Below are the most recent 25 friends' journal entries.

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Monday, November 9th, 2009
skylarker	11:36a	Film at eleven http://cheezburger.com/View.aspx?aid=2821252608 (Comment on this)
mnstf [ von_krag ]	11:13a	Cheesy pepper cornbread Allison Scott a FGoH at MiniCon asked for this and well, electrons are cheap... Cheesy Peppers Corn bread 1 1/2 c. cornmeal 1 c. canned cream-style corn 1 c. buttermilk 1/2 c. vegetable oil 2 eggs, beaten 1 tbsp. baking powder 1 tsp. salt 1 tsp. sugar 1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce 2 Jalapeno peppers, seed & minced (fresh by choice caned if one must) 1/4 c. onion, finely chopped 2 tbsp. green pepper, minced 1 c. (4 oz.) Sharp Cheddar cheese, shredded (optional: 1/2 cup Tasso Ham http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tasso_ham & where I get mine http://www.cajungrocer.com/advanced_search_result.php?keywords=tasso&x=0&y=0 I use the COMEAUX'S but all are good.) Combine all ingredients except cheese in a large bowl; stir well. Pour half of mixture into a hot greased 10-inch iron skillet; top with cheese. Add remaining cornmeal mixture. Bake cornbread at 450 degrees about 30 minutes or until done. Yield 10 to 12 servings. Current Mood: amused Current Music: As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls - Pat Metheny and Lyle Mays (Comment on this)
davidwilford	11:02a	Not surprising car news Erin's minivan not only needs two new tires, it needs a new battery and new tie rods. Ka-ching! Well, it's the first major bit of money we've had to spend on it since January, and it's infinitely better to fix it all now before winter comes. Current Mood: broke (1 Comment |Comment on this)
dinosaurcomics	5:30a	despite the deaths it is clear in panel 2 that t-rex is still a bit excited about the whole idea http://www.qwantz.com/index.php?comic=1590 archive - contact - sexy exciting merchandise - search - about– ← previous November 9th, 2009 next (2 Comments |Comment on this)
skylarker	7:01a	But you needn't tell the craftsmen... Between yesterday and this morning I tried an exercise in which I went through the first chapter of a Nora Roberts novel with my vari-colored markers, highlighting dialog, internalizations, actions, descriptive passages etc. It was very encouraging to see that Nora, too, does things you're 'not supposed to.' Including POV violations and long stretches of talking in (past perfect? he/she had done?) and just stating what someone is feeling. (Of those last two, Don Maas says the first is a no-no: you shouldn't use the word 'had' within the first fifty pages of a novel becaues it diminishes the immediacy of a reader's experience; and a couple different sources nix stating 'he felt/she felt' in favor of showing emotion through character reactions.) What Nora does do really well, that I see on the marked-up pages, is to tightly weave the different things together. Internalizations (thoughts and feelings: purple) are interwoven with actions (blue) and descriptions of setting (green) or people (gold). There are long stretches of purple but they are liberally mixed with green and blue). Descriptions of setting and characters are closely linked to the emotional reactions of the character doing the observation (always purple mixed in with the green and gold, along with dashes of blue - as she describes these things in context of action). Dialog (red for hero, magenta for heroine, peach for others) is always accented with blue and purple.) This all makes for very *colorful,* rich and engaging writing. (Comment on this)
365tomorrowsrss	5:13a	Hand Hinunter das Licht http://www.365tomorrows.com/11/09/hand-hinunter-das-licht/ Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer Hans lay face down on the surgical table, completely immobilized and wide awake. His father’s rubber shoes moved in and out of his field of vision as the older man busied himself in preparation, his voice a constant hum of information in the otherwise empty room. “We can’t effectively target inactive neural pathways, which is why you’re awake. You won’t feel anything, at least, I don’t think I did…” his father’s voice trailed off only for a moment. “If you do feel uncomfortable, be sure to speak up. We’ll want to make a note of when.” His father double checked his handiwork, having laid out all the instruments he would need on a sterile back table nearby. Overhead hung a large spring-coiled umbilical of fibre optic cable truncated in a blunt two inch long conical tip. A second such cable snaked into the back of Hans Senior’s skull, following him as he moved about the room. “The initial prototype is completely polarized,” he tapped the back of his head, “one way. The materials that the interface nodes fabricated from were by nature unidirectional.” Barely pausing between sentences he scrubbed the back of the boy’s neck with iodine before deftly slicing through the skin and subcutaneous layers with a scalpel. “Still lucrative, even with its limitations. Reconnaissance personnel, witnesses, even the skin trade paid handsomely.” From the table he plucked an insect like device of surgical steel and placed it over the incision. From it a myriad of tiny appendages unfolded, carefully holding aside the lacerated flesh before burrowing even deeper into the boys’ neck, then up into the base of his skull. At the required depth, it injected a thin catheter and, its task completed, simply stopped in place. “Frustrating how long it took to solve the polarizing issue. So much time, lost.” Hans Senior unpackaged a fibre cable socket with a long single organic strand trailing from it. Grasping it with a set of forceps, he fed the strand into the catheter. “This will be so much better for you than it was for me.” No sooner had the strand contacted the tube, it began to pull itself in. Hans’ head flooded with sights, sounds, and smells that he hadn’t known in years. The strand divided and doubled back on itself, only to divide again, sending countless atom thin filaments off into Hans’ grey matter. His father held the endcap until the strand had reeled in all of its slack before carefully guiding it into the still waiting insectile appliance. The tiny unit came back to life, grasping and aligning the jack with the flesh. It then glue stitched the inner layers to the device below the surface, and sutured the outer skin to its perforated outer edge. Its job complete, the mechanism detached, and allowed itself to be picked up and set aside with the other bloodied instruments. Hans felt the restraints relax, followed by a flood of sensation, not all of it pleasant. “The pain should subside in a few days.” The older man helped his son into a sitting position before grasping the unattached cable from overhead and positioning it behind the boy’s head. There was a strobe of light and a magnetic snapping as the two ends oriented themselves and fitted together. His father stood in front of him, and closed his eyes. Hans felt a strange pressure in his head, then had a sudden awareness of why his father had pushed so hard to implant him now. “You’re dying.” It wasn’t a question, the facts had been laid out for him. “Yes. I’ve used up my life. I’ve learned so much, but there’s so much left undone.” Hans felt the pressure again, followed by waves of knowledge. Not all of it was pleasant either. Discuss the Future: The 365 Tomorrows Forums The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 8th, 2009
theunknownsoul	8:54p	Fixed my tablet, finished a comic page, and did my powerpoint presentation (Just gotta stick everything ON powerpoint tomorrow. . I can't use PP on my computer. IDK I have laptop fail) w000 *flop* HOUSE TOMORROW. I DUNNO WHICH PART OF IT I'M MORE EXCITED ABOUT. HOUSE DRUGGING WILSON? HOUSE AND WILSON A DOCK WITH ROMANTIC BACKLIGHTING? CAMERON ACCUSING CHASE OF CHEATING ON HER WITH FOREMAN? HOUSE AND WILSON IN A HOTEL ROOM TOGETHER? MR. FUCKING SPRINKLES? THE FACT MR SPRINKLES IS SHOOTING A CANON BALL INTO THE HOUSE/CUDDY SHIP? ....FRILLY THINGS? THE FACT HOUSE TAKES OFF WILSONS PANTS AND APPARENTLY STEALS ALL OF HIS PANTS SO HE IS FORCED TO REMAIN PANTSLESS? ...OR JUST THE FACT SAINT DORIS WROTE IT. IDK. CAPSLOOOOCK Could be worse. I could be putting everything I say in bold, sparkly, flashing text that's ten times larger than normal font. .... OMG MR SPRINKLES YOU ARE RETURNING TO ME <3 MY LOVE Current Mood: accomplished (9 Comments |Comment on this)
kyoht	5:21p	I am in a La Quinta in Huntsville. It's internet connection is fleeting. But I thought I would post during an active connection spurt. Hooray for hotel chains that accept dogs. However, we will be boarding the dogs tomorrow to free ourselves up a bit until we can move in to the house. We have no idea where our furniture is, since the moving company won't get back to us. We arrived here last night. The trip was long and uneventful, though I learned some things along the way. ( Read more... ) Current Mood: tired (9 Comments |Comment on this)
dreamshark	4:09p	Today's themed playlist challenge For some reason I decided to see how many songs I could find in my iTunes library on the theme of "bugs." Butterflies are seriously over-represented in popular song, it turns out. And roaches are practically ignored. Huh. However by using a generous definition of the term "bugs" and with a little help from Thorin I managed to come up with 26 candidate songs! Some are admittedly a bit of a stretch, of course. If only one verse has a bug in it, does it qualify? ("Who Killed Cock Robin?"). Do microbes count? ("A Very Cellular Song.") How about superheroes with spider-themed costumes? No, that one's going too far. I'm beginning to realize how useful those drawers of filk songs can be when doing a stupid theme collection. Unfortunately you need a native guide to find the one song about, for instance, cockroaches ("Black Flag"). (5 Comments |Comment on this)
hyniof	9:15a	Terebinth, Page 876: The Deal (Comment on this)
skylarker	10:52a	Baby, it's cold out there... Well maybe not at the moment, but the furnace here has been konking out and needing to be reset more and more often, with four times in the past day as the new record. I've contacted the landlady, who's been down with something that sounds like the same kind of cold that got me, and she's sending her furnace guy - sometime this week. I sure hope it doesn't turn cold again in the meanwhile, as even 65 degrees indoors seems chilly when I spend so much time sitting still at the computer. Edited to add: I never did get the furnace to stay on this time, and the indoor temperature fell to sixty degrees over night - no worse than usual, as I'm in the habit of turning the thermostat down that far at night, anyway. But, as I can't turn it up again in the morning I'm doing some baking now: baked potatoes and acorn squash. Possibly bread or pizza later today. The landlady has been down with the same crud that's had me drooping for most of the past month, but promises to get her furnace guy over here - though she couldn't say when. (Comment on this)
skylarker	10:32a	Interfictions Auction, site problem? The Interfictions Auction is still ongoing, but they still have not listed my contribution - and while you're supposed to be able to see current bids by clicking on the 'bid now' buttons that doesn't work when I try it. Does it work for you? Edited to add: The schedule has come out, revealing that my piece will go up for bid on November 26. (Comment on this)
mrissa	7:04a	Mt Goats good, audience stupid Dear Mr. John Darnielle: Thank you for a lovely concert. Are you sure you weren't one of my lab students 10-12 years ago? You don't look like any particular one of them, just a representative of the type. In any case, well done. Thanks also to your band. Fondly, mrissa Dear audience at the concert of Mr. John Darnielle: Okay, look. I know some of you are apparently new. I know that in the cave in which you were raised, all entertainment came with mute, pause, and fast-forward buttons. But here in adultland, we have this thing called live shows where both the performers and the fellow audience members are fellow human beings. This time even the opening act qualified as a fellow human being! It's astonishing! What does this mean? It means: If the venue has a very small number of seats off to one side, approaching those seats to ask, "Are these reserved/taken?" is quite reasonable (and thanks to the vast majority of people who handled that as polite members of society). Sneering, "Are these for special people?" at the people already seated in them is not quite the same thing. It is already such a special experience to require assistance to get into the concert at all, to worry whether one's needed accommodations will be handled gracefully despite one's calling in advance (they were), and to have one's particular special condition exacerbated by the decadent overindulgence of sitting in dark halls two nights in a row. What I really need to make the experience complete is your open resentment that I have been permitted something so flagrantly self-indulgent as a chair. Then when we indicate that it's because of disability, what I need even more is for you to recoil as though I have whipped out graphic pictures of some surgery or internal organ. Thanks ever so. Do not answer your damn cell phone. If it rings during a quiet moment in the music, your course of action is to look extremely sheepish and mute it or turn it off, as you should have done at the start of the show. If they call for which you are waiting is truly life and death important, please stand close to the doors so you can duck out into the lobby to answer it. If you are taking pictures, do not turn your flash up to "everybody take your iodine, there's been a nuclear event" level. I live with one photographer and see quite a bit of some others socially, and so I am pretty sure that this is not necessary. And if it was necessary, it might be a sign that you should just not try to get that picture. This is a rock show. One of the things that means is dynamic variation. You can pretty well guarantee that there will be a loud bit at some point, and then there is a loud bit, you can say things to your companion in a loudish conversational voice. You can rummage around in the purse you have apparently filled entirely with cellophane. You can make impatient little noises with your water bottle. What you should not do is to perform these irritating little acts compulsively when the music is having quiet, contemplative/emotional moments. If something in your purse is that important and takes two full songs to find, perhaps you should go out to the lobby, where there is better lighting. Or perhaps you should stand closer to the individuals in one of the paragraphs adjacent to you, as they were augmenting the lighting on a fairly regular basis. If you must light up and stay lit up for the entire concert (which, frankly, I doubt is quite as imperative as you seemed to find it), do us all a favor and spring for the good pot. "But Mris," you may be saying, "you do not smoke pot. How do you know which is the good pot?" I have said this before, but since some people are, as I said, apparently new, I will repeat it. In fact, this is general advice from Auntie mrissa, applicable to sweaters and roommates and cupcakes and quarter-scale reproductions of the SF-MoMA porcelain statue of Michael Jackson and his chimp as well as to weed: things that smell like burning unwashed ass are bad. You do not want them. If you wish to be in full control of which songs you hear at which times, I have some wonderful news for you! It is now possible to purchase a number of devices that facilitate this behavior. You can, for example, use a CD player. You can use a music player on your computer or on a portable device. You can even, should you be inclined, make cassette tapes and fast-forward or rewind them as you desire. If that is not retro enough for you, some bars feature machines into which you may feed money for this purpose. However, this is not the jukebox option. That being the case, will you please permit the performers to perform more than one song before you begin shouting the names of their one or two most popular pieces? (Or any others. But especially those.) They arrived for this event aware that their engagement in this venue was for the purposes of providing music. They have therefore given some thought to music they know or might remember some of, and if they don't say, "So what d'you want to hear?" or otherwise seem to be flailing, let them play. If the show appears to be winding down, you may then express your enthusiasm for the performers' one or two most popular songs if those have not been played, and if you feel that they may be unaware of which pieces catch your particular individual fancy and the particular individual fancy of every other person who has ever heard of this band. But give the poor musicians at least a few minutes to get settled in onstage before you shatter their illusion that you might be here for more than just the one three-minute song. I'm so glad we've cleared all that up. Sternly, mrissa (41 Comments |Comment on this)
365tomorrowsrss	6:11a	The Company Store http://www.365tomorrows.com/11/08/the-company-store/ Author : Ian Rennie Hilton’s eyes opened, to his own mild surprise. Everything he saw was in dim monochrome, suggesting it was either really early or he was really tired. He was sitting in an armchair in a small office without the faintest clue how he had got here. The last thing he remembered was… Oh. So he’d gone through with it. Evidently it hadn’t worked. Before this train of throught could get much further, a smartly dressed businesswoman entered the room, flashing him the thinnest of courtesy smiles. “Good morning, Mr Hilton. My name is Annabel Tseng, and I’m here about your debt.” He opened his mouth to speak, and was cut off, in a magnificently rude display of politeness. “It’s probably best if you don’t try to deny it. I’m here on behalf of your insurance company and Zybeco Body Leasing. You were three months behind on payments and you decided to settle your balance by driving your car and your body off a cliff. We recovered you from the crash site and put you in temporary acmommodation.” Hilton looked down at himself, and understood another part of what had been bothering him. His skin, visible only in greyscale, wasn’t skin. It was some kind of polymer replacement. He was in a sim. As he was looking down at what he had become, Ms Tseng pulled out a softscreen sheet from a manila folder. “At this moment, your debt to your insurers and Zybeco equals around four trillion yuan, plus a twenty five per cent defaulter’s penalty. Repayment can be made by cash, credit, or servitude. At present pay and interest rates, you will have your debt settled in just under fourteen years of work. You’re a talented programmer, and that makes you worth more to us alive than dead. Not the easiest option in the world, but you should have thought of that before you attempted to defraud the company.” “It wasn’t like that” Ms Tseng looked at him in mock-interest. His voice had sounded grating and artificial, words pumped through the cheapest voice-synth they could stick in this sim. “Wasn’t it, Mr Hilton? Do tell.” When he spoke, it all came out in a rush. “Susan left me last month. I went into a spiral. Drink, pills, anything to put me into oblivion for as long as possible. I didn’t crash the car to default on my debts. I was praying for death.” “Death?” She laughed, and Hilton understood where he was. Humanity had found no hell, so they had built one for themselves. “Mr Hilton, death is no excuse for laying off work.” Discuss the Future: The 365 Tomorrows Forums The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 7th, 2009
mgs	7:32p	The extended wet weather and early snow had made me worry that we would wind up going through the winter with holes in the roof.  But the roofers have now completed work and the dumpster is gone.  When we originally talked with the guy he said they would be 2 days of work and they wound up taking 6.  It's odd to have people walk by your windows when you're on the third floor. ------ I've been reading and watching stuff from edge.org/archive.html lots of interesting things.  While reading an article on the death of newspapers I was led to wonder what the oldest newspaper still publishing was. www.wan-press.org/article2823.html has that among other info.  A Swedish Newspaper Post- och Inrikes Tidningar has been publishing since 1645.  They also have a list of the top 100 newspapers by circulation.  I was surprised that 7 of the top 10 were Japanese.  75 of 100 are Asian.  South Korea has a paper with larger circulation than USA today, the top US paper.  Thailand and Taiwan each have 5 papers on the list, more than any western country other than US and UK.  I wonder why they are doing so well. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
emerdavid	3:20p	Last minute reminder for Twin Citians Wanyicacs! Tonight!  8pm! Walker basement! (3104 16th Ave. S, Mpls) (Comment on this)
skylarker	12:26p	Girls just wanna have fu-un... I made it to last night's game party for the first time in ages, and had a great time. I won one of three games. Uptown was the winner, a nice little strategic game. I didn't do as well at 'Al Hambra' but enjoy collecting the gardens and building my palazzo. The third was a new game, in which we explored various chambers in search of loot while striving to create spells to foil our opposition. (Comment on this)
hyniof	8:34a	Daily Grind, Week 245: The Old Country ( Read more... ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
365tomorrowsrss	6:00a	The Survivor http://www.365tomorrows.com/11/07/the-survivor/ Author : James Marshall Foray wondered why he didn’t just sit down and die. He was naked but for a pair of underpants, and his skin was stained red with the blood from hundreds of cuts and scratches. He was gaunt, and his hair and beard were long and itchy. The vines and thorns lashed at his body, grabbing on with their claws, dragging him back like needy children not wanting him to leave. He only stopped to pry them out when especially long stingers dug themselves into his naked, bloody skin and stopped his progress. Nothing hurt him anymore. Foray’s ship had fought the enemy over this strategically important planet, inhabited by nothing of note but a species of dim-witted sub-humanoids and a few Terran missionaries, and had lost. The crash killed everyone on board but three. They didn’t have time to bury the dead. The enemy Searchers would arrive soon. Foray, Stavos, and Simmons had cut the implants from their palms and buried them deep in the pile of gore that was all that remained of the troopers in the Gpod, and then ran. Simmons’ hand became infected a few days later, and he got sick and quickly died. Then something out of the forest grabbed Stavos a few days later. It was funny, because the two of them had just been talking about the apparent lack of predators in the forest, when something came at him from their right and bit Stavos ‘ hip out. Foray turned around to see a large dog-like animal standing over Stavos, growling at him, almost daring him to try to save his friend. Stavos was under it, screaming loudly and beating the dog’s front legs. Foray backed off, hands up. “All yours,” he said, and when the dog turned its attention back to Stavos, he turned and ran, and didn’t stop until he was sick. That was weeks ago. He hadn’t seen any more dogs since then, but he assumed it was them he could hear howling at night. It was difficult to be resigned to one’s death when the moment was postponed time and time again. When he was thirsty, he would come across a river. When he was hungry, he would find a dead monkey, or bird, and eat it. He was lucky, but he didn’t care. One day there would be no river, no monkey. His luck would run out and he would die. The creatures would eat him, clean his bones, and the floods would carry them away and leave nothing. He had fought for the Terrans for eight years, and being eaten by birds and bugs seemed a natural, even attractive death. He had seen confused men have their guts blown out and trampled into the mud as they watched. The enemy’s weapons suck men’s lungs out of their mouths like a pair of old, wet socks. Children mad with grief and fear, sitting trembling by the corpses of their parents, dead for days. He thought about those children a lot. This is what they would have wanted. Him dead. He collapsed in the dark. He couldn’t walk anymore. He slept. He awoke in the morning to see a face, a humanoid face, looking down at him, smiling. It was saying something. “Jesus?” Foray blinked in the bright sun. “Huh?” The humanoid’s face was dark green, with small, black eyes. “Jesus, yes? They say you come back one day.” The accent was thick, but it was English. “Yes,” croaked Foray. He laughed as the strong humanoid helped him up. “Bless you, my child.” Thank god for missionaries, he thought. Discuss the Future: The 365 Tomorrows Forums The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows (Comment on this)
theunknownsoul	12:01a	RIVERVIEW WHY DO YOU KEEP INSISTING ON NOT SAVING? GETTING SICK OF HAVING TO REDO BIRTHDAYS A BILLION TIMES AND WORK TO GET RELATIONSHIPS BACK WHERE THEY WERE AGAIN AUUUURG I WAS JUST SAVING RANDOMLY IN CASE IT DID SHUT DOWN ON ME, AND IT QUIT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SAVE. MEANING IT DIDN'T SAVE. IT'S ONLY RIVERVIEW THAT EVER DOES THIS. WHYYYY I DID SO MUCH AUUURGDIJKDNVC CAPSLOOOOOOOOOOCK Current Mood: irate (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, November 6th, 2009
dreamshark	11:30p	Do we know this person? http://www.twincities.com/localnews/ci_13725514?nclick_check=1 His name is on our incorporation papers. Same guy? (11 Comments |Comment on this)
mrissa	5:26p	whee, book So: Reginald Hill! Why didn't any of you tell me? Did you think I already knew, or does he get weird (I mean bad-weird) early or late in the series? I'm halfway through Arms and the Women, which I selected more or less at random from the library's collection in this series, and it has a major character who is writing a novel, and it has bits of the novel in the book, and you know what? I don't even care. I hate novelist major characters, and even more than that I hate the books they write, hate them with the hatey hatefulness, and I am so loving the characters, and so wanting to pop up to my e-mail to send a quote to gaaldine or swan_tower or pameladean or anne_mommy every five minutes (but I am resisting because there is more book to read) that I don't even care about a) the novelist major character or b) the structure of this sentence. And there are two dozen of them just in this series (which I will read first, and then try the others, as I did with Ruth Rendell, or am doing, rather, as I still have lots of not-Wexford to go), and the library has bunches and also doesn't have bunches, so I've gone and added a bunch of cheap mystery paperbacks to my Amazon list. I feel very virtuous about putting cheap paperbacks on my list before Christmas. "There," I think, "then if my dear little old auntie wants to buy me something from the list, she can have options. Mom can sort by cheapest on up to show her, and if she doesn't want to buy me Saffy's Angel--which she should because it's good--then she can buy me something with nice cheerful deathfulness in it." And the glow of virtue surrounds me like, lo, a nimbus, because of my virtuous potential receipt of presents. And then I putter off to stir spaghetti sauce while reading more of this book. The end. Good story, huh? I did not, at this juncture, find five bucks. But one never knows at an Aho premiere, really. I was not in a good mood. But now I am. Moral of the story: Reginald Hill, you folks who are not wshaffer are falling down on your telling-me-good-books job, but I have the joy of having found him now , much rejoicing, and soon there will be brand new freakazoid Finnish symphonic music as written by a Finn who has apparently been listening to much North Indian drumming. Here is what about Kalevi Aho: not boring. Weird. But not boring. So like the rest of my life then. So that's all right. That was rather an incoherent moral, but a positive one. So again: like the rest of my life then. (26 Comments |Comment on this)
theunknownsoul	12:49p	( Oh it's on ) Current Mood: lazy (11 Comments |Comment on this)
dinosaurcomics	7:02a	T-REX VAMPIRES CAN HAVE KIDS AND LITTLE DINOSAUR VAMPIRES SOUNDS PRETTY CUTE TO ME http://www.qwantz.com/index.php?comic=1589 archive - contact - sexy exciting merchandise - search - about– ← previous November 6th, 2009 next November 6th, 2009: I mentioned I like out-of-genre cover songs and you guys sent me so many out of genre cover songs! THIS IS EXCELLENT. I also like money and solid gold cars you guys! Here's some of the cream of the crop! The Baseballs do 50-style covers of modern music, and Umbrella has a great video to go with it.. It's a window into a universe where rock and roll never stopped rockin' and rollin'! Kate Nash has done a few of these (and she's got a great voice!), Hollaback Girl is one of my favourites. Amanda Palmer does Creep on the ukulele, and here's Karen Souza doing a sexy lounge version of the same. And I've linked to her before, but fellow Torontoian Kay Pettigrew's cover of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme is totally rad. With more irony we've got Jenny Owen Youngs doing "Hot in Herre", and you're probably already familiar with Alanis doing My Humps, Mat Weddle doing Hey Yah, and The BossHoss who do pop music "in the original country and western" and who I've even seen live! How about we go with I Say A Little Prayer from them. Anyway hooray for music that sounds like other music! – Ryan (17 Comments |Comment on this)
1word1day [ nerdfury ]	6:27p	Whoops, a little late again - sorry! At least it's still Thursday somewhere in the US! Today's word is one of my favourites, because it lets you insult people whilst, at worst, them not knowing what you're saying and, at best, them thinking it's a compliment! Mendicant [men-di-kant] adjective or noun Definition Adj., Begging, the characteristics of a beggar. Noun., Beggar. Etymology From Latin mendīcare, to beg, from mendīcus, needy, beggar, from mendum, physical defect. Usage Larry and Frank had been friends for years, both living homeless, but still managing to survive nonetheless. Today, Frank was a bit down and started to talk about giving up and just ending it all by getting himself cleaned up, some nice clothes and getting a job. Larry would have none of that, though! Shaking Frank firmly by the shoulders he shouted "Enough, Frank! That's loser talk! Are you a mendican or a mendicant!?" (1 Comment |Comment on this)

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