Starfarers and CDs

Last night I played Starfarers of Catan. It's a good, solid game, but I'm unimpressed by all the fiddly little pieces. I'm particularly unimpressed by the materials used to make the mother ship pieces. The plastic is brittle and breaks easily. The game is new and has only been played on two occasions, yet the mother ships are already breaking. This does not bode well. Couldn't the manufacturers have used higher quality materials? Plus the pieces are very phallic, but that's not a bad thing. It adds entertainment value when pieces look like dildos, cock rings, and buttplugs.

I wanted to go to the gym this morning, but my back is just killing me. I'm not sure why. I don't recall doing anything which would have made it sore, but it feels like I've been trampled by a rugby team. I'm going to take an Advil before I model this afternoon, because standing makes my back hurt more. Oddly enough, my legs are fine despite the brutal workout at kung fu. Dmitrii and Linda's are very sore, though.

I'm in the process of reorganizing my CD collection. It's a daunting task, as I have about 500 or so, gathered over the years as DJ, music director, and freelance reviewer. I'd like to get rid of a few of them (ie. those of genres I don't enjoy), but first of all, I just want to get them in alphabetical/chronological order according to genre. My livingroom floor is swamped with teetering stacks.

( Here I am, sorting through the D section: )

Let's Start an Online Holiday

This idea comes courtesy of crisper. Do you have your own website? If so, let's turn the net into something surreal on January 27.

January 27th is the birthday of Lewis Carroll, author of ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. Alice fell down a rabbit hole into a place where everything had changed and none of the rules could be counted on to apply anymore. I say, let's do the same: January 27th, 2005 should be the First Annual [blog] Rabbit Hole Day. When you post on that Thursday, instead of the normal daily life and work and news and politics, write about the strange new world you have found yourself in for the day, with its strange new life and work and news and politics. Are your pets talking back at you now? Has your child suddenly grown to full adulthood? Does everyone at work think you're someone else now? Did Bush step down from the White House to become a pro-circuit tap-dancer? Did Zoroastrian missionaries show up on your doorstep with literature in 3-D? Have you been placed under house arrest by bizarre insectoid women wielding clubs made of lunchmeat?

Let's have a day where nobody's life makes sense anymore, where any random [blog] you click on will bring you some strange new tale. Let's all fall down the Rabbit Hole for 24 hours and see what's there. It will be beautiful.

Random

I'm skipping kung fu because my back is still aching like a sonofabitch. Modelling this afternoon wasn't pleasant, but at least I got to do mostly seated poses. When I'm sitting, my back feels normal.

I was described the other day as "easy-going." The man who said it really doesn't know me very well. I'm easy-going only until I disagree with you, and then look out.

I just watched Alien Vs. Predator with f00dave. The story was stupid as hell, but I was rooting for the heroine, anyhow. She kicks ass, but I still want to be Vasquez when I grow up.

I received more donations from kind people. Thank you, Anaheed (I want to buy a copy of your floorwork video as soon as I can save up enough), and thank you to Karen Viars for Hossam Ramzy's Sabla Tolo. It looks like I'll be expanding my drum solo repertoire.

Are you looking for a job? Liberty University is looking for

Geology:Ph.D. required. Teaching Introductory Geology, Paleontology, and History of Life. Compatibility with a young-earth creationist position required.

I didn't see any mention of any positions requiring compatability with a flat-earth position, though.

( Linky poos )

The Red Dress

When I was fourteen years old, I picked out and bought my first pretty dress. Now, I'd had dresses before then, of course, but being an established tomboy, was fond of none of them. But since I was a Jehovah's Witness (JW) kid, and JW girls have to wear dresses/skirts to the Kingdom Hall, I decided to pick out something I actually liked. The dress was bright lipstick-red cotton. It was daringly short (it actually showed my kneecaps when I sat down), and had a peekaboo back with lots of horizontal strapping. It was definitely the coolest dress I'd ever owned, and I was proud of it. For the first time, I actually felt pretty in a great dress instead of homely in ugly third-generation hand-me-downs.

I was never a popular kid, even at the Kingdom Hall. So when I wore the dress to the Kingdom Hall, and Marty, one of the boys my age, approached me and said, "That's a really nice dress," I was flattered by the attention. I may have even blushed when I thanked him. But before I could say anything else, he had left to hang out with the "cool" JW kids.

I tried following him over to the group to say hello, but was met with rolling eyes and then by turned backs. I went back to my seat and did my best to ignore the spurning. I still liked my dress, though, and relived the compliment a few times in my own mind.

Some time later, I went to a book study (a JW meeting held in a JW's home) wearing the red dress. By this time, the dress was no longer so brilliantly red, but I still liked it. The meeting was held in the basement of an elder's (ie. a pastor's) home. When the meeting was over, I ascended the stairs and began putting on my coat and boots. My father rushed up the stairs and hissed into my ear, "You're not being fair to young Mark."

Mark was the elder's son. He was about nineteen or twenty years old.

"What do you mean?"

"You're provoking him, standing up here like that. I want you to get rid of that dress. It's too short, and you're standing at the top of the stairs on purpose so he can see up your skirt."

Horrified, I wound the fabric tight around my legs. "I didn't do it on purpose," I said.

When I got home, ( I threw the red dress in the garbage. )