Words...Phrases...Other words...

Do you ever wonder if fish find having their tank cleaned extremely traumatizing?

Because the process seems to go swimming/can't breathe/where am I?/can't breathe/swimming. Which seems like it'd be a bit much for your average angel fish to deal with.


This is where a segue would go if I had one... New Doctor Who this weekend, and there are so many questions to answer! Will the Doctor find Amy's baby? What's up with that chick with the eyepatch? Will my husband accept that were going to have three daughters that I'll name Sarah Jane, Romana, and Amelia and that's just going to be real for him?


Have a great weekend and, if you live on the East coast, make sure your hatches are duly battened!

Oh, and you've seen this video, right? Even if you have, watch it again.

I got linked! Just like the cool kids do!

A while back, I made a banner for my husband's birthday. I've been meaning to post about it for the better part of a month, but I keep stalling/procrastinating.

Then, yesterday, it got posted on Epbot (!!) with a link to my blog (Hi, Epbot Readers!), so I figured it was about time that I actually posted about it here. Though first, for those who aren't familiar with Epbot, it's the geeky and crafty blog run the same person who writes Cakewrecks. Both of her blogs are fantastic, and I highly reccommend them.

Back to the banner. My husband's birthday was last month, and we threw a party. Though by party, I really mean that we had about ten people over to drink and watch The Happening (which is a movie so ridiculous, that one of our guests seemed downright offended by it). I made a bunch food, I made honeydew vodka (which was crazy easy to do), and I made this:

Thanks to the many craft and decorating blogs I read, I've been wanting an excuse to make bunting. But, since we don't have parties (being around large groups of people requires a three-week psyche-up on my part) there was never really any reason...until now! But it occurred to me that a whimsical mix of yellow and white printed fabric triangles affixed to a coral-colored ribbon wasn't really up my husband's alley, so I suggested this instead.

It's specially designed to suit my husband's personal geek-loves. It was, unfortunately, not specifically designed to actually hang on the wall. Apparently, I seriously overestimated the strength/stiffness of two layers of felt held together by craft glue and invisible thread. To get it to stay up like this we had to use strategically placed sewing pins.

Though this is something that I would have to majorly re-think before trying again, I do like how it turned out. Particularly the 1-up Mushroom:

And the Radiohead logo, which I put in as a surprise because:
1 - my husband loves Radiohead, and
2 - I didn't want to tell him about it until I was sure that I could make it. As you can see, it has a lot of pieces

 

So, overall, it was a success! So much so that my husband left it up over our breakfast table (which would more accurately be called our "mail & empty serving platter table") for the entire month. And the party itself was a success, too!

Except for the cake. I'm going to be real with you - I'm pretty good with cookies, but cakes are not my strong suit. And by "not my strong suit" I mean that the cake was like a chocolate-frosted brick.

But there were cookies (sugar cookie cups filled with lemon curd. Just sayin'), plus guacamole and booze. So I'm still calling it a win.

Stuff. Things. Words.

Ugh.

I have four different posts the the draft stage right now, and none are really coming together. One of them is even a timely discussion of current issues!

(Note: timely discussion of current issues = me talking about last night's Project Runway.)

But, due to my pledge to live every day like it's Rex Manning Day, I mustn't dwell. I'll get to those posts eventually.

For today, I'll just focus on calling upon my fellow geeks to rage at the injustice of Sy-Fy (which is still one of the dumbest name changes ever) ending Eureka. Rage at the injustice! Then read the article! Then feel slightly silly about your outsized reaction! Then mumble an apology for your behavior! And promise to pay for the damages!

Basically, Eureka is getting 6 episodes to wrap things up after the end of their fifth season. The show is currently airing it's fourth season, and filming it's fifth. Which means that they have time to make changes to season five, if necessary, to lay groundwork for a series finale. For any show it's a pretty decent set-up. For a sci-fi show, it's kind of living the dream: a show that gets plenty time to close up shop, rather than A) being unceremoniously pulled from the line-up; or B) gradually descending into a sea of garbage wherein the lead actor is replaced by some random dude, playing an alternate world version/dual- identity mash-up of the lead character, and all of the other mains are gone, the entire premise has been replaced with something largely nonsensical, and my favorite character has been turned into some sort of rarely appearing a head in a jar.

Sorry. Had a moment there. The point is, Eureka is ending, which is a bummer. But they're getting more than enough time to build up to Jack and Allison having a baby, Lupo and Zane getting married, and Beverly Barlowe... doing whatever it is that Beverly Barlowe does.

Or, I guess they could just start yet another timeline.

A dubious honor, but still...

I've created a new game; it's called "Businessman Chicken."

Which, technically, in the name of equality, should probably be "Businessperson Chicken," but whatever.

It works as follows: First you initiate a handshake. Then you continue the handshake way past any reasonable point. Then you start saying vaguely businesslike things to the other person. But businesslike in a 60-year-old on an 80's sitcom sort of way. Examples:

"I'll have Johnson fax you those reports in the morning."

"You just don't have what it takes to get ahead in this game, son."

"How are your quarterlies coming along?"

"I won't stand for you whipper-snappers running around like you own the place."

"You've got the steely-eyed glint of a true negotiator."

This continues until the other person either laughs or disengages the handshake and walks away, shaking their head at your inability to carry on a normal, adult conversation.

I am the queen of Businessman Chicken.

Dance the dance of the Jess-man

You know that thing where I get kind of lazy on Friday's, but I try to make up for it by sharing something cool? It's happening again.

So you remember John "Uncle Jesse" Stamos' stirring ballad, "Forever," right? Of course you do. It set the romantic course of a generation, and has been scientifically proven to guarantee twins to any woman who listens to it within the first six weeks of pregnancy. Surely you're here only as a palate cleanser to fill the time between one journey through this musical masterpiece and the next.

The real question is, do you remember when it was a rap song with a cartoonishly Arabian-themed video?

Have a good weekend.

Bee Learns a Lesson

There is a mail mountain on the dining room table of my parents' house. It is where unwanted junk mail goes to die. But today, in that mountain of forgotten Valu-Pak envelopes, I found magic.

I found an American Girl catalog.

I'm fifteen years past being young enough to justifiably order an American Girl catalog (and eight years past the last time I ordered one anyway), and I'm the youngest girl in my family, so I have no clue how it ended up at my mom's house. But it doesn't matter how it got there. All that matters is that it was there.

And that I took it.

I spent a solid eight years of my life staring at the pages of that catalog thinking about how mystical and magical my life would be if only my parents realized that I needed, that I deserved Samantha's paint set and flower press. I'm mentally conditioned to grab that catalog as soon as I see it. In fact, I'm pretty proud that I managed to stop myself short of circling the things I want for Christmas. Besides, if I hadn't taken the catalog, I wouldn't have learned an important piece of information.

Take a good look everyone:

Because Felicity Merriman is headed for the big American Girl Place in the sky. Like Samantha before her, the Felicity doll will be no more by the end of the year.Which means that 8-year-old me has to come to terms with the fact her super-awesome table, tea set and blue holiday dress will never be a part of my life.





Note: This is not a sponsored post. American Girl is not paying me to help them clear out the Felicity warehouse by preying on your sense of nostalgia. Promise.

The sort of person I am

My glasses have been too big since basically the day after I got them, and EVERY SINGLE WEEKEND since I've said "we need to stop in on Saturday to get these sized." But I never do. Because even though my glasses are absurdly loose, I always forget that they need to be sized until the very second that I lower my head (either sleepily or melodramatically) and they immediately fall right off my face. Then I tell myself to get them fixed, put them own and forget again.

I've done this three times in the past hour.

I'm not really good with temptation

So I made my latest nerd confession earlier this week - I'm finally entering the (much lauded) world of Battlestar Galactica. And I'm entering said world in the way I tend to prefer - with DVD mini-marathons, after the show is already over. Seriously, if I don't start watching a show by the second season, I'll usually just wait five seasons or so, then start watching it all on DVD. Then either I catch up and rejoin the weekly audience, or the show is already over and I burn through seven years of someone's career in three months.


The  problem with that is that the ENTIRE INTERNET already knows all of the answers, and you're 20 episodes from even knowing the questions. I don't really mind spoilers in articles - as far as I'm concerned it you're two years or more behind, enter the internet at your own risk. The real issue is that it's all on Wikipedia, and I know it's all on Wikipedia. So, inevitably, the day will come (usually after the second episode) that I wonder "when will this character JUST DIE?", and I'll look it up.  Then I'll find out that the character in question becomes a super-powered ninja space-doctor shortly after killing my favorite character for the magic diamond hidden in her stomach. In season five. So I spend the next 80-some episodes thinking things like "Man, you are really going to brood over this emotional moment when that guy turns on you in a couple of years". Which kind of screws up the shows dramatic arc for me.

For Battlestar I'm really trying not to look. Not really succeeding, but definitely trying. My method of choice: going to TV Tropes instead. Here's how it works: when I find myself about to Google enough information about Battlestar to make watching it completely redundant, I go to TV Tropes and start reading entries and opening tabs for any other entries that sound interesting. Then, by the time I've finished reading most of the tabs I've opened, it's three days later and I'm too weak from exhaustion/dehydration to seek out spoilers.

If you don't believe me check out a couple of tropes, and say goodbye to your weekend.

The land of Nerdom is full of slippery slopes

I just started watching Battlestar Galactica.

Though it's the new one, which I understand is considered way less nerdy that watching the 70s one.

But still, it's Battlestar Galactica. You can't say that without feeling nerdy. They're not even real words. But, the fact remains that everything I've heard - and the little bit I've seen of it so far - suggests that it's a damn good show, so I'm fine with it.

The real danger is in the trailers on the DVDs. Like, for example, the complete series of Cleopatra 2525. Everything about it, starting with the name, sounds awful. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't think twice about it. But thanks to Battlestar Galactica, I've now seen the trailer. And now I know it has Gina Torres.

I love Gina Torres. "It has Gina Torres" is generally all it takes to get me to watch something. But we're talking about a show whose central concept is a cryogenically frozen stripper who wakes up in 2525 (as I'm sure you guessed) to FIGHT ROBOTS. That's not just a thing that happens in the show, that's the whole show. And actually I'm considering watching this. But the question is - where does it go from there? Am I ready to take myself one step closer to being a person who clears out an entire room in their apartment for a giant to-scale model of the Starship Enterprise cardboard cutouts of all 11 Doctors surrounding it?

Because, as much as I don't want to be that person (for one, I don't have the space), there's a part of that's thinking "well, just having the new  Doctors could be kind of cool."

Though of course, there are people who have no idea what mean by the "11 Doctors," who hence kind of think I already am that person.

See? Slippery slope.

Also, they have pencil-thin mustaches

Two men are sitting at a table in an outdoor café. Both are wearing turtlenecks and smoking. The Eiffel Tower is visible somewhere in the background of the shot. They say things like, “Jean-Pierre, it is vital that we stick to the plan!” But it sounds like “Zhon-Pierre, eet eez vital that we steeck to zee plahn!” A mime mimes by on the sidewalk

Later as the argument becomes more heated, Jacques (the speaker from earlier) will gesture with a glass of red wine, a cigarette, and a large piece of cheese, simultaneously.

Jean-Pierre will jab at Jacques angrily with a baguette, or emphasize a point by donning a beret.

All of this is so that you, the viewer, will understand – it may sound like they’re speaking English, but they’re actually speaking Movie French.

Movie French is a unique language with its own unique culture (though it sounds very similar to Movie Italian, Movie Russian, and Movie Arabic). You can recognize Movie French by its similarity to English, its random nods to a cartoonish French accent, and the fact that why the hell would these people be speaking English right now?

Movie French helps when your audience is too young to read subtitles, or when you’re worried they could distract from your cool explosions. But I think the main reason for movie French is that you can’t just take an English script, pop it into Babel Fish (do the kids today still use Babel Fish?) and get a French script. You have to hire people to make sure that it actually makes sense, and that you’re not using phrases that don’t even exist in the other language. Then you need actors who speak the language. With Movie French all you need is a vague understanding of French pronunciation and a can-do spirit. As someone who just barely has either of those things, I can accept that sometimes, Movie French is the way to go.

The thing about Movie French that drives me crazy is that at some point in all off this, Jean-Pierre will remember that before they can carry out their big plan, he needs to take little Colette and Nannette to ballet. Then as he and his friend part, Jacques will say “Au revoir, my friend.”

What the hell?

If we were supposed to pretend that that entire conversation already took place in French, then what are we supposed to think they’re speaking when they speak actual real-ass French? Are we meant to assume they're now speaking some arcane, long-forgotten Mega-French? Or maybe if the English was French, then the French is English?

Or maybe, like that one a-hole in your college dorm, they figured it would class up the joint to pepper in the five to ten French words that everyone knows?

Also, do they do this in other countries? If they do, what are the English words that pop up in the middle of a ten minute conversation in like, Russian or Cantonese? I have a sneaking suspicion that either "Buddy" or "Dude" is on the list when the characters are American.

(Semi-) Shameless Self-Promotion! Yay!

I just wanted to, very quickly, mention that I started an Etsy shop today. Well, last night, but I was too lazy to wander the internet promoting it so basically, today. This won't be turning into a craft blog, and it won't become the sort of thing where every three days I post some "Oh My God, go to my store" shakedown entry. I promise. Mostly because, to be honest, self-promotion makes me queasy.

Anyway, please check out the shop - for now it's just tote bags, but I may branch out down the road.

Click the photo to link to the shop, and experience the nerdiness.

Diary of a Winner

I threw my tennis shoes away in May.

It wasn't some huge symbolic stand against the perpetual onslaught of diet plans and workout tips aimed at women or anything. I had to throw them away because I'm an idiot. I dropped a Pyrex bowl and my kitchen floor and it shattered (which I didn't even realize was possible. I kind of believe Pyrex to be magically unbreakable), and I - reasonable person that I am - immediately ran to put on shoes so that I wouldn't step in glass as I stood there scowling and crying out to the heavens about the glass-infested chicken that would now have to be thrown out. And, you know, also cleaning up said glass/poultry debacle. The problem is that it didn't occur to me to first check if I'd ALREADY stepped in glass. Which I had. I know this to be the case because, when it occurred to me to take off a shoe and check, I shook out a tiny shard of what once was a medium-sized Pyrex storage bowl. Also, because I was bleeding. So, rather than clean the glass off in the kitchen sink, I risked further injury and put my glass-filled shoes sneakers back on, grabbed a pair of flip-flops, ran to the bathroom, and washed my feet off in the bathtub (because if feet ever go where my dishes go I will never eat or drink anything in my apartment again ever), put on the flip-flops, trashed the sneakers, and cleaned up the chicken.

This is not the part of the story that makes me feel super-dumb (though it ranks).

After this, because I am cheap/broke/lazy/broke, I didn't replace the sneakers and just spent the next 2 months wearing flats all the time. Apparently that's a terrible idea, because the human foot, which is designed to allow you to stand flat on the ground, isn't designed to stand flat on the ground. It's designed to be lifted at the heel and snugly embraced at the ankle by overpriced running shoes. But, since I didn't know that, I scoffed at all manner of air-cushion technologies and walked around wearing what amounts to fabric on balsa wood. And so I ended up hobbling around due to problems involving stressed tendons and anterior Achilles something-or-other and lots of other words that basically amount to "hey, you seem to be hobbling" and end with me being under doctor's orders to immediately buy some super-snazzy running shoes and wear them all day, every day for a month. Seriously all day. His words were "You know when you get home from work and you're ready to unwind, so you slip your shoes off and relax on the couch? Don't do that."

So trying to duck paying $40 for some Shoe Carnival (don't judge me) sneakers, cost me a co-pay, plus running shoes, plus fancy runners' socks since I wore flip-flops to the doctor. That put me down about $90 from where I would have been if I just replaced the stupid shoes in the first place.

That's also not the part that makes me feel dumb.

What makes me feel like a complete moron is this: since I have to wear the running shoes non-stop for the next month, I'm doomed to four work weeks of office wear from the ankle up and big-ass, puffy sneakers from the ankle down. I'm one giant set of shoulder pads away from looking like some long-forgotten extra from Working Girl.

A follow-up

Last week I was talking to a couple of friends about my new-found issues with Beauty and the Beast's "Be Our Guest" and a lot of other issues were pointed out. Like the tea comes out of Mrs. Pott's nose (that almost made me vomit) and to eat you're sticking a person's whole head in your mouth. Then, one of my friends made the absolute best point in the whole discussion:

What happened to all of the regular dishes?

Because before the people were dishes, they had to serve off of something, right? I mean, I know that they don't have thumbs (except maybe the wardrobe), but couldn't the people just get down their own plates? Just to save them some dignity?

It's the principle. And my own cheapness. But mostly the principle

In my head, I imagine this blog to be a really positive thing. I'm coming to realize that that simply isn't the case. I mean, I'm not some bile-spewing attack-blogger (which is, let's be honest, a patently silly phrase) but I'm...peevish by nature so, amidst high-fives to Wonder Woman and Friday-improving playlists, things tend to get a bit peevish here.

I just wanted to acknowledge that now, before I dive into this.

I don't understand paying for autographs. I know that for some people, especially when meeting someone they really idolize, it's totally worth it, but to me paying for an autograph kind of seems to defeat the purpose.

Appearance fees make more sense to me (though the fact that Snooki can probably make more in a few nights of club appearances than I can in a year of working full time does chafe a bit). Sure, the still seem crazy high to me, but you charge what the venues will pay, and then they recoup that increased ticket and door prices, which people are willing to pay because you're there. It's a how market analysis - /supply and demand - /other words I learned in Senior Econ and immediately forgot - thing. Plus, it's not like you really want your free time priced to move. Otherwise you end up contractually obligated to karaoke "Endless Love" at some wedding in Minnetonka.

Charging for autographs, though, seems less like getting a cut of the profits you're helping to bring in and more like actually charging people money for liking you. And it's not like I'm anti-autograph, or like there aren't autographs that I want; for example, Sir Patrick Stewart the king of all things awesome, but for forty plus dollars I'm going to need more than his name on a piece of paper, ten seconds of eye contact and some innocuously charming banter. For forty dollars I need an actual story. We need to split some cheese fries, or talk about who we like on Top Chef this season, or something. Because if that forty dollars gets me no interaction, and a souvenir of the moment where a famous person asked my name and then wrote it down, wouldn't it be just as good to take a quick picture of them signing other people's stuff, and drop the forty bucks some Star Trek:TNG DVDs? Because then, I still get to tell a story about sort-of meeting Patrick Stewart, but I get to do it while watching the episode where the girl had the creepy-ass imaginary friend who was actually a totally non-imaginary Borg.

And, I'm sorry Patrick, but that episode is pretty hard to compete with.

Happy Friday!

It's Friday, which is normally a magic day where impending freedom makes everything a little brighter. This week, however, all that's impending is 60 hours of non-stop packing, followed by a week of fretting about the likelihood of every single one of our dishes getting broken in our impending move.

I hate packing. The fretting, in all honesty, is an everyday thing for me; I've grown accustomed to it.

The point is that I have the one cure for a crappy Friday (other than alcohol), and have decided to share it.

Simply put on any of the following songs - and, if possible, a pair of light-up L.A. Gears - and running-man your troubles away.

4) Bobby Brown, "On Our Own"
3) Digital Underground, "The Humpty Dance"
2) Salt N Pepa, "Push It"
1) Bell Biv DeVoe, "Poison"

You're welcome.

Reasonably Related Title

There's a TV... thing that bothers me. I can't really call it a trope, because my extensive research (2 hours on tvtropes.org, most or which was spent clicking links from the Supernatural page) only turned up two actual examples, though I know I've seen it more than that. I cannot stand it when people in shows/movies/books/what have you demonstrate what a social pariah they are by eating their lunch in the bathroom. My issue with it is threefold:
1) I've been the new kid. Unless you smell, making at least one friend by lunchtime isn't really that hard.
2) You know what's not a good way to make new friends? Becoming the girl who eats on the toilet. "Does she have some sort of intestinal issues?" your new peers will wonder.
3) People. Poop. In. There. I don't bring open containers of food into the bathroom. Seriously. If I buy a soda, take one sip and have to pee then that soda is over. Because there are some things you just don't come back from, and drinking toilet soda is right up there getting vomited on by an adult.

Additionally (and I recognize that I should have counted this as one of my issues, but I couldn't pass up a chance to say "threefold"), how small does a school have to be for there to be no viable empty table, or floorspace, or anywhere where someone isn't peeing within two feet of your snack pack?

I could go farther with this, but not without veering directly into "crazed germaphobe" territory. Instead I'll just close out by saying, if you've never been to tvtropes.org, go now. search for any show of movie, start clicking links and watch the day slip away.

Excitement!

I'm not a DC Comics person. I mean, I've seen all of the Batman movies, and until this season I watched Smallville (for some reason, about 5 episodes in, I just couldn't take it), but I was raised as a Marvel Comics girl. Which sounds kind of...intense, but for me, at age 10, that shit was serious. I had no patience for multi-verses and numbered Earths and super-alien boy scouts. I was too busy with alternate realities (but it was only one at a time, which is different), race- and/or sexuality-based allegory, and wanting to be Jubilee when I grew up.

Seriously. She was awesome. And underrated. And despite what a friend of mine asserted in college, she didn't "just shoot pretty lights out of her hands." She shot dangerous explosions out of her hands. Dangerous explosions that also happened to be pretty. But were also dangerous.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, though I spent my youth preaching the Evils of DC (except Batman, who I always thought seemed kind of awesome), I can acknowledge when they do something cool.

This is cool.

Wonder Woman's new costume kind of rocks. TLo pointed out that this is less iconic than her previous costumes, which (as far as I know) were all variations and updates on her orginal Star-Spangled look, but they were also essentially strapless bathing suits. You can't stem the tide of evil surging over your city/town/municipality in a strapless bathing suit. I'm fairly certain you can't even swim in a strapless bathing suit.

I think it's bad-ass. And the answer to "how does she keep her boobs for literally flying in the face of evil?" is "straps." Instead of "prayer." Or "decency laws."

Can this please be a thing?

So, over the past few weeks, I've been seeing this ad on BBC America:



Fables is a completely fantastic comic, and unlike almost so many other comics that I've seen lately that attempt to bring back fairy tale characters, it's not just about drawing the characters so as to make it seem like their suddenly ginormous boobs are going to leap free at any second. It's just about people trying to manage a city. And the people include Snow White. And the city is kind of magic. And there's a war. And a possible rebellion. Look, a lot goes on. You should just read it. And then fall in love with it. And then make everyone you know read it.

Here's my question, though: could this be about testing the waters for an adaptation? I have absolutely zero in the realm of insider knowledge, so this is just speculation fueled by hope, but it would kind of make sense. Comic book adaptations are becoming more and more widespread, and with the upcoming (hopefully awesome) Scott Pilgrim vs. World and the recent (supposedly terrible) Jonah Hex they're spreading past superheroes more and more. AMC is making zombie-comic extraordinaire The Walking Dead in to a TV show right now, so why not Fables? Because I would watch that. I would watch that twice, and then force other people to watch it. I guess even if it's just to sell more comics, I'm happy to see it get more promotion. But maybe if a lot of people buy copies, and then wish, or clap hard or whatever they'll turn it into a super-awesome TV show.

If not, then I guess I can just Netflix 10th Kingdom.


I'm sure this goes without saying, but neither Netflix nor anyone involved with Fables paid me anything to write this. Because they have no idea who I am. And paying off someone who's blog has like, 10 readers isn't exactly a good investment.

Never gonna give you up, etc., etc.

My cable box is turning into a giant, glowing beacon of shame. At least once a month, I think "man, we've got to figure out a way to cut our expenses," and the same idea crosses my mind every time: we should totally ditch our cable.

I mean cable is a complete luxury item, and between Hulu and Netflix Watch Instantly (which is magic) we could keep up on a bunch of shows. Of the ones not available online, most are available on DVD within months after. Plus tons of people don't have cable, and the absence of Real Housewives and Ninja Warriors actually makes them better people. It's been scientifically proven that people without cable plant 73% more daisies and shovel 47% more old people driveways then those of us who gave up their entire last Saturday cherry-picking their favorite episodes out of Logo's Buffy marathon (don't judge me). Getting rid of cable is obviously a good choice.

But I can't do it. Every time I consider it for more than a few minutes, I look at the list series set to record in my DVR. I don't know exactly how many shows are on that list, but I know it's a big enough number that I always feel a little embarrassed about it. And that's exactly the problem. Because sure, I could watch most of the shows I really love on DVD (though if their ratings fell and they got cancelled, I'd have no one to blame but myself). I already do that with things like True Blood, because I'm way too cheap/broke for HBO. But what, I ask you, of the garbage?
They don't put things like Tool Academy on DVD. And even if they do, I couldn't Netflix it. Watching it casually is one thing, but to have permanent proof that you wanted it enough to have it mailed to your home? And then I would get DVDs recommended to be based on the fact that I enjoyed Tool Academy. And I can only just manage to survive America's Next Top Model on a week-to-week basis. A full disc of Tyra conducting eliminations whilst lounging across the judge's table in a velvet catsuit and 6-foot-long blonde weave is just Too. Much. Tyra.

Besides, I don't just watch garbage. I watch a good quantity of genuinely good shows, and I like being caught up, and getting to read what other people think about them. And even if I didn't have cable, I would still read reviews. And wikipedia entries. And...third thing that would spoil surprises for me.

So, the cable stays. And yes, it means I'll never learn to hand-carve wooden songbirds like the people without cable. But, on the other hand, they don't get to spend their Christmas season making gifts while watching hours of terrible Lifetime Christmas movies, so who's the real winner here?

Ok, them. But seriously - have you ever seen the movies Lifetime shows at Christmas? They're fantastic. There was one in which Steve Guttenberg was about to take over the family business of being Santa, but first he had to get Helen from Wings to marry him. That is an actual movie. And it has a sequel. And if it becomes a trilogy, damn it, I'm going to be there.

I'm all for Patriotism

It would have been cool if the US beat England in today's World Cup match, but I'm kind of glad it was a draw.

Mostly because I had this fear that if the US won, the BBC would temporarily shut off BBC America in retaliation. I know that's completely ridiculous, especially since a little vengeance is hardly worth the loss in ad revenue, but do we really want to chance it? Especially on Doctor Who night?

And by "on Doctor Who night", I mean something significantly cooler sounding than copping to building my Saturdays around the fact that I'm a giant nerd. Like, "on my poker-playing/micro-brew-drinking/knife-juggling night".