I did it! I bought tickets to Colin & Brad!
Mo said we can leave early if we have to - by the end of the day, the judge should be about finished, anyway, and someone else can step in to be ring steward. We'll just have to be careful about choosing the Munchkin's classes to make sure she doesn't have any late ones ... maybe pull her out of the Western divisions altogether.
But still, woots! Very much looking forward to it.
No Copper Top today; just Nesterino, who's napping. After he gets up and I give him some lunch, we'll head over to the MIL's to root through some of the Munchkin's stuff in the attic. Oh, joy ... hope I find it quickly, or we're gonna melt! Maybe I'll just chuck some of the boxes in the van and bring 'em home.
I want ... a pizza.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Okay, a quick post while the Munchkin is in the shower ...
sesshoumaru2004 has finished fixing up my notebook! I can't wait to get it back and start playing with it. Hooray for uber-geeks! So to reward him (in part) for his labor, on Sunday we shall have lamb vindaloo, chicken tandoori, basmati rice, palak paneer, green bean and tomato biryani, and homemade garlic naan.
Further food porn: Tomorrow night is show prep at ADF, but because only three members of the show team are going, it's not going to be nearly as much work. So today I made four from-scratch pizzas to bring up and cook there for everyone - cheese, pepperoni, onion and bell pepper, and mushroom and olive. I've stuck them in the freezer so they'll be fresh and ready to bake when we get to Mo's!
Tonight I'm hosting the bellydance DVD viewing party - I'm making warnerharmer's famous artichoke dip, and have soda, oreos, Doritos, and Twizzlers. And wine. Which I think I shall perform some QC on right now. Hm, white or red ... ?
Oh yeah, and I got my hair cut today. I look FABULOUS!!!! And you know what? I haven't seen Angel in about a year and a half, since I got my wedge cut; I walked in, her eyes popped open, and she exclaimed, "You look wonderful!" Let's see; I gained 15 lbs, but lost about 180 lbs of stress ... best diet I ever went on. She was shocked that I hadn't found someone new; she said the healthy, happy glow I emanated MUST be related to a wonderful new man. Um, no ... not yet, anyway. Technically I'm still married ... but by Dragon*Con? Game on, peeps.
Heh.
sesshoumaru2004 has finished fixing up my notebook! I can't wait to get it back and start playing with it. Hooray for uber-geeks! So to reward him (in part) for his labor, on Sunday we shall have lamb vindaloo, chicken tandoori, basmati rice, palak paneer, green bean and tomato biryani, and homemade garlic naan.
Further food porn: Tomorrow night is show prep at ADF, but because only three members of the show team are going, it's not going to be nearly as much work. So today I made four from-scratch pizzas to bring up and cook there for everyone - cheese, pepperoni, onion and bell pepper, and mushroom and olive. I've stuck them in the freezer so they'll be fresh and ready to bake when we get to Mo's!
Tonight I'm hosting the bellydance DVD viewing party - I'm making warnerharmer's famous artichoke dip, and have soda, oreos, Doritos, and Twizzlers. And wine. Which I think I shall perform some QC on right now. Hm, white or red ... ?
Oh yeah, and I got my hair cut today. I look FABULOUS!!!! And you know what? I haven't seen Angel in about a year and a half, since I got my wedge cut; I walked in, her eyes popped open, and she exclaimed, "You look wonderful!" Let's see; I gained 15 lbs, but lost about 180 lbs of stress ... best diet I ever went on. She was shocked that I hadn't found someone new; she said the healthy, happy glow I emanated MUST be related to a wonderful new man. Um, no ... not yet, anyway. Technically I'm still married ... but by Dragon*Con? Game on, peeps.
Heh.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Star Trek Wootage
Yeah, OK, so I'm a Trekkie. So sue me.
No, I'm not hardcore. I can't give you episode names and numbers, nor do I know Dr. McCoy's serial number. I admit I've entered into the Kirk vs Picard debate (Kirk would win the battle, but Picard would win the war); I've read numerous books, and when I was twelve wrote a really horribly embarrassing Mary Sue. I freaked out over the opportunity to meet Nichelle Nichols (remember, Wdnsdyschld?) and gushed all over poor Walter Koenig when I shook his hand. I own a first edition Starship Enterprise collectible Christmas ornament and a Lt. Uhura dress, and am totally pumped that Esmeray is going to enter the Miss Klingon Empire competition this year.
Yeah, I've seen the movie twice, and am planning to see it a third time with Arizonakelly and Suz.
Yeah, the Munchkin and I stopped at Burger King specifically Friday night to get a couple of ST glasses. And took them home and gloated over them and washed them and put them lovingly in the cabinet.
And yes, I made a special trip to Burger King yesterday while my van was getting cleaned to pick up the last two glasses.
And yes, I admit it ... I was so disappointed over them being out of Spock glasses that I girded up my loins, put on my best friendly and flirty face, got nicely pushy, and arranged with the restaurant manager to buy the glass from the display case when the promo is over Monday morning.
I even gave him my phone number.
Okay. Maybe I am hardcore.
No, I'm not hardcore. I can't give you episode names and numbers, nor do I know Dr. McCoy's serial number. I admit I've entered into the Kirk vs Picard debate (Kirk would win the battle, but Picard would win the war); I've read numerous books, and when I was twelve wrote a really horribly embarrassing Mary Sue. I freaked out over the opportunity to meet Nichelle Nichols (remember, Wdnsdyschld?) and gushed all over poor Walter Koenig when I shook his hand. I own a first edition Starship Enterprise collectible Christmas ornament and a Lt. Uhura dress, and am totally pumped that Esmeray is going to enter the Miss Klingon Empire competition this year.
Yeah, I've seen the movie twice, and am planning to see it a third time with Arizonakelly and Suz.
Yeah, the Munchkin and I stopped at Burger King specifically Friday night to get a couple of ST glasses. And took them home and gloated over them and washed them and put them lovingly in the cabinet.
And yes, I made a special trip to Burger King yesterday while my van was getting cleaned to pick up the last two glasses.
And yes, I admit it ... I was so disappointed over them being out of Spock glasses that I girded up my loins, put on my best friendly and flirty face, got nicely pushy, and arranged with the restaurant manager to buy the glass from the display case when the promo is over Monday morning.
I even gave him my phone number.
Okay. Maybe I am hardcore.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day, 2009 Monday, May, 25, 2009
by John Fischer
War is hell.
There's no way around this. It has always been this way. I used to think it was the Vietnam conflict that robbed war of its glory, but it was only the old Hollywood WWII movies that glamorized it. Steven Spielberg changed that forever in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan—a sickeningly real depiction of the Normandy invasion at Omaha Beach that made John Wayne's movies seem like a visit to the Mickey Mouse Club set.
So this Memorial Day, I'm thinking not of the great heroes who accomplished our freedom, but of the young kid in the front row of an amphibious transport vehicle who took the first round of enemy fire in his chest before he ever got to even leave the boat or shoot his rifle. And I'm thinking of the 5,000 other men who died on the beach that day, June 6, 1944, and what they died for. I'm thinking of the senselessness of it all—a young man's noble send-off, his training, his prayers, his shaky fingers around his last smoke after throwing up on the boat (was he seasick or just scared?), the front of the boat falling away, and the first bullet ending his all-too-short story. I'm thinking of his mom and dad sitting home in perhaps another Omaha (not the beach), listening to the news and wondering how their dear Billy is doing over there.
How many times has this played itself out in just the brief history of America? And how many ways do we try and live with this? The ones who come back don't want the attention. They already feel guilty that they came back and their buddies didn't. That's why we honor the buddies today.
But how do you memorialize so many who died such horrible deaths for reasons that often amount to nothing more than the pride and arrogance of a few powerful men? You try and remember why they did it.
I'm thinking of my own peers who died in a war no one understood by reason of the number on their draft card. My name could just as easily be on that granite wall in Washington, but for a student ministerial deferment. They died for their country at a time when many in their country were spitting on their graves.
They didn't deserve that. They were not warmongers. They were just doing their duty. Their number was up. They were high school football players and neighborhood cut-ups that answered the call. They did what a nation asked them to do, even when they didn't know why. They took the bullet for everyone who didn't go, and like Able, their blood cries out from the ground.
Normandy's beaches are quiet now. Children laugh and play in the sand. Warm breezes blow. The sea has swallowed up its dead long ago, and the sands have washed away the memory, except for today. Today we try to remember.
War is hell and has taken way too many young men and women in the prime of their life. We pray that in God's mercy, heaven has them now.
I miss you, Grampa. And I wish I'd had the chance to talk to you about your service in the Pacific. I hope where you've ended up now helps you forget the hell of it all.
by John Fischer
War is hell.
There's no way around this. It has always been this way. I used to think it was the Vietnam conflict that robbed war of its glory, but it was only the old Hollywood WWII movies that glamorized it. Steven Spielberg changed that forever in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan—a sickeningly real depiction of the Normandy invasion at Omaha Beach that made John Wayne's movies seem like a visit to the Mickey Mouse Club set.
So this Memorial Day, I'm thinking not of the great heroes who accomplished our freedom, but of the young kid in the front row of an amphibious transport vehicle who took the first round of enemy fire in his chest before he ever got to even leave the boat or shoot his rifle. And I'm thinking of the 5,000 other men who died on the beach that day, June 6, 1944, and what they died for. I'm thinking of the senselessness of it all—a young man's noble send-off, his training, his prayers, his shaky fingers around his last smoke after throwing up on the boat (was he seasick or just scared?), the front of the boat falling away, and the first bullet ending his all-too-short story. I'm thinking of his mom and dad sitting home in perhaps another Omaha (not the beach), listening to the news and wondering how their dear Billy is doing over there.
How many times has this played itself out in just the brief history of America? And how many ways do we try and live with this? The ones who come back don't want the attention. They already feel guilty that they came back and their buddies didn't. That's why we honor the buddies today.
But how do you memorialize so many who died such horrible deaths for reasons that often amount to nothing more than the pride and arrogance of a few powerful men? You try and remember why they did it.
I'm thinking of my own peers who died in a war no one understood by reason of the number on their draft card. My name could just as easily be on that granite wall in Washington, but for a student ministerial deferment. They died for their country at a time when many in their country were spitting on their graves.
They didn't deserve that. They were not warmongers. They were just doing their duty. Their number was up. They were high school football players and neighborhood cut-ups that answered the call. They did what a nation asked them to do, even when they didn't know why. They took the bullet for everyone who didn't go, and like Able, their blood cries out from the ground.
Normandy's beaches are quiet now. Children laugh and play in the sand. Warm breezes blow. The sea has swallowed up its dead long ago, and the sands have washed away the memory, except for today. Today we try to remember.
War is hell and has taken way too many young men and women in the prime of their life. We pray that in God's mercy, heaven has them now.
I miss you, Grampa. And I wish I'd had the chance to talk to you about your service in the Pacific. I hope where you've ended up now helps you forget the hell of it all.
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