things will happen that surprise and amaze you. You might get a little pissed off at this but try to refrain from punching the computer monitor.
2)Learn the Jargon – Before you can get into a game, you have to learn how to interact with the computer parser. The handout from Dr. Jerz in Writing For the Internet offered a lot of helpful pointers. I have found, from personal experience, that occasionally doing something ridiculous will have a fun or interesting effect. For instance, the game “Pick Up the Phone Booth & Die” might well be subtitled, “Hey, don’t eat the phone booth either, dumbass!” ;c)
3)Plan to Spend A Lot of Time Figuring Crap Out – If you are anything like me, you’ll probably get so annoyed with your Interactive Fiction game that you say, “Okay, self, we’re going to beat this stupid game if it kills us.” (Only I’d add a lot of swear words in that quote) It can be frustrating, infuriating, and downright annoying to play an IF game. And, yet, somehow… it’s fun! Iiiieee!!
" Margret flooded the kitchen last week. Turned the taps on, put the plug in the sink, and utterly forgot about it (because she'd come upstairs and we'd got involved in an unrelated argument). She goes back downstairs, opens the door and - whoosh - it's Sea World. The interesting thing about this is, if I'd flooded the kitchen, it would have been a bellowing, 'You've flooded the kitchen, you idiot!' and then she'd have done that thing where I curl up in a ball, trying to protect my head, and she kicks me repeatedly in the kidneys. As it was, however, there's a shout, I run downstairs and stand for a beat in the doorway - taking in the scene, waves lapping gently at my ankles - and she turns round and roars, 'Well, help me then - can't you see I've flooded the kitchen, you idiot?'"
If I keep reading Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About I'll be late for work!
Remember those Choose Your Own Adventure books from back in the day? You'd read a page then select from a series of choices for what the main character should do in order to progress the story forward. Then, when your main character died, you could hurry up and flip back to where you'd made the bad error and try again. Well, Interactive Fiction is very similiar to that concept. Except you can't cheat as easily.
Dr. Jerz writes, "Interactive fiction requires the text-analysis skills of a literary scholar and the relentless puzzle-solving drive of a computer hacker. People tend to love it or hate it. Those who hate it sometimes say it makes them think too much." (Jerz's Ifiction)
Many of today's popular video games sport a similiar idea to interactive fiction - complex storylines driven by user interaction / decision-making complete with snazzy graphics and sound effects. One complaint that hardcore IF fans have about such derivations from the old school plain text game is that developers often get so caught up in designing the graphics and recording the sound effects that the story line, the most important part of a true interactive fiction game, gets lost in the shuffle.
The difference between such videogames and true IF might be likened to the difference between a book and the movie based on it. You might get some enjoyment out of the flick, but if you want the real story, you pick up the book. Suzanne Britton, author of The World of Interactive Fiction, describes IF as, "the interactive equivalent of a good book. In other words, text-based, parser-driven interactive fiction."
Britton also created a list of items essential to good IF:
Stephen Granade writes, "Because IF involves storytelling and puzzle-solving, it tends to emphasize thought over action, a boon for people who like to play computer games but don't like reflex-dependent ones like Quake." (Brass Lantern)
One of the key differences between true IF and the Choose Your Own Adventure type hypertext fiction is the manipulability of the game through user decisions. In addition to the story itself, one of the most important aspects of IF is the puzzle-solving dimension: you have to figure out how to open a locked door or score a needed object from another character in the game. Your angle in attacking such problems will influence the rest of your game.
This puzzle-solving aspect is the primary distinction between IF and hypertext fiction: hypertext fiction presents choices - you click your choice and the story continues. With IF the story is created through your actions and instructions, allowing more flexibility and a greater range of story directions. This flexiblity and range coupled with a good story and intriguing puzzle is what creates the immersibility of the game: the more intriquing the storyline, the more mind-boogling the puzzles, the more likely you are to be sucked into the story and swept away to another land.
Recommended Reading
Playing, Studying and Writing Interactive Fiction
This site by Dr. Jerz offers a great selection of informative links on the basics of IF. Explains the differences between IF and other forms of interactive games, offers instructions for beginning to play IF games, a history of Interactive Fiction, and links for those interested in writing their own IF games.
Brass Lantern: Beginner's Resources
Includes an introduction to IF and a very informative beginner's guide.
The Best of Interactive Fiction
A comprehensive list of shareware & freeware IF games divided by genre (conspiracy theory, science fiction, magic realism, etc.), including reviews, ratings, and descriptions. All are considered good for beginners.
A Beginner's Guide to Playing Interactive Fiction
This site has everything you need to get started, including interpreter's based on your computer system and the game you want to play. Features a pretty large list of games / interpreter's all suited for the beginning IF enthusiast.
Iamcal's Choose Your Own Adverture
Possibly the most bizarre IF-type game out there. (Well... probably not!) It's a weird one. It all starts with a knock on your door: Do You answer it or hide in the bathroom? What makes this game truly strange is that when you eventually come to the end of this maddening adventure, you get to extend the story with your own input. Very strange. (This is more hypertext fiction than IF but still worth a look.)
Choose Your Own Adventure
Features a collection of IF-type stories you can play and like Iamcal's page, when you reach the end of a storyline, it is up to you to add the next step. I played the game Another Monday Morning where I got eaten by sharks, reincarnated in California in the year 2050, where I had to fight the evil-eternal Kevin Costner and his totalitarian regime. My regime of bandits all named Greg were about to invade Hollywood.... when suddenly it was time for my input to the game. damn. This site also allows you to write your own games. Pretty spiffy. (Again, more hypertext fiction than IF.)
Okay, I just can't let this slide another second: What's up with Oprah?
I mean, last week, hurricane George or Ivan or Horatio or whatever hurricane is highlighting the news that week was raging down in Florida, poor people in hovels are dying by the dozens and Oprah is giving away free cars to 276 people.
People were all "Oh that Oprah, she's so nice... wish I was in the audience!"
... but I'm thinking Oprah could have done something a lot better with that money. I mean, for the price she paid for those cars, she could have bought herself a jet or two and flown down to Florida, let a bunch of poor soaked folks climb in, and jet-setted back to her mansion wherever. (I don't know where Oprah lives but I'd bet its in rather palatial mansion. I mean, if she can hand out cars like cookies...)
She could have done something with her money that actually made a difference in the world instead of perpetrating the myth that money = happy. I mean, sure those people who got the cars were feeling pretty darn spunky that week, but have you heard the latest news??
Oprah's Car Winners Hit With Hefty Tax Bill
Sure, Oprah gave everybody in the studio that day a car. "But now some of those eager prizewinners have a choice: Fork over $7,000 or give up the car," according to an article on AOL News today. "The Harpo Spokeswomen [Oprah's company] said winners had three choices. They could keep the car and pay the tax, sell the car and pay the tax with the profits or forfeit the car."
Now, I don't know about you but: if someone gave me a car, that would be AWESOME! I'm driving a piece of shit beater that reached its prime back in the 80's. So a new car would be awesome. But, if someone gave me a car and then said, "Suprise! Now give the government $7,000." I wouldn't be able to keep the car.
Maybe Oprah should have thought things through a little bit better?
I swear: There are a million important issues in the world that I could be spending my time researching on the 'net. But the truth is? I've only got one thing on my mind tonight: Sex.
Before you scream in horror, running away thinking, "No! Blogs are a Anti-SexualTM Environment! This is just plain wrong!" I have to tell you: There is a logical pattern to my thoughts tonight. Honest.
See: My cat is pregnant, right? (want kittens?)
So I thought, "Hey, how long is that gestation period for kittens?" because it would be nice to have a clue when I can expect the little furry bastards kittens. Also, I'd like to determine for sure if she is pregnant and not just growing fatter at an astonishing rate.
Me: Man, my cat has been pregnant for two years!
SmartPerson: Dude, your cat's just FAT!
Me: Oh. Sweet!
So, yeah, I'm researching that online and I come across some STRANGE stuff. (Maybe typing "hot kitty sex" in the google search bar wasn't the best first step?) So here I am, sharing way too much information again, as per the course of my life:
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"At some point during your youth, your parents probably took you aside and after several minutes of blushing and throat-clearing gave you the Reader's Digest version of the birds and bees. (The folks apparently never realized that you had learned about sex in far more detail several years earlier from a friend in your preschool finger painting class.) But just what did we learn about the actual birds and bees, not to mention the thousands of other species of animals that share the Earth with us? They preen, they strut, they lure and, if all goes as planned, they have sex. You might be surprised by some of the following sexual facts and oddities concerning members of the wild kingdom."
Things About the Animal Kingdom Your Parents Never Told You
by Scott Roeben
Here you can learn such tidbits as the weight of a blue whale's testicle and that amazing crustacean with not two, but three, sexes!
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Did you know that a pig's orgasm lasts for 30 minutes? That humans and dolphins are the only animals that mate for pleasure?
If you can ignore the glaring typos, you might get a kick out of this:
List of "weired" animal facts.
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"'Lions are busy,' said Brandais. The male can copulate up to 50 times a day—and mind you, they sleep about 21 hours, so when they're hot, they're really hot. Cats have barbed penises—that's one of the reasons they howl—but it stimulates ovulation in the female, so the lady kitties are pretty much stuck—ahem, literally and figuratively—with the less-than-kind decisions of evolution."
And if you've ever wondered what all the zoo animals do after hours?
The Royal Treatment
by Carol Queen should satiate your desires.
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As if you didn't have enough to worry about in your sex life...
Did you know that it is illegal to make love while fishing on your wedding day in Illinois? If you get busted getting busy in a walk-in meat freezer in Wyoming you are in big trouble, mister! Don't have sex on your front lawn after sundown in Montana, have sex with a corpse anywhere in the United States, or wear patent-leather shoes in Cleveland, Ohio or risk the perils of being a criminal. I don't know how legit this so-called sex laws are, but I still enjoyed reading 'em.
Weird Sex: Strange Facts, Sex Laws, and Urban Myths
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Thank you. We now return to our regular programming. Woot! ;c)
A class discussion on file-sharing in Writing for the Internet got me all fired up today*. The question being debated was whether or not file-sharing was ethical, which as you all know, is a popular issue in today's world full of violence, war, nuclear weapons, and legal assault rifles. I mean people are dying in shacks off the coast of Florida due to inclement weather, but record companies are suing twelve year old kids. So, hey! It must be important, right?
As a hard-core music pirate myself (shh... don't tell the record companies, alright?), I feel I have to defend my stance that file-sharing is a-okay. See, here's my opinion: how much money is a recording artist actually pulling in from CD sales? my thought - not very much. I would bet that most of the profit for a recording artists comes from concert revenues. I decided to do a little research online to see if I could find any information on this.
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I found a great article from underground music producer Steve Albini called The Problem With Music. In this article, Albini does a break down of the money involved in producing an album. A quote from near the end of the article is pretty enlightening:
"The band is now 1/4 of the way through its contract, has made the music industry more than 3 million dollars richer, but is in the hole $14,000 on royalties. The band members have each earned about 1/3 as much as they would working at a 7-11, but they got to ride in a tour bus for a month. The next album will be about the same, except that the record company will insist they spend more time and money on it. Since the previous one never "recouped," the band will have no leverage, and will oblige. The next tour will be about the same, except the merchandising advance will have already been paid, and the band, strangely enough, won't have earned any royalties from their T-shirts yet."
-----------------
Secondly, I wondered: how much does a CD really cost to make? I bet the cost of the CD itself is neglible. I know that I haven't paid for a blank CD for a couple years now by milking all the mail-in rebates available these days. If I, Moira Richardson, not a big record company executive can get blank CDs for practically nothing, you -know- a big record company executive ain't paying squat. And what I really don't understand: why are CDs, which I know are cheap as hell to produce, continually growing more and more expensive? And why would a CD cost more than vinyl?
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"A CD, with its plastic jewel box, printed booklet and tray card now costs a major label about 80 cents each to make (or less) and a small independent label between $1.50 and $2.50. Meaning that CD's should now cost the consumer less than their original prices over a decade ago, not more. But the music business got consumers used to the idea of paying the higher price and the labels got used to the idea of their higher profit margin, and record labels continue to this day to pay almost all artists a royalty rate as if they're selling CD's for the list price of vinyl. That extra 4 or 5 or 6 bucks goes right into the pockets of the record labels. It is not shared with musicians. "
Shiny, Aluminum, Plastic and Digital: An illuminating article on the price of CDs from Negativland.com
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I think that recording artists that are smart and technosavvy will soon start to realize that file-sharing is where it is at, yo. I mean, online artists have the opportunity to reach scads of people who might never hear their music otherwise. This is especially true for the little guys. The big names will always remain big guys, but the internet and the concept of file-sharing actually seems to me like it would level out the playing field.
If you have bought twenty albums from the same artist, yeah, you might not balk at paying $20 for the next one. If you've only ever heard one song late at night by a newbie, you might think twice before you fork out the cash. But if you have the option of downloading some tunes from the internet, you might fall in love an artist you might never have been exposed to in mainstream media.
Yes, you might be thinking, a freeloader loving an artist doesn't pull in any buckaroos for the artist in question... but it might! I am 100% more likely to pay those outrageous ticket prices to see an artist whose songs I love than an artist who I've only heard one time. And you know an artist is making more money from my concert ticket than from my purchase of a CD. And, in the process, I'm not supporting the big corporate conglomerates I loathe so well. I am much more likely to search out the band online and show them some money love that way than going to the mall (gag) where I'll be paying for rent, advertising, and snot-nosed employees in addition to a little piece of plastic that just happens to have some good songs on it, if I'm lucky that day. Who hasn't bought a CD only to find out the only good song was the hit single???
And here's a question: Is the reverse situation of file-sharing unethical as well? And by that I mean: used CD stores. I mean, if a CD has already been sold once and then it's sold again, isn't that like stealing, on the part of the record stores? I mean, next thing you know, we're going to get charged per play of a song, and those music junkies like me who will play a new favorite over and over again until our ears bleed (today's choice is The Dresden Dolls) will be raking up a fortune in fees.
And so, in conclusion, I would like to say:
I (heart) file-sharing!
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* The fire was sparked by Leslie Rodriguez. Great presentation, Leslie! :c)
Some of my classmates have some interesting things to say:
Valeries Hates Celebrities - Who doesn't, Valerie? And good point about the sixth summer home! How can you feel bad about taking money away from someone who so openly tosses money around like it's going out of style? I'm not saying all celebrities do that, of course, just like not everyone who *steals* is a bad person.
Samantha Loves Her Free Tunes - I have to agree with Samantha that all morals are a matter of the question: Whose morals? Maybe stealing is bad to one person, but another person knows that stealing is a matter of survival? And who defines exactly what constitutes stealing, anyway? Taking unauthorized cash from the register at your minimum wage slavery, er, job, is considerably different than downloading a song from the internet. Is it only the person with the most cashflow who gets to decide the morals of the world? Screw that!
Vanessa Doesn't Want to Get Busted - The media blitz on the dangers of file-sharing -did- succeed in scaring away a lot of people from the beauties of file-sharing. The media also managed to make Britney Spears famous. So, really, who wants to trust the media?
Why is it that no one talks in elevators? It doesn't matter if there's two or twenty people crammed in that tiny tight space, it seems like an elevator ride is almost always a silent experience, save the occasional sniffling or coughing of the riders. Is it that people are secretly white-knuckled and afraid to talk, lest the weight of their words send the elevator and its inhabitants plummeting violently towards their demise? Is it the lack of visual stimulation necessary to spark a conversation? Gee whiz! Would ya look at the way them number light up? Is it a strict social convention with which I am not familiar?
When I was but a freshman at college numero uno, I took a psychology class that required an out of class group project. We were to stage an experiment in the public at large (dangerous stuff, eh? an eternal september of psychology students?). My group chose to study elevator behavior. I wish I could remember the results of our study, but that was a long time ago...
I just remember riding up and down the elevators in Michelle Hall at YSU, standing in the corner of the elevator with a pen and a notebook in hand, watching the unsuspecting elevator riders in their natural environment. I do remember that most people stared at the numbers flashing on the wall, the floor, or the ceiling. Not one person initiated a conversation with another rider. Some people would get on the elevator in the middle of a conversation and continue it but no one started a new conversation.
So my point is?
I have a proposal for the world at large, or at the least the handful of folks who actually stumble across this entry: I challenge you to start a conversation in an elevator. I don't care if you talk politics, weather, or peanut butter sandwiches. Just initate a conversation in an elevator and see what comes of it. Then, of course, you should tell me about it.
I was thinking tonight about becoming a N.U.N. I mean, I’m going to a Catholic college University. How hard could it be to be a N.U.N.? I mean, there’s probably a test that would go something like this:
( Try to picture it if you can: I’ll probably be wearing an exceptionally short skirt and a pair of thigh high fishnets. I’m pretty sure they don’t let nuns wear that kind of stuff, you know, that whole Madonna / Whore Complex thing? So I figure I might as well get it out of my system while I can. )
H.B.I.C*. of N.U.N.S: So, Ms. Richardson, what made you decide to devote your life to God in order to become a Nifty Underwater Ninja?
Moira: Well, I like the hats.
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: Well, alrighty then! Welcome to N.U.N.hood! For your fabulous answer, You have just won an all-expenses paid trip to H.E.A.V.E.N!
Moira: Oh. Alright.
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: You have also won ten billion prayers a day, no sex ever for the rest of your life, and this way cool glow-in-the-dark crucifix!!!
Moira: (takes plastic jesus necklace) Um... Thanks!
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: You might think that with a reward like H.E.A.V.E.N. you wouldn’t need anything else! We-ellllll, we know better than that, don’t we audience?!? (roars of approval from the crowd. Moira looks around anxiously.)
Haha, damned straight we do! Moira, you also won a whopping fifty bucks!
(thrusts forward a thick contract and a pen.)
(The fine print: TO BE USED FOR YOUR FOOD RATIONS FOR THE NEXT FIVE YEARS. IF YOU STOP BEING A NUN YOU WILL GO STRAIGHT TO HELL AND BURN THERE FOR, LIKE, TEN YEARS AND THEN YOU WILL GO TO THE RICHARD SIMMONS’ ROOM FOR, OH, FIVE YEARS GIVE OR TAKE, AND THEN YOU WILL GO THE HIGH SCHOOL PROM, WALMART THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING, THE LICKED BY SENIOR CITIZENS ROOM FOR ABOUT SIX MONTHS EACH, A COUPLE MISCELLANEOUS HELLS BASED ON YOUR OWN PERSONAL FEARS AND MISDEEDS FOR ABOUT FIVE YEARS EACH UP TO A TOTAL OF FIFTY YEARS AND THEN FINALLY JUST WHEN YOU THINK YOU’D HAD ENOUGH YOU’LL GO RIGHT UP THERE TO THE BRITNEY SPEARS LOOKALIKE TALENT CONTEST FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! MuHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
SIGN HERE
-------------------
(MOIRA)
LOVE YOU! JESUS
KISSES XOXOXO)
Moira: (takes the pen being offered her. It is a red feather pen and she tickles her nose with it and sneezes.) Um.
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: Just sign it! All the fabulous prizes can be yours. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line.
Moira: Um.
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: Oh, yes, how silly of me. You, of course, have to sign in blood.
Moira: …
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: Here, let me help you with that!” (Reachs forward, grabs the feather pen, and pokes it into the skin by Moira’s wrist, bringing blood to the surface.) There we go!
Moira: Ow! (Looks around her for an exit)
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: (reaches forward, placing the pen in Moira’s hand, squeezing her fingers, wiggling Moira’s hand about. Moira snatches away her hand, holds it to her chest and has a generally wounded expression on her face.)
Moira: (standing and backing away from H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S. slowly.) I’m going to go now. Thanks about N.U.N.S. and all but, um, no thanks. I’ll just, uh, see myself out there alright?
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: (putting her head down on the desk.) mumbles, indiscipherable.
Moira: What?
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: (head still on desk) mumbles, indisciperable.
Moira: I still didn’t hear you.
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: (crying) You said you wanted to get jiggy with Jesus!
Moira: (taken aback) Yeah, but I meant, like, dancing!
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: (sniffles) Oh, no, honey! N.U.N.S. don’t dance!
Moira: Yeah, I kinda figured that out. Well, anyway, I better go. (moves towards the door)
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: (sighs theatrically). Oh, Lord, whatever are We going to do about these young women today? (pauses to look at Moira). What made you think N.U.N.S. like to dance?
Moira: (blushes) Well, I guess one day I thought, you know, how cool it would be if underneath those wool frocks th…
H.B.I.C. of N.U.N.S.: Habits.
Moira: (rolls her eyes) Underneath their habits were these glittery jumpsuits that, you know, they ripped off right in the middle of a service when, like, the spirit of God or something moved them and then you’d be all up there dancing and swaying and saying “Hey Jesus!” … and, I don’t know, I just thought it would be cool.
The End. MmmHmmm. Good-bye.
*Head Bitch In Charge
(recycled post from somewhere else... i'm feelin' spunky)
Terrorism Is "So 15 Minutes Ago"
"NEW YORK, NY - According to a new poll conducted by Teen People, the constant threat of terrorist attacks has ceased to be a hot commodity with today's youth. Experts blame years of hype for the loss of terrorism's "edge"."
....
"Various attempts to make the war on terror appeal to the young, such as Ryan Seacrest's exclusive interview with Saddam Hussein, have failed to keep the threat of terror on the radar of most adolescents. In a poll conducted by Tiger Beat, most teens listed their current mindset as:
Worry about what other girls are saying - 56%
Worry if the cute guy in Shop class is a stalker - 47%
Hope parents buy a "wicked new ride" for them - 46%
Plan to get drunk at the bitchin' party next weekend - 39%
Start up a new singing group with their friends to fill the void left by Destiny's Child - 25%
Worry about the threat of more terror attacks - 10%
Plan to use a condom when they finally snag the captain of the football team - 0.5%
Clearly terrorism isn't a concern for modern youth. But the administration plans to change that.
Tom Ridge said Thursday that plans are in place to kick the terror alerts up a notch. Each level will have a corresponding "soundtrack", a song provided by today's hottest contemporary artists. For example, threat level yellow will be followed by Nelly's "Hot in Here", while the red threat level will be accompanied by Uncle Kracker's "Follow Me". The "upgrades" are set to take effect mid-September, in an effort to steal hype from the planned release of Justin Timberlake's new album."
Read the Full Article
HAHAHAHA :c)
I hate the smell of the bus terminal. The air reeks of cheap cigarettes and exhaust fumes. What distinquishes the smell of a cheap cigarettes from a more expensive brand I wonder? I cannot quite put my finger on the specifics of that difference, but I can tell, oh I can tell. Greensburg's finest gathered in one choice location and here I am smack dab in the middle of them trying to eat my lunch.
A little old lady - why are they always so little, I wonder? Don't tall women grow old? - has a brown paper bag of groceries sitting at her feet. A bright yellow bunch of bananas tops the bag and I want briefly to feel their sweetness on my tongue. Instead I sit on a bench next to an eldery gentleman smoking the afore-mentioned cheap cigarette and pull out my lunch, a strange sandwich invented by my friend Dominic.
It consists of two pieces of bread smeared thick with chunky peanut butter, thin slices of mild cheddar cheese in between. I laughed at him when he told me about it but then one day in the quiet secret of my kitchen, I tried it. It was thus transformed into my third favorite sandwich. A week later, I finally admitted my "dirty secret" to him.
...
(If you care:
Moira's Favorite Sandwich Stuffin's
Oh my. Did I really just make a Top Five of my favorite sandwiches? Yes, I believe I did! Woah... this blogging stuff does strange things to my already jumbled mind.
So. What's -your- favorite sandwich??
Assault Rifle Ban Expires Today
The Brady Bill was signed into law by President Bill Clinton September 13, 1994. One of the provisions of the bill was that the law would expire 10 years later until the current president and Congress renewed it. The bill expires in a little over 7 hours. After that, assault rifles will be legal again in the United States.
"Pro-gun groups such as the National Rifle Association welcomed the expiration of the ban, and said it would have little effect on crime."
US Ban on Assault Weapons Set to Expire
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"The federal ban expired Monday after 10 years because Congress did not act to renew it. Republican leaders in Congress said there was no public call for renewing the law. McGreevey, a Democrat, characterized the inaction as an abandonment of police officers who must confront criminals with the powerful weapons.
'It's literally insane that we don't do anything to protect their lives," McGreevey said.' "
Task force created as federal assault weapons law expires
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"if the ban expires...
› In most states, 18-year-olds will be able to walk into gun stores and buy new American-made AK-47s.
› In many states, it will be possible to bring concealed TEC-9 assault pistols, loaded with thirty rounds of ammunition, into bars, churches and sports arenas, and even public schools or universities.
› In many states kids as young as 13 will be able to buy brand new American-made AK-47s at gun shows and through the classifieds.
› New assault weapons will be advertised over the internet.
› New rapid-fire ammunition magazines that allow guns to fire up to 100 rounds without reloading will be mass-produced and sold on a cash-and-carry basis to anyone, with no questions or background checks"
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THE ASSAULT WEAPONS BAN:
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
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What do -you- think about this???
Shhh, don't tell anyone but I shopped at DevilMart tonight. I didn't really have much of a choice in the matter: It's Sunday night, garbage night, and I needed kitty litter. It was either DevilMart or an incredibly expensive grocery store, and, um, I'm poor. Suckin'
I've been vetoing that evil empire corporate conglomerate third world exploiting superpower I shall refer to only as "W" for about a year and a half now. And, quite unfortunately, I am sure you will know exactly the mass-market consumer hell of which I speak. Anyway, rants about corporations aside, I did travel to that most evil warehouse full of pretty stuff no one really -needs- tonight. For kitty litter, right?
Only, although I stopped shopping at the dreaded W well over a year ago, I was once a loyal worshipper at the cult of commerce. It used to be that I couldn't walk into that joint without dropping a twenty, usually double that. When I first stopped shopping there, I would occasionally be coerced into travelling its aisles with friends who hadn't yet broken the habit. It was initially difficult to resist the bright displays of yummy smelling shampoos or the vibrant arrays of yarn in the craft section or those 2 for $11 DVDs. But I remained strong! Last year at DevilMart I spent a whooping grand total of about $20*. Yes! Really! It wasn't always easy to resist worshipping in the Church, but I am a determined (read: stubborn) individual. And I'm poor. That always helps.
So, after being away from the Church of W for a year, I noticed that the bright colors appealed to me less and less. Soon it got to the point that I could wander around the whole store and find absolutely nothing I wanted to buy. Every once in a while I would lower my resolve against its evil to pick up a bag of, say, $2 kitty litter, but rarely did I find anything that I wanted badly enough to be willing to admit that I had purchased it at, gasp, DevilMart.
Tonight, I did an experiment of sorts. I needed kitty litter; nowhere else was open (or if it was open charged such astronomical prices that I was unwilling to shop there), so I decided that I, staunch anti W person, would go to the palace of my arch enemy (yeah, yeah I'm being melodramatic.. deal with it!) and I would make a bargain with the Devil. I had a twenty dollar bill in my wallet. I could spend it as I would, with no fear of repurcussions or guilt. *looks around guilty* No one would ever have to know.
So I wandered the store, up and down every aisle, I looked at the pretty shoes and the cheap DVDs. I gazed at all the makeup and the bottles of brilliant shampoos. I even scoured the craft section. I allowed myself, nay even encouraged myself, to indulge my every desire. I could buy whatever caught my fancy.
You know what I bought?
A box of tampons** and a red two pocket-folder.
So much for impulse buys.
( * I bought, and I quote, a quart of milk, a twelve pack of double A batteries, a bag of kitty litter, 3 roses, a big jug o' motor oil, & two skeins of yarn)
( ** Lest I alienate my male readership, whoever you might be, I won't delve too much into the topic of tampons. I will say, however, that tampons hardly count as an impulse buy. And the folder? I needed that for American Literature.)
Some days I am practically a kitchen whizkid, whipping up those delicious banana nut muffins from scratch, with a nary a glance at my recipe as I do so. Other days, such as today, I am fairly certain it should be illegal for me to be around kitchen appliances, especially those with razor sharp blades whizzing around at the speed of light.
So I'm making spaghetti sauce from scratch, right? I started last night with 10 pounds of garden fresh Roma tomatoes, 3 Vidalia onions, and a whole crapload of patience. Today, I went on a hunt for the food mill I didn't realize I would need and don't have with no success. So then I decided, screw it, who cares if my tomato sauce has seeds in it?
So instead of pushing my sauce through a food mill as recommended by the recipe, I decided to give it a whirl in my food processor instead. Same difference, right? So that went fine, no complications.
Then I tasted my sauce and I thought, "This needs something!" So I tossed a cinnamon stick into the pot as well as a generous splash of red wine vinegar. That was much better but it still needed something. Then I remembered the mushrooms I had kifed from the market o' fruit the other night. Mushrooms in my spaghetti sauce! Of course! But who wants to chop up all those dang mushrooms anyway? Pfffh! Not me!
So I thought, "Hey, the food processor is already out, why not chop my mushrooms in there!" Why not indeed! So I stuff the thing full of whole mushrooms. I didn't even chop 'em in half. I mean, if you're bein' lazy, you gotta do it right, right? So... I load it up, put on the lid, press the power button and presto! Chopped mushrooms!
Almost... it chopped about half of 'em before I needed to stop the machine and stir. Then I started it again. And it did the same thing. So I thought, genious that I am, instead of stopping the machine, this time I'll just open the little trapdoor at the top, and just push the mushroom down a little bit so the blade will get it. Oh yeah.
Two seconds later I'm standing there with half a wooden spoon in my hand and a stunned expression on my face. It truly was beautiful. Good thing I wasn't so stupid as to use my hand, eh?? man...
Doc Warns Of 9/11 Anniv Trauma
"Q: What is ‘anniversary reaction’?
Dr Parikh : Many people go through ' anniversary reaction', in which around the date of the incident, they feel more stress, more emotional distress, and sometimes this triggers off significant trauma, and suicidal attempts."
(Dr. Samir Parikh, MD, India Times)
I was pouring through my old journal entries today to find what I had written about September 11th. Even then, that day seemed unreal. I think it is important for Americans to remember vividly the horror of that day. We must not let it turn into something that feels as though it came from a memory, a movie. For most of us, that day was our only contact, however remote, with the true horror of war. Imagine those people living in countries where brutal wars are fought every day. We have it damn good here. And we waste all our time playing with toys (like blogs? perhaps...)
This is from my journal, written 9/11/2001:
"So there's all this shit today (etc.)
and it was like a movie, like something that wasn't quite real.
but just now as I was staring at the sky, I found myself staring at a small red star, thinking I could see it moving, imagining if it was a missle aimed towards me. And I realized that this event had not really touched my life in any real way, other than gively me an intense, but impersonal fear. but as I stared at the sky looking for missles, i realized that this event has altered my perceptions, has changed my life.
in this totally minor way. i can't even fathom the people who were directly touched by this travesty.
i used to love gazing at the stars, but now I'm scared. I feel the fear that the terrorists tried to instill in the American public. If the goal was to scare me, us, Americans... it fucking worked.
we're very isolated in America. everything we know, everything we're ever been taught, has been taught to us from American standpoint. we only know what America teaches us or allows us to learn. sure there are people coming in and out of American, but for the most part, we're isolated. I mean, how much contact do YOU have with Afghanistan... Israel... Russia? I've been pretty well isolated, and I think most people have. "
This is from 9/11/2002:
"Every 30 million years or so, something cataclysmic happens in the world, eradicating 90% of all the living creatures in the world, then new species emerged. There have been eras traced through out history, from prehistoric amoeba type creature in the sea to the end of the rein of dinosaurs. What if our time is up? According to science we Homo sapiens have only been around for 100,000 years or so. But we’re also the first species with the built in ability of self-destruction.
Man has focused so much on the torture of other men over the years. We may unwittingly cause our own destruction. Maybe it’s time. Maybe that’s how it supposed to happen to eradicate all the evil from the world. Because whether we like it or not, there is a lot of evil in our world. Even in civilized countries. Saddam Hussein is not the only evil in the world. We have homeless people starving in the streets. We have people who abuse their children: they beat them, starve them, and rape them; children of their own flesh and blood. We have people who kill just to kill, people who kill for material objects, like drugs or money. These people end the life of other human beings for their own pleasure.
For years human beings have been perfecting the death penalty. We kill our own. There’s got to be something wrong with that. We fight our animal natures, trying to put ourselves above the nature that created us, and yet we are all still animals. We kill our own. We are callous to the lives around us. We kill flies without a second thought. We kill animals with our cars in scores on the highways we created that destroyed nature. We kill animals for pleasure.
It used to be that man hunted to survive; now we hunt for the thrill of the chase. Fishing is a recreation that kills animals, and yet no one would ever accuse a fisherman of being a murderer.
To humans, life below us is nothing. We are sacred just because we can think? If anything, our powers of thought make us more susceptible to evil. When we have the ability to think, we are automatically less connected to the divine nature of life, because we have free will. Lately, it seems like humans are moving further and further away from the divine..."
Every generation has that one defining moment in time, that singular event that marks the passing of time forever more, that one moment that later shines brilliant in the darkness of memory because you know, you knew at that moment, that this day you would remember for the rest of your life. For older generations, that day may have been the day U.S. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Or perhaps it was the day that civil rights activist Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed. For some, it was the day that Pearl Harbor was bombed. For others, the day the first atomic bomb was dropped on Japan. For my generation, that day was was September 11, 2001.
Now, I'm not going to write about 9/11, attempting to analyze or reason the significance of the attacks, nor am I going to ponder the question of whether or not the situation was avoidable. Instead, I will simply tell you where I, Moira Anne Richardson, was on September 11, 2001. I remember it clearly, almost every second from the moment that I heard the noise until I cried myself to sleep that night.
I knew it was going to be a bad day the moment I got out of bed. I knew, I think, not because of some intuition that the world had just gone to hell in a handbasket but because I had creative writing class at Pitt that day. That class -always- made for a bad day. It was the worst class I have every had. Coming from a person who has attended five colleges in seven years, that's sayin' a lot. It was one of those classes were you would sit in the back of the room, prayin' to Jesus to make you invisible, just this once, so that you wouldn't be singled out. This wasn't one of those happy "let's all be friends and share our writing" writing classes. This was a cutthroat "we're going to rip your writing to shreds and make you cry" writing classes. I dreaded it every day.
So, as I drove into Pittsburgh that day, I didn't listen to the radio. I had a snazzy new CD player in my hunk o' metal on wheels. I hadn't watched the morning news or read the morning paper. I hadn't even talked to anyone on the phone that morning. I just crawled out of bed, got ready for school, and took off.
When I got to Pittsburgh, the streets were suprisingly deserted. I mean, there were still people wandering around as there always are on the streets of Oakland, but there wasn't the usual mad bustle and clamor of students hurrying to their classes. I ambled my way down Fifth Avenue, hiked up the hill leading to the building in which my horrid class was held, walked up the three flights of stairs to class and was suprised to see that no one was sitting at the round tables outside the classroom as per usual.
"Maybe class was cancelled!" I thought gleefully, turning to the door to search for a notice. Nothing. I sat at the table, brought out a book and began to read. After a long while, having seen only two chittering girls in the hallway, I started to think maybe something was weird about the whole deal. I stuffed my book in my bag and headed down the hall to find the afore-mentioned chicas.
"Excuse me?" I asked them. "Do you know what time it is?"
They told me, then looked at me funny. "Classes are cancelled today."
"Oh, no, I don't think I'm in your class..." my words faltered off to nothingness as they stared at me.
"No, the college is closed." The pair were still looking at me wide-eyed. I was wondering if my skin had suddenly turned green when they continued. "Someone blew up the world trade center!"
I bet my jaw dropped as far as it ever has. "Excuse me?" I swear, I thought those girls were just messing with me. Nevermind that I had already noticed the strange emptiness of the streets and the building. I still thought those girls were just screwing with my head. So I gave 'em the "You're Crazy!" look and turned away. I wandered out of the building in a daze and down the street.
Now it was starting to sink it. I slowed my steps and listened to the murmurs of the random passerbys. All of them were talking about the same thing: some kind of craziness going on in the world. I made my way back to the car. I remember that walk down Fifth Avenue as the longest walk in the world. Everyone passed by as if through a film of gelatin, blurry and unreal. My legs were deadweight and my heart was beating faster and faster even though my steps grew slower and slower.
Eventually, I made it to my car, strapped myself in and clicked on the radio, where I couldn't help but to hear all the details. Every station was talking about one thing and one thing only, only no one, it seemed, had any idea what was going on.
...
I remember that night clearly as well. There were five of us, my best friends in the world, all gathered in one choice location, my apartment. We were sitting outside under a clear sky, chain-smoking cigarettes and making idle chitchat to take our minds off the horror of the day that had just passed. I was staring at the sky, the still silent sky, the new no-fly zone of the United States, at least for the day, and I was scared. We all were. We were talking, laughing even, trying to distract ourselves, but we were all afraid. We knew that soon we would have to give up our pretenses and crawl into our beds, each of us alone as we travelled into dreamland. That moment would come when our conscious mind would rest and all of us worried: what images would fill our minds that night?
-the end-
p.s. this piece was inspired by Ryan Burger's 9/11 presentation today.
Moira is -not- a happy camper today. I'm not a happy camper because the game plan was to sleep until 10, get up, return my stinkin' video by 11 a.m., and then come to class. Instead, I was awakened by the sound of my telephone ringing at 8:30.
My first impulse was to ignore it, but then I looked at the clock and thought "Hey! It's 8:30! It must be important!" So I get out of bed, look at the caller I.D. and it's not someone I know calling during some emergency situation... It's a telemarketer! At 8:30! I thought there was some kind of law about calling people before 9 a.m.??? Guess not! I was so mad! I think if you are calling me, an incredibly busy college student / worker of 2 jobs, at 8:30 a.m. you better be:
a) calling because I specifically requested that you call that early in order to wake my lazy ass up.
b) calling to inform me of some dire emergency that requires my immediate, albeit sleepy, attention.
c) calling to tell me that you have suddenly decided to give me a whole lotta money and that I better come pick it up RIGHT NOW before you change your mind.
or
d) ...
no, wait, that's it. normal people do not call other people at 8:30 a.m. ! it's inhuman! it's not nice! it's crazy! why the heck are you out of bed at that ungodly hour and why, oh why, would you be calling me at that time??? grrr.
I found some great tutorials and miscellaneous stuff for Movable Type, if you are interested in tinkering with your blog:
So. Y'all are voting, ain't ya? Yeah. I'd vote. Only I can't. Since I'm not a citizen and all that jazz. Don't feel bad for me or nuthin' though cuz I just happen to be a proud citizen of the good old United Kingdom, you know, over there in England and shit? Like, where all the British literature and castles and Cadbury's chocolate is from?
Yeah. So. Since I'm not a citizen, I can't vote. Please don't give me the "why aren't you an American citizen, aren't you proud of your country, don't you love all that freedom even though you have to work sixdaysaweekjusttostayafloatgoamericaworldsuperpower
wecouldkickbritain'sassanydayyadamnlimeyperson" speech. I've heard it many times before... besides, it's really not the point, now is it?
Nope. The point is, "Hey! You should read this article I wrote (and never finished) about the John Kerry thang in Greensburg."
thanks.
HAHAHA! How'd you like to have this meeting about your son?
(scene from the movie "Catch Me If You Can")
PrincipleDude: "Mr. & Mrs. Abingale, this is -not- a question of your
son's attendence. I regret to inform you that for the past week Frank has been teaching Mrs. Glasser's French class."
Mom: "He what?"
P.dude: "Your son has been pretending to be a substitute teacher, lecturing the students, giving out homework. Mrs. Glasser has been ill and there was some confusing with the real sub. Your son held a teacher / parent conference yesterday and was planning a class field trip to a French bread factory in Trenton. Do you see the problem we have?"
"Oh, honey, I'm so proud!" would be my first reaction, but that's why people like me* don't have children.
* I haven't quite come up with a precise definition for "people like me" but as soon as I think of one... I can tell you one thing. We don't like washing dishes.
I'm currently in the middle of a fabulous book called "The Feast of Love" by Charles Baxter. This book was published in 2000 by Vintage Books. I found it for a quarter at my favorite thrift store. If you are interested in reading it, you can grab the last $3.99 at the Westmoreland Mall Waldenbooks or scour the used books listings at amazon. If you pay full price for this book, I will be forced to laugh at you. Muhahahaha!
Anyway, this book is about an insomniac Charlie Baxter who goes for a late night walk and runs into Bradley (the human) walking Bradley (the dog). The story that follows is the interaction of Charlie, Bradley, those kids getting busy on the football field, and all the ghosts of their respective pasts. Some choice quotes from my reading this morning:
"I am so far beyond being motivated that I want to punch the nearest clerk. But I don't! That's discipline."
"Every day is a new day when filled with dawn feeling, a virgin day, until it gets fucked up by human activity and becomes history."
"... when I get bored with that, I'll think about my own funeral, which always cheers me up."
You should read this book. It's super.
It occurs to me that perhaps I am a bit of a dork. Oh... who am I kidding? I am -definitely- a dork. Here I am, playing with my new toy, this new online weblog, instead of doing important things like washing dishes or getting a shower. I just spent a few minutes pissing around with the stylesheet to customize my look. I am just not happy having a page that looks like everyone else's. I am basically a big baby. Oh well.
But, hey, if you are a dork, too: Check it out! Hex Color Codes Chart.
If you have no idea what hex codes, don't worry, you really aren't missing out on any of life's important lessons or anything; hex codes are the little six digits numbers that tell your browser how to display colors on your page. Maybe one day I'll explain it to you, and maybe I won't.
(Using the hex chart is actually the *difficult* way of doing things... If you are lazy like I am, you'll simply open up Adobe Photoshop and find your color codes that way. Again, this isn't really a great secret of life, just a little web designer geekery.)
My assignment? Find two weblogs on subject that interest me. Easy enough, right? Maybe...
First thing I searched for on Google was "Fat Chicks Weblog." I thought I'd find some site promoting body-positive self-love, blah, blah blah. Instead, I found this guy. Now, if one of my interests was peering into the head of a guy who is kind of a jerk, well, I'd be alllll set, wouldn't I? A choice comment from his blog?
"... today I saw this chick that weighed close to 300 lbs. Her leg was thicker than my torso and I am a big guy, she had flesh covering her knees like a flesh blanket and she was wearing short shorts, she also had on a cut off t-shirt that looked like she squeezed into this motherfucker. .... She asked me if I wanted her phone number I said no thanks and she gave me this look like I committed some cardinal sin." - Roberto J. Dohnert
I was all set to write off poor Roberto as just another jerk in the sea of life... then I read his entry about God being a woman. Well. Maybe he has a point? Roberto's a decent writer, if you ignore the occasional bouts of poor grammar and complete disregard for paragraphs. If you like cranky guys, you just might dig Roberto's blog.
Next I dig a search for "Fat?So! Weblog" because I was still determined to find a body positive blog... I mean, surely there's at least one out there, right? Luckily, this search had better results and I found Big Fat Blog: The Fat Acceptance Weblog. Sweet! Just reading the F.A.Q. made me happy!
A choice quote from the F.A.Q.:
"Big Fat Blog does not promote weight loss and weight loss talk here is not allowed, period. We are not saying that weight loss is bad; rather, we're saying that weight loss is sold as a magic key that will unlock the door to your life. It's marketing, folks. Diets don't work. Lifestyle changes do work, and whenever you want to change, it needs to start inside - with yourself. That's where fat acceptance starts." - Big Fat Blog
Next up, I wanted to find a weblog with tips on Herb Gardening because on my front porch is an extremely prolific herb garden and, um, I don't know what the heck to do with all my plants! I've already made a crapload of pesto, dried some catnip and lemon verbena for kitty treats and tea, respectively, made beads from pineapple sage, as well as some sage bundles, and use fresh herbs practically every day, but I still have an overabundance of product that must be used up and soon!
So... I found this site: Mom's Kitchen. I'm not quite sure what to think because the first entry for today reads:
"An organized person would present the recipes for Labor Day in the order they're served. I started with the appetizer/snack but then jumped to a main dish and now I'm posting a dessert. I'm not an organized person." - Mom's Kitchen
The site does seem a little jumbled, but I have to say that the recipe for Peach-Raspberry Ice Cream sounds really yummy so I think I'll forgive the disorganization. I mean, it's not like anyone has every accused -me- of being particularly well-organized. So who am I to judge??
And, sweet!, go "Mom", cuz I found exactly what I was looking for: The Culinary Herb FAQ
I don't have anything of particular interest to say this evening considering that I have been sick for the past week and I am still feeling under the weather. I am about to double dose on some good old NyQuil and instead of partying hard on a Friday night exactly one hour from now I will fall deeply asleep for some weirdass dreams. And, man, it's not even actual NyQuil, it's that cheap-o dollar store schtuff... damn if it don't all taste like Jaigermeister!!!
Guess I don't feel so bad about doing a shot of the stuff on a Friday night...
Oooooh, baby, the green stuff is kickin' in bigtime. Time for Moira to crawl into bed! Lata!
I was born to write.
Here are a few journal entries from my tumultous youth:
January 3, 1989
Dear Journal,
Today was o.k. I almost fell asleep in class. I am going to try to write a book. I can't think of a title, though. Oh, here is my new year's res: I will lose weight and let my nails grow.
Love,
Moira
even as a kid, i was a writer
January 10, 1990
Dear Journal,
Nothing exciting hapened yesterday so I didn't write. I am making a valentine for Derek and Brad. Brad hasn't written for a while and I don't know if he likes me anymore. What should I do???
Love,
Moira
nothing ever happened with either of those boys. derek is now married and brad fled the country for venezuala in early 1993. he is now a colombian drug lord.
January 18, 1990
Journal,
I will send a special valentine to someone but I'll just call him or her x-person. I will never ever tell Melanie anything again. Tomorrow I'll tell you why.
When I have a kid, I won't make her stop practises.
January 19, 1990
You know why? Melanie told the whole western hemisphere who I liked! Grr.
Love,
Moira
Melanie W. once got bitten by a dog and wore an arm brace for a whole year. Rachel G. stepped on my head at a slumber party at Melanie's house. Melanie was dating a male vampire last time I saw her in LA. Melanie is now a lesbian of the finest order.
February 2, 1990
Dear Journal,
I haven't written for a long time cause I sprained my arm.
Love,
Moira
my arm healed nicely
February 6, 1990
Yo Journal,
I watched the Hangin' Tuff Concert. It was awesomely cool. I like Jordan Nathaniel Marcel Knight and Donald E. Walburg the best. Joseph Mulrey McIntyre and Jonathan Knight are cool, too. Daniel Woods is o.k. Melanie W. is a totally rejected jerk and idiot.
Moira
Even as a child, I was the biggest dork in the world
January 16, 1992
Grr!!! I'm mad today! Joey Rice is such a jerk! He slammed my locker shut, so I shut his. He punched me in the head. He's such an idiot! I'm invited to a party on Saturday and I really don't know if I want to go. I won't know anyone there except for Christina, and I will be really tired. Sometimes I'm so stupid. I get invited to parties but don't want to go. Know why? Because whenever I meet new poeple they more than likely don't like me. Maybe I'll get sick. I hope so.
Joey Rice dropped out of high school in later years. Before that happened, I kicked his English book down the hall, never to be seen by him again. Christina turned into a girl with lots of blue eyeshadow. I think she's a beautician somewhere out there. I still don't like parties.
August 17, 1992
Band camp started today. It was kind of fun. I shared my lunch with April. Forgetful forgot hers. Mr. B. still hasn't finished my flute. I hope he finishes it soon. I need it to play my music. Duh. Well I gotta go.
Luv,
Moira
April is still forgetful and she is still my best friend (wonders never cease!) Mr. D. became "involved" with a student when I was a junior in high school and I'm pretty sure he's not allowed to teach kids anymore.
November 8, 1992
I luv Derek! I couldn't stop my hand from writing that. I can't write for long. I luv, luv, love, amore, luv, love, adore Derek Reed Najewicz.
Later,
Moira
Derek, if you ever read this: I'm over it. Honest.
December 31, 1993
Wow! Another year over! Time seems to fly so quickly without us realizing it. It seems just yesterday I was an eight grader and best friends with Corinne and in love with Derek. No more my friend! I'm a fifteen year old freshman, have no "best" friends and I don't really like any guys in a boyfriend way. I think I've changed too.
In eighth grade (merely a year ago) I was very immature, wearing a binkie necklace, weird clothes and making a complete ass out of myself. ... I know I've written and probably will write horror stores but I'm not gonna kill anyone. That's stupid and the poeple I write about doesn't nessesarily mean I hate them...
Except I did. And I'm still immature.
I am also a poet. See?
Dreamy-eyed Waitress
The dreamy-eyed waitress stumbles and falls
Sending the contents of a basket of crunchy goodness
Flying in a slow arc over the bright restaurant.
She just smiles a secret smile,
Brushes the crumbs out of her satin hair,
And sweeps the chips from the floor without a word.
She stares out the window into the bright blue temptation
And her laughter bubbles over like pink champagne
As her hip brushes against the shoulder
Of a man with blue eyes and laugh lines
Creased into his leathered skin.
"Sorry, hun," she says
her exuberance for life an irresistible tonic
& he laughs with her, the smile lighting his eyes a flame.
She forgets the drinks for three different tables,
But her flashing smile smoothes ill feelings
As she laughs and say she doesn't know where her mind has gone.
(I know where it is)
… and when the ravenous vultures devour
enough food to feed three starving children
in less than a minute,
she doesn't mind,
she doesn't mind.
… and when the couple at her next table
stumble over their order, questioning everything
since they're in no hurry,
they've been around for a century,
she doesn't mind,
she doesn't hurry
For the iniquities of the world cannot touch our waitress,
For while her body is here in this Mexican restaurant,
Her mind is a million miles away,
Dancing with visions of coffee beans & silver Hershey's kisses.
Her memories are lost in the feel of hot sand
crunching drily between her toes,
and the roar of the ocean fills her ears.
Who am I? I am Moira. ;c)
Did you know that the name Moira is the name of the Greek goddess of fate?
It's wild because I have always been fascinated with the spinners of fate, the triple goddess, one spins the thread, one measures, one cuts the thread and ends the life. I have always found the idea of these to be completely fascinating and really cool and now I find that the Greek name for the goddesses of fate is Moirae, or in singular form, Moira. Kickass!
When I was but a wee girl, my online identity was always goddessmoira (do a search, you'll still find shit). Now I know that somehow I knew I was a goddess without really knowing it.
This is supercool:
The Moirae, also known as the Fates
"O Fates of Life, I ask your aid.
To clear my path and set me free." (Prayer to the Fates)
The Greek Goddess of Fate is a daughter of Nyx, Goddess of the Night. In Her singular form, the Goddess of Fate is called Moira1; and in Her triple form She becomes three sisters known as the Moirae. The Moirae are: Klotho the Spinner, who spins the thread of a person's life; Lachesis the Measurer, who decides how much time is to be allowed each person, and Atropos the Cutter, who cuts the thread when you are supposed to die.
The name 'Moira' actually means 'part' and in fact, the triple form of the Fates mimics the triple moon phases and the three phases of life - maiden, mother and crone. Moira is known to the Romans as Fortuna, to the Scandinavians as Norns, to the Anglo-Saxons as Wyrd, and to the Celts as Morrigan. During the middle ages, the Fates became known as the Parcae.
As the spinner of Fate, Moira spins out the days of our lives as yarn and weaves it into a tapestry. The length of the yarn - hence your life span - is decided solely by the Goddess of Fate. All the Gods are subject to the whims of the Fates as are mortal man. Because of this, even though the other Gods are almighty, and supposedly immortal, even Hera has reason to fear Moira2.
Moira's function is to see that the natural order of things is respected and She possesses the gift of prophecy - Her priests and priestesses are always oracles or soothsayers (seers of the future)3. Moira is often accompanied by the Keres (Dogs of Hades), who are three beings with sharp teeth and who are robed in red. In ancient times, the Fates were honored by sacrifices of honey and flowers4.
Moira is associated with December's full moon5 - which is often called the Cold Moon or the Wolf Moon. The colors of Moira are red, black and white.6
(it's from Tarot Cat, which is now defunct.)
NOTES:
1 Kickass!
2 See that? That's power. I hold the gods by the balls.
3 This Moira too.
4 Flowers are always appreciated, and so, for that matter, is honey.
5 My birthday is December 21, the winter equinox, fitting, eh?
6 Those were my high school colors. Go Scotties! Er... Strangely enough, the colors of my first college were also red and black and it seems as if the colors for SHU are the same. Weird.
(anything that uses my name, lets me read about me in third person is superfly, yo)
Name: Moira Anne Richardson
Age: 25 and counting
Location: Greensburg, PA
D.O.B.: December 21, 1978 (send presents!)
Gender: Female
Major: Creative Writing*
Number of Colleges Attended: 5. Yes. 5.
Colleges Attended:
Youngstown State University '97 - '98
Westmoreland County Community College '98 - '04 (off & on)
Art Institute of Pittsburgh '99 or '00 (for three days)
University of Pittsburgh '00 (1 semester)
Seton Hill University '04 (currently attending)
Virtues: A Wicked Sense of Humor, Mellow-osity, The Amazing Ability to Make Up Words, Silly Attacks, the Gift of Words, Crafty Skillz, Perceptive & Psychic Abilities
Vices: I am a Dart Shark (challenge me?), Obsessive Napper, Mean Streaks, Messy!
Hobbies: Internet, Writing, Naps, Ebay, Mix Cds, Reading, Dreaming, Dream Interpretation, Drawing Comics, Schemin', Movies, Hiking (like I ever have time!), Star-gazing, & Roadtrips.
3 interesting facts:
1 - I have written 2 books: One called "The Evolution of Dreams: Explorations In Human Consciousness" which you can find at the WCCC library & another called "Mr. Right is Dead" which I finished this summer & is currently in the editing stages. I have 4 or 5 novels in progress at any given time. I'm about to start another one about ghost stories in Greensburg. I've written at least 25 short stories and countless poems. One day I'll get all that stuff published. Today is not that day.
2 - I was born in England. I don't have the cool accent, blokes, because I've been living in the states since I was four. My younger sister Fiona was also born in England. My younger brother Robert was born in America and is the only American citizen in my entire extended family. Pretty wild, eh? My sister is moving to England next month (October 4th). I'll be following her next summer for a three-month-long writing experiment. (on my part, not hers).
3 - I have owned several businesses. The first was in 2001 making scented bath salts and other products and selling them online and to friends. That business is now defunct because the mixing of scents was making me ill! The second is still in existence called HempwhereTM. A friend and I made designer hemp necklaces about two summer ago. We travelled to different locations to sell them. Heck, you might even own an original: A store that used to be in Greensburg called Kharisma sold our wares for a while. If you ever see me wearing a hemp necklace, I made it. My latest business venture is Bitchin' Bargains. I scour for bargains on clothes and miscellaneous accessories and sell them online.
* (( Yes. I am currently paying $10,315 a semester in order to get a degree in Creative Writing that will qualify me to do.. um... absolutely nothing. Please don't remind me.))
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moon phases |
