timepiececlock: (Live long and suck it! - Spock)
Dear homeowner of days past who paid the tiler of days past to refit the downstairs bathroom:

Wherever you are, I hope toilet paper clings to your shoe. I hope birds poop on your hat. I hope grass gets into your carpet!

I hope you have hangnails.

I will never forgive you for putting tile grout instead of maleable caulk at the base of our downstairs toilet bowl.

Never forgive! Never forget!
timepiececlock: (Rashaka is my name)
My family is currently holding an informal competition for the iPod Touch game Flight Control.* This is insanely addictive, and I just tonight came up with the idea of lying on our new sofa chair (renamed the Air Traffic Control Chair) and playing it with the sound turned off and my own MP3 player going with an audiobook. (Christopher Moore on vampires; hilarious!)

So, my dad bought this app for his new iPod about a week ago, and since then, all of us have been hooked. My dad was scoring in the thirties and my mom in the twenties, then they let me try. By my fifth game I got up to 58. Later that night, I got to 60! My parents were both soundly annoyed, as until I had arrived their average score was 13 planes landed, and now my gleaming 60 shone from top corner of the screen. They smelled a challenge. Over the next couple of days, my mom was into the thirties with a personal best of around 45, and my dad had managed to get 63, jumping about 25 points now that someone had given him a goal. I played it a few more times and got stuck in the late 50s, then I got 68. Irritated again, my dad spent a few more days furiously wasting time at it, got to predict the patterns in the game's programming, and scored a 74. He told me I was banned, jokingly.

Today I got hold of it, and beat his score. Mind you, at this point I'd probably played 1/6th the number of games he's played, maybe less. I called him up on his cell:

Rashaka: "Are you driving?"
ShakaDad: "I just stopped."
Rashaka: "Great!"
ShakaDad: "What is it?"
Rashaka: "Seventy seven."
ShakaDad: "Dammit!"
Rashaka: "Love you, bye!" *hangs up*

My mom finally got hers up to 59 this afternoon. I asked to play it just now, for half an hour, before going to bed. He relented and said he needed it back when I was done. So I sat, listened to my audiobook, and trounced the competition in less than 10 more tries.

Rashaka: "You can have this back now."
ShakaDad: *groans*
ShakaDad: *looks at the 90 pt. score*
ShakaDad: "Suck egg dog! ...I wanted to get a hundred."
Rashaka: *hug* "You know I'm just the catalyst to spur you on toward a more challenging future, right?"
ShakaDad: "Go to bed already. You're definitely banned from the Air Traffic Control Chair. There may be a reset in this thing's future."

* Ha! Youtuber says: "I've been playing this for hours, literally. Hours." That guy's high score is 41 after hours and hours? Heh. I've probably spent maybe an hour and a half in total--and that's rounding up--and my score is more than twice his.
timepiececlock: (Origin of Love)
[livejournal.com profile] wisteria_ pointed her flist to this video of street theater and this Salon article about it, which just brightened my heart. I can't wait to show my mom tomorrow.

from Salon.com, on why people love watching it:

"What they are presenting to the people in that station (and the rest of us, of course) is the ideal of human co-operation. They're showing us the possibility that a bunch of unrelated, unconnected people could spontaneously burst into a song and dance routine in a train station because that's what they all wanted to do and that's what we could do too, if we set our minds to it."

Plus, look how much fun they had preparing for it.

Outside of city parades--which are planned--I've only ever been part of one moment of spontaneous public dancing. Read more... )
timepiececlock: (Ahiru & Fakir text)
This is the most fun I've had with fandom in weeks.

I love reading people's campaign speeches and looking at all the eyecandy that people post. Persuasive videos and posters! Enthusiastic icons! SHINY THINGS.

I love my whole flist for making this so fun and participating with me, whoever you vote for. THANK YOU!
timepiececlock: (Bite me. -Toph)
"The movie people are here!" yells one boy, and a bunch of excited 11-year-olds lines up to fill out cards and look sternly at the camera.

"What does 'ethnicity' mean?" asks another boy.

"Asian," says Bold.

"If you're Mongolian, put 'Mongolian,' " Ricketts says.

I think I'm going to be ill.

ETA: A good industry timeline of casting events, news-based not fandom-based.
timepiececlock: (Origin of Love)
The Universe

Everybody lives on a street in a city
Or a village or a town for what it's worth.
And they're all inside a country which is part of a continent
That sits upon a planet known as Earth.
And the Earth is a ball full of oceans and some mountains
Which is out there spinning silently in space.
And living on that Earth are the plants and the animals
And also the entire human race.

It's a great big universe
And we're all really puny
We're just tiny little specks
About the size of Mickey Rooney.
It's big and black and inky
And we are small and dinky
It's a big universe and we're not.

And we're part of a vast interplanetary system
Stretching seven hundred billion miles long.
With nine planets and a sun; we think the Earth's the only one
That has life on it, although we could be wrong.
Across the interstellar voids are a billion asteroids
Including meteors and Halley's Comet too.
And there's over fifty moons floating out there like balloons
In a panoramic trillion-mile view!

And still it's all a speck amid a hundred billion stars
In a galaxy we call the Milky Way.
It's sixty thousand trillion miles from one end to the other
And still that's just a fraction of the way.
'Cause there's a hundred billion galaxies that stretch across the sky
Filled with constellations, planets, moons and stars.
And still the universe extends to a place that never ends
Which is maybe just inside a little jar.

It's a great big universe
And we're all really puny
We're just tiny little specks
About the size of Mickey Rooney.
Though we don't know how it got here
We're an important part here
It's a big universe and it's ours!

You might think that you're essential
Try inconsequential
It's a small world after all!
timepiececlock: (Rashaka is my name)
What is this thing, [livejournal.com profile] who_anon? A vast box-shaped box of minuscule granulated pieces of ancient glass, where I can say everything bitchy and out there I've ever wanted to say?


...except, you know, that my only free time is the hours between 10:30pm and 12:30am, and it's vastly more important that I watch the HIMYM premier than gnaw on the knees of my fellow Whovians. Shucks. Damn my need to win an election! Did I mention that my crew of 3 registered 59 people today, and we've passed 1,300 total, with an office goal of 3,400 by Oct. 6th? New voters for the win!

On a somewhat related note, [livejournal.com profile] rusty_halo, hang tight and chin up. I don't agree with all of your opinions on each of our shared fandoms, but I don't see why you can't do exactly what everyone else does all the time with LJ: watch a show and talk about your reactions to it. I badmouth shows I like all the time, hand in hand with compliments. Ex: BSG? I hate more than half that shit. I haven't even watched season 4 yet. But I'll get around to it eventually because it IS pretty to look at and there are maybe 4 characters that don't totally annoy me. Also: spaceships! But I still hate a lot of it too. And yet, from an outsider's perspective I'd still qualify as a fan. I probably am one.

Aaaaaaaaacckkkkkkkk, HIMYM download, why won't you finish?
timepiececlock: (Ahiru & Fakir text)
I just talked to my new employers on the phone and they want to send me to campaign in Denver instead, because Colorado is a crucial swing state and they want to open another new office there between now and the election.

I agreed, because

a) I'd rather be at the beginning of a new project and have a hand in its opening

b) it's closer to California and I know more people in Colorado

c) OMG the Democratic National Convention

d) since I'm only guaranteed employment until the election, a project like this sets me up better to ask for a permanent position

Anyway, so, now, I'm not moving to Chicago. I'm a bit sad, but also excited for Denver too. I can't believe I'm going back* though! So bizarre. Even if it's only for three months.

Who lives in Denver these days?

*I was in and out of Denver while doing AmeriCorps*NCCC last year. I left in November 2007, ten months ago. I should be pulled into the city nine or ten days from now. I'll be leaving in seven.
timepiececlock: (Ahiru & Fakir text)
...is turning your life into a shojo anime where you suddenly re-establish contact with the childhood best friend who moved away when you were eight years old.

It's a small, small world.
timepiececlock: (Spy no Jutsu)
About two weeks ago I fixed our toilet. It was leaking and I had to replace the valve. I was kind of excited to do it, actually, sort of to prove to myself I still could. I learned basic plumbing for six weeks in August 2007 while doing New Orleans reconstruction work with AmeriCorps and the St. Bernard Project; I was on their plumbing team. But I haven't really done anything with that since then... luckily because nothing until now has broken down and need fixing.

But this time the valve was shot in the downstairs bathroom, and someone had to fix it, so I had a little nostalgia doing that. The process was ridiculously easy (plumbing is not that complicated, when you understand the basic concept of pipes being under pressure), just within a small space and hard to reach or maneuver the tools.

I had to turn the water off first, of course. I said, "Well, it's probably this valve here that's the problem, but we can't know for sure until I take it apart. It could be the hose, or where the hose connects to the tank, or even the pip that's coming out of the wall. I'm pretty sure it's the valve, though. If it leaks, then we'll know. I'll be able to tell by where it leaks from. After I replace the valve, I'll leave a pan underneath to catch water if it does leak."

My mom asked "Why do assume it's going to leak? Or not work when you replace it?"

That was a difficult question to answer, since the answer basically amounts to "Because it's ALWAYS something else and it's NEVER just the valve," but explaining why I'm pessimistic from the start and also why I feel the need to detail my pessimistic theories of "all the ways it could go wrong" before even starting the fixing process... really only makes sense if you've ever done a major plumbing practice. Or, possibly, an electrician's job. Or something to the equivalent. It's hardly EVER the first thing, and there's always another problem, and at worst you might have to solder something behind a wall, or you might flood your house, and either way it's going to take two and a half times as long as you originally estimated.

Since I've had the memorable experience of being working on a copper pipe when the pressure sent a metal valve shooting past my ear at about 3 quadbillion miles an hour (and proceeded to flood the bathroom in a long-suffering client's house), explaining why plumbing is ABOUT being pessimistic, how it becomes second nature, is a bit weird. It just is. I had to memorize the four rules of the trade:

1. Cold on the right.
2. Hot on the left.
3. Shit goes down.
4. The boss is an asshole.

That's the rules of plumbing, verbatim. I was lucky because the guy supervising me wasn't an asshole...he was a Canadian whose RL job when not doing Katrina reconstruction was to be a professional golfer. I actually chose to be the plumbing team rather than to lead volunteers in things like drywall or paint, because I wanted a useful skill, and one that I didn't already know. I figure that it's got to be worth something to know that, should the need arise, I can fix my own shower. Even if I have to tear out my wall to get to the pipes do it, I can fix or replace my own shower until I get hot running water. I hope I never forget that, either.Now, a year later, it looks like most of it stuck with me.
timepiececlock: (Spy no Jutsu)
An hour ago these two guys came to the door, around 11:40pm. My brother answered, and apparently they were looking for some woman, and kept asking for her to be brought to the door. My brother kept telling them that no "Amanda" lived here, and to go away. After about five or six minutes (a pretty long while, in Porch Conversation Time), they left. They were polite but insistent, and my brother handled it pretty well. They never threated anything, but still... it's REALLY late at night for people to drop by hunting someone. My brother, my dad, and myself had a discussion about it. My brother thought they wanted to collect information for some kind of credit debt ("He had a clipboard.") and I wondered if it was some kind of personal relationship gone sour. They seemed surprised to find out out we'd lived at this address for three years.

ShakaDad: Maybe he was a bounty hunter.
ShakaBro: Yeah, huh... maybe.
ShakaDad: You probably wouldn't have been able to turn him away, if he were.
Rashaka: Unless he was scoping us out?
ShakaDad: Nah. ...Was he a big guy?
ShakaBro: No...well, there were two of them.
Rashaka: Really? [I hadn't known that from where I was eavesdropping]
ShakaBro: Yeah. They were wearing gloves.
Rashaka: Oh, that's creepy.*
ShakaDad: **heads outside, to porch, to scan for strange vehicles on the street**
Rashaka: What kind?
ShakaBro: I don't know.
Rashaka: Fingerless?
ShakaBro: It doesn't matter.
Rashaka: Still, both with gloves. That's creepy.

Rashaka: **follows ShakaDad outside toward sidewalk**
Rashaka: Two by two, hands of blue.
ShakaDad: Heheh. *snicker*
Rashaka: *grin* You with me, there?
ShakaDad: Yes.

We didn't see any strange cars, so we shrugged and went back inside. The whole scenario was strange.

*Re: gloves. We live in Southern California and it's about 75 or 80 degrees here at night in summer. Nobody wears gloves except for villainous purposes.
timepiececlock: (Ahiru & Fakir text)
Comic Con was amazing. I'll post a few pictures later, after I sort through them. I met several people from LiveJournal and DevArt while at the convention, which was a treat. Some of them I knew before hand, others I'll now be out looking for on various major fan sites.

It was a bit weird to out myself as a fan because I've only met a few other fans from the internet before, and those were always personal meet-ups, never at a huge convention. It's so odd to see cosplayers on the internet and know that yesterday I was watching them goof around ten feet from where I sat, leaning against the giant plate glass windows and listening to the ripped soundtrack of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on endless repeat.

I met a couple of people that I went totally fangirl on, which I'm at various stages of content/embarrassed about. BNFs and actual celebrities alike.

Felicia Day: So nice! And so tiny. You really can't tell from the camera.

John Barrowman: I met Captain Jack! Seriously, I MET CAPTAIN JACK! I walked by and was surprised to see him doing buy-in signatures, so I bought in. We shook hands, I said I was a huge fan, he let me take his picture. I was exceedingly mature and mundane for what was going on in my head. Luckily it wasn't David Tennant or Christopher Eccleston, because I definitely wouldn't have been so composed.

Having met him in person, JB is my choice for Captain Hammer in a hypothetical stage musical version of Dr. Horrible. He looks that perfect mixture of hot/smarmy.

On Saturday I purchased a black light Sonic Screwdriver, which I put together on the spot using my Leatherman Wave Knife-Tool (every girl should have one!) and the help of Irrel and her sister. Yes, sadly, it turned into a collaborative group project...the thing would not let go of the other thing.

Today, Sunday, I went around the exhibit hall randomly "zapping" people with my Sonic Screwdriver in the hopes that someone would tell me to put it away. No one did, but I got funny looks. I really had way, way too much fun with that toy. So worth the fifteen bucks!

Favorite geek moment: "FREEZE FRAME HIGH FIVE!" (like three separate occasions)
timepiececlock: (Ahiru & Fakir text)
I'd build my own IMAX theater. And if I had my very own IMAX theater, you know what would be the first thing I'd watch?


Curiously, even though it was done back in 1996, it was shot entirely in 65mm film, which means its sized for potential IMAX viewing.

Can you just imagine it? Kenneth Branagh on a bajillion-foot high screen, obsessively screaming "I LOVED OPHELIA! Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum!"

I think that would be just about the most awesome Shakespeare viewing experience possible with modern cinema. And if it was my own personal IMAX, there would be intermissions for bathroom breaks and snack-restockage.
timepiececlock: (Dragon lives forever-- not so little gir)
Hemingway: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

For kicks:

Great costume! Are those tentacles AAAAAAAHHGRRHH!?!!!

Stage right: a love story sabotaged.

Dump me? You better avoid crosswalks.

What happened to the last volunteer?

Watermelon seeds grew in my stomach.

Bird, sunlight, window: the first lesson.

Drama: breakfast, dinner, but never lunch.

Jealousy's born green but bleeds red.
timepiececlock: (roots are trees)
My new method of taking a bath is to gather all the liquid items in my bathroom and dump them into the water. Doesn't really matter what they are, it always comes out smelling good. And since most of these things are gifts from other people, I feel confident that reading the labels is somebody else's problem.
timepiececlock: (Ahiru & Fakir text)
I was packing stuff into my closet today in an effort to cleam my room, and my eye was caught on the two square plastic box-crates I'm using as shelves (the actual shelve system in this closet is uncooperative and skimpy); one is yellow and one is orange, and they both look a little beat up.

I brought those crates, filled with my junk, from the original Camp Hope in St. Bernard's parish, Louisiana, which was build/assembled out of a hollowed-out elementary school destroyed by hurricane Katrina two and a half years ago. Everyone salvaged plastic crates. In a volunteer camp, a good crate to put your stuff is worth more than dinner. I dragged them from Louisiana to Denver, Colorado. Then I drove them from Colorado to California after I graduated AmeriCorps.

The crates probably were salvaged from somewhere else in the parish and brought to Camp Hope to so volunteers could keep stuff, since I know that the elementary school was gutted in 2005 after the flood. But---the thing is---everything in St. Bernard's Parish was gutted, at some point.

It was a little dizzying to think the crates I'm using as a place to put my shoes here, in Southern California, were almost definitely submerged in the water of Lake Pontchartrain, Louisiana two years ago. Funny, the things we bring with us.
timepiececlock: (Origin of Love)
I've been fascinated by the number three for a long time. It's not my favorite number (that'd be 12), but it's always held a bit of a mystique for me. I learned the rule of 3 and 5 when I first took art class, and it has lasted in my mind longer than most of the other things I learned in high school.

I love phrases that come in three words, I love lists of three, I note that the first essays they make you write in school have three body paragraphs, and there's three primary colors, and all great stories have three characters, even if the third character is just a place or an idea. The three main characters for ATLA, for example, are Aang, the Avatar, and Zuko. The three main characters of The X Files are Mulder, Scully, and the FBI. The three main characters of The Little Mermaid are Ariel, Ursula, and Eric.

Three nights of moonlight for werewolves to transform, three promises to seal it, 1-2-3-GO!, rock-paper-scissors, getting your steak done to well, medium, or rare.

Clovers have three leaves, I'll give you three guesses, three sirens, three fates, three warnings, three colors on the stop light, three medals to win at the Olympics, and the linguistic conjugation of good, better, best.

It's a great number to play with, and it holds a unique place in our culture, structurally and linguistically. After all, nobody ever wrote a song called called "Bizzare Love Square."
timepiececlock: (roots are trees)
I took my brother to Union Station in LA this morning. It took me over two hours to get there, and I made it back in about 55 minutes (not even speeding). Every time I drive into L.A. I remember why I hate doing so.

I'm kidding myself if I think I could ever be happy living there in the hypothetical.... I think it would take one damn fantastic job to ever make me live in Los Angeles. I'm in Orange Country right now and I don't even care for it, but at least it's not as busy, choked, stifling, polluted, and colorless as L.A. The air is gray, and the sky is gray-brown, and everything is loud, and the stop lights never give you a left-turn signal so you just have to yeild and hope for the best.

I know that all cities are crowded and polluted and noisy-- I grew up in San Jose, so I'm intimately acquainted with cities. There is simply something about L.A. that puts me off. Of all the enormous, intense cities I've been to-- San Jose, San Francisco, Vancouver, Denver, New Orleans, D.C., San Diego, Salt Lake City, even Des Moines... Los Angeles puts me off the most. I just have to drive into the area and I'm overcome with a general sense of irritation, nerves, and apt-to-bite-someone's-head-off urges.

This could be because of the traffic. Maybe I'd like the city better if I never drove anywhere? But it feels deeper than that. My happiest moments in L.A. have been in art museums, where I couldn't see the city anyway. ((And one rather hilarious and fun evening a few years ago with [livejournal.com profile] jaina walking around what I think in retrospect might have been West Hollywood... but I thank the company, not the location.))
timepiececlock: (roots are trees)
::looking out over a hilly area covered with grass and wild mustard, and one little buidling tucked into the greenery::

Shaka: OOh! Oooooh oh oh oooh! *bounces*
Mom: What?
Shaka: *spreads hands wide* Shaka imagination time! See that little building?
Mom: Yeah.
Shaka: The wire fenses, and all the brush... Now picture, just behind there, are the raptor cages.
Mom: I was thinking it would be a nice little place for a house.
Shaka: Do you think that says something about us personally?
Mom: Alright, maybe it's a mad scientist's laboratory. Like Dr. Moroeau.

*My mom doesn't know that I once had a horrific dream where I spent hours hiding from velociraptors in a setting that reminded me of Girl Scout summer camp, Alien movies background music, the jungles of Predator, and a military complex/my neighbor's house being overrun with gaseous jungle plants. Now that I've spent several months in Louisiana living quite literally next to swamp levees, these things take on new and interesting realism. But so far I've never dreamed of gators. I guess raptors and zombies scare me more.

And, from two weeks ago, this is one of the best things I've ever heard another person say, courtesy of the first time I met my brother's girlfriend:

"Yeah, I know who you mean. Ohh, I hate his posture."


timepiececlock: (Default)

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