Category Archives: pointless post

It’s Sportsball Season Again

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Because it’s always sportsball season because Jesus doesn’t want me to be happy, I guess.

Anyway, I figured this was a perfect excuse opportunity to explain how much I don’t grok about any sportsball. Any. And what’s more, if you tried to explain it to me, honestly, I’m gonna start humming Pachabel’s Canon in D until you stop. If we’re both infinitely lucky, it’ll only be in my head. If you are passionate about sportsball, neither of us will be lucky.

The thing is, everything I know about any kind of sportsball I know because I had friends/family/whoever who was interested in it when I was younger and nearly all of my exposure to sportsball has been without my personal consent.  I had to be in the Pep Band to flute at people. I had to go to games featuring brothers or cousins or whatever because if you love family, you go and do things you hate because family.  I would read or take pictures or do pretty much anything that didn’t involve watching the “game” and it’s really left me with a cyclopedic knowledge of all things sportsball — if we define cyclopedic in this context as “patchy at best.” Mostly I just like the word cyclopedic and it’s my freaking blog.

(Speaking of, I have family humans who have snuck in without my knowledge. Everybody just act normal till they get bored and wander off, okay? NOBODY MENTION THE SQUID PORN.)

Anyway, I figured I’d open sportsball season (because it’s ALWAYS sportsball season) by explaining exactly how much I know about stick-puckey on ice. The NHL prefers we call it “hockey,” but that’s ridiculous. There’s not any kind of hock involved in stick-puckey on ice, while I can demonstrate precisely how much stick, puckey and ice are involved in stick-puckey on ice. My name is better; I win.

Did I mention the razor blades? Oh. Well, also razor blades.

Did I mention the razor blades? Oh. Well, also razor blades.

Stick puckey is what happens when people (in this case, Canada) decides to become a relatively peaceful nation. See, most humans aren’t actually peaceful by nature. They’re terrible. Or, okay, some of them. But instead of traipsing off and colonizing the rest of the world, Canada decided to start Stick Puckey. This is essentially what happens when you don’t do war, but you still want to hurt people. If you’re Canada, you look to your national resources — in this case, ice. What do you do with 78% of your country is made of ice and beavers and the beavers are all rabid? You start smacking people with sticks while dancing on razor blades. On ice.

The puck is there mostly to give some excuse for the violence. Don’t be fooled. It’s incidental. It was actually a pancake that fell onto the ice during the inaugural game and got written into the rules by accident.

I’ve had people try to explain “scoring” and “goals” and “leagues” and that kind of thing to me, to which I … blank out and star at their left ears till they shut up. Partly because I watched The Mighty Ducks and I don’t care what you say: stick puckey is absolutely about smacking people with sticks. I think the points are awarded for not actually killing people.

Join us next time when we’ll discuss another thing I don’t know about!

Happy Anniversary!

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To me. Not you. WordPress helpfully reminded me I’ve had this blog for 2 years. Which helpfully reminded me I haven’t posted in more than 2 weeks. Which then gave me guilt, which is now making me feel sad.

Theoretically, I really am going to post more things. I mean, I’ve been drawing. But I took a few days off for my birthday, but then it turns out that the universe hates it when you act 7 instead of 34 and so it punishes you with Honk Donkey Flumoniantery Ebola Pox. And then, once you’re finally over that, you’ll have a fantastic migraine because screw you for not being an adult for 3 days, apparently.

Then WP will tell you you’ve been blogging here for 2 years and you’ll wind up with the aforementioned guilt and depression and find yourself typing up an entry so that the universe doesn’t decide to dump another plague on your head.

Can I quit now? I wrote, um, several words. That’s totally enough, right? Several?

I have no idea how many I’ve written because while you’re not seeing this till mid-day, I actually wrote it at butt:30 because that’s just how I roll.  Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, it’s butt:35 now and might be a different time by the point I actually click all of the settings. So I’m writing all of this in the far distant past.

Turns out time travel isn’t nearly as cool as we hoped.  :/

P. S. After looking at past tags I’ve used, I now want ice cream. I blame all of you.

So you’re 34, today, huh?

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“So, what are you doing for the big day?”

“Drawing, playing Pottermore and eating cake!”

“…”

Seriously, if you ask me, your birthday should be last in the list of days on which you’re expected to behave like a grownup.

For my birthday, I’m about to go hang out with my brother, SIL and nieces. But when I was 16, I embraced the idea of a birthday month. So on Wednesday, I am going to do stuff with my best friends in the universe. And until sometime in mid-September, I’m going to act exactly as mature as I feel, which is more like the sum of 3 and 4 than the actual age 34.

ETA:  My spate of acting 7 is to blame for blog lag this week.  Sorry.  I’ve been really random.  But I’ll be back, possibly with pictures of cake. Or something.  ❤

Yes, But That’s Stupid

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That’s what I WANTED to say on a FB post earlier, one that reminded me why I normally like to pretend that FB doesn’t exist. This one was about something forgettable, but I realized I want to say it a LOT when I’m on Facebook.  Twitter, on the other hand, is full of brilliant and witty people with whom I actually engage in useful discussions.  Social media is awesome, except when it sucks.

Moving on, though, to the real crux of this post.  It’s about Google.

Listen, Google. You do great work. You’re really good at what you’re good at.  Hell, I’m even using Chrome right now on my Mac because you nailed the browser thing. Nailed it. I was a beta tester for gmail. Remember those days?  Back when people had to use hotmail or Yahoo! just to talk to each other? Dark days, my friend. But then there was Gmail. There was light. And 1GB of space. I know that sounds silly now that you’ve given us, what, 15GB? And Google Drive? I even briefly considered acquiring a Chromebook at some point in the future before my iThings ganged up on me and threatened my survival. Anyway, I’m just saying that there are things you are really good at and you should stick to those things.

This is the awkward part, though.

You’re known for creative thinking. Innovation. Doing stuff in a different way.  That’s why I was really sad to see the Google Doodle on Monday.  I mean, I almost didn’t even mention it because, let’s face it, I’m afraid you’ll take away my data or something. You hold the power in this relationship.  But remember last week when I invented the Quantum Reactive Schröedinger’s  Pie cult? Last week. Like, before Monday.

Okay, I know I didn’t invent Schröedinger or the idea of quanta reacting differently on observation, but I did draw pictures about it. Like… three of them. Maybe it was two. I don’t know, Google; I’ve had a couple Klonopin smoothies since then and it’s a bit of a blur.  But the thing is Monday, I saw this:

You and I both know what you did. Is this a cry for help?

You and I both know what you did. Is this a cry for help?

Really, Google, you could at least have been subtle about it.  This is just blatant. I really feel like maybe you need to talk to someone. Have you called your mother? Google, we can get through this, but you have to stop cribbing off my blog. Just admit you have a problem and, I don’t know, Google something. See? That’s another thing you’re good at.  You don’t have to keep following me online.  It’s a little creepy, sometimes, really.  I’m sorry. It just had to be said.  I think we might need some time apart — except for email and searching and browsing and storing things online, I mean. But all that other time?  Yeah.  I need space.

It’ll be okay, Google.  But I’m not letting you borrow my iPad again.

 

Hello, Saturday!

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I’m having a weird brain day. I should be writing, but I really, really just want to nap. I know the last 2 weeks have had sketchy updates at best. Sorry ’bout that. I promise I’ll be back to drawing goofy stuff soon and reviewing movies you should already have seen by now.

Other than starting butt o’clock pie-centric cults (which may or may not exist), I am really thinking today’s a good day for a nap.

Naps are cool, right? Like … a 13 hour nap is still totally okay as a grownup, right? Because next week, I get a year older and I kinda need to know because people keep looking at me like I’m a grownup and it kinda freaks me out…

Besides, it’s raining. I’m pretty sure even Jesus takes long naps when it’s raining. Really. I think I remember reading that in the Bible somewhere.

So I’m declaring today International (hell, make it Inter-dimensional), pan-universal nap day.

You’re welcome.

Now go to sleep.

Pretty sure this should have some tags somewhere, but I’m trying out MarsEdit and since it’s not immediately obvious where they are, I’m going to assume they no longer exist. So if you can’t find out about pan-galactic nap day because there are no tags and you miss it? Blame MarsEdit. Not me.

‘Cause I’ll be napping.

It seemed like a good idea at the time…

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I live in Mordor, but I’m pretty sure I heard ice giants on the move….

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I Don’t Know How It Happened….

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So I was gonna blog about the whole twitter silence thing that I didn’t participate in for reasons. But I can’t do that thing right now because I FELL DOWN THE PRETTY LITTLE LIARS RABBIT HOLE.

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Sorry?