Blog Archives

‘Twas 2 Nights Before Christmas

There is a lot of stirring in the house …

My son is taking apart his Xbox controller – he started out with confidence then I heard from my bedroom him asking google “How to take apart an Xbox controller.” Which sent me into a fit of laughter, followed by a snarky retort from the other room.

I received some chocolate from my boss today … either I’ve just been SO sweet all year, or I’ve given the impression my desires for candy can only be quelled by 5lbs of it?

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In other news – I’m going to Paris to meet my best friend.

Okay – so it’s this one:

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We will be lunching this week.

I’m so very excited!

It occurred to me, after we decided to meet in the lobby, that it’s a big place!  And they might even have more than one lobby.

Now, (are you sitting down?) I don’t have a cell phone.

So, once I’m in transit, there will be no way to communicate.  No calls from the meeting place saying “I’m in the green chair next to the Parisian table.”

Time was decided upon, place – then I suggested we google the lobby and see where to meet.

My first email after we searched:

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Thought I was pretty funny – but, she topped me:

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This is why we’re friends.

Maybe I could just take the candy bar with me?  There’s no way she could miss me.

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Caution: The Twitter twit is tweeting

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I have not had the slightest desire to ‘tweet’.  But, I have been coveting the little Twitter boxes I see here and there.  I wanted one. 

I also knew for sure I was not going to add a Facebook box to my blog.

I’m old school.  If you’re my friend on Facebook, either

a) We’re related. 

b) I have spent actual time with you and like you

c) I have seen you naked

or

d) You were deemed worthy of reading my unedited status updates and are among the few, the proud, ‘the trusted’.

I do not accept every friend request I get.  I see some and think “who the hell IS that??”  Then I see some and think “I know who you are … and, no thank you.”

It’s not mean!  I am selective! 

We know by now that I speak first and think later.  My friends understand this. 

Although – of late – I am having to keep my mouth shut about some wonderful things, and it’s killing me softly.

Anyway, there is some anonymity here – and I can be just as random and silly and anonymous on Twitter.

Bottom line, (see, I still reign as Tangent Queen) – I wasn’t about to set up another Facebook account just for my blog. 

I succumbed to peer pressure and figured a Twitter account would be a great addition to the blog. 

I could have the cool ‘follow me’ box and another venue to show off a naked mole rat.  Only … my naked mole rat wouldn’t fit in my damn profile box. 

Just the first of many Twitter obstacles in Debauchery Soup’s path.

I think I’ve mentioned I research.  I research the hell out of things.  I wasn’t about to just start Tweeting away without knowing what things do and why they do them.

My first google search? 

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No, seriously.  I had to google when and how to hashtag! 

And much to my surprise, you can’t just go hash-tagging randomly! 

You can’t. 

It’s sort of like tagging on here. 

God forbid I #debauchery and end up in some category with wild orgies and girls gone wild!! 

Did not know that about the #.  Now I do. 

Followers … I only have two so far.  One is one of my favorite bloggers on WordPress, and the other is one of my favorite people.  So, I’m good with that.

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This is not about numbers – this is about having that little box on the right hand side of this page you’re reading – let’s not forget.

I wanted the little box. I now have one. 🙂

I figured out how to ‘@’ !  My Twitter feathers ruffled with pride. 

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Now if I could only figure out how to fit my Mole Rat into my profile, I’d be golden.

Reading (too much into it)

Read an amazing book.  Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.  Could not put it down! I loved the flow of it, the intelligence of it.  I felt smarter reading it.  If I met her I’d tell her “You make me want to be a better writer.”  (And she’d probably say, “Start with not plagiarizing movies when you compliment someone”.)

The author had a way of describing things that made me think ‘Yeah! That’s exactly how that feels!’  I don’t have the ability to describe things that way.

Then I Googled.

I’ve mentioned before – I get fixated.  For instance, when I stumbled on the movie Melancholia, I fell in love with it before I’d even seen it.  I loved the movie’s internet page, loved the score.

(Here, check it out, http://www.melancholiathemovie.com/ )

I read interviews about Lars Von Trier and became obsessed with Ophelia, read more about her and then Hamlet.  Once I am interested in something, I research the hell out of it.  I finally did see the movie and I liked it, but my research needed me to love it.  I ruin things sometimes that way.

Ophelia

I can never just watch a movie either.  I have to watch all the special features afterwards.  If they had a section devoted to the cast and crew at the craft services table, just snacking, I’d watch that too.  I like ‘behind the scenes’.

So anyway, I’m in love with this book and a quarter of the way through it  I Google.  I don’t know why – except for … that’s what I do.  I didn’t want to know how it turned out, just curious I guess to see if other people loved it too.

I see one link and it says: ‘this delectable summer read’.  Huh?  What the heck is a ‘Summer read’?  My mind paints a picture of a fickle woman with a beach bag – not a big reader – but who wants something to break up the tedium of laying on a beach. 

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That comment made my book feel less smart.  Less important. 

I Google ‘Summer read’ and it doesn’t mean that, I feel better.

I don’t want books to be put in categories like that.  I’m as eclectic with my reading genres as I am with my musical tastes. 

Poe used to be my favorite – (the story Berenice in particular).  I revisited ol’ Edgar on my nook and honestly wondered why.  It was hard for me to understand if I’m being honest.  I mean, literally hard to understand.  The words were too big for me and the sentences too fussy.  It was as if he needed to write the same sentence five different ways to make a point.  How was he my favorite for so long?  Have I dumbed down?  I haven’t got the most brilliant mind, but I’m pretty smart and have a decent vocabulary.  He was over my head and didn’t hold my interest.  Maybe I’m going through a phase.

I remember in High School we had to read The Fall of the House of Usher and write something on what we thought it was about.  I hate that.  Why does everything have to have some deep, hidden meaning? 

Can’t a sentence like “My cat curled up next to my tattered childhood blanket” just mean the cat curled up next to my old childhood blanket? 

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I’ve read reviews that break down a single sentence to the point of absurdity.  They’d have read that and maybe said:

“The cat represents aloofness and independence.  The protagonist however, in keeping a part of their childhood, has extended a safe place for the creature to attach itself too.  A metaphor for …”  (well, something very profound would be finishing that sentence if I was someone capable of describing things).  You get the point. 

Why does everything have to be a metaphor for something?  Do we subconsciously do that?  I took creative writing in college.  We’d make enough copies of our work for everyone in class.  No names on the stories/poems whatever we’d written.  Someone would read out loud, then the Professor would go around the room and have everyone comment on the anonymous piece.  I would internally roll my eyes when they discussed my work.  I was thinking, ‘Really?  I didn’t mean that at all!”

I remember thinking along those lines when we did that High School assignment years ago, ‘What if he just really meant what he wrote?’  But I put on paper I thought it was about vampires.  (Take that Stephanie Meyer).

I’m on a second book by Gillian Flynn now.  I love the way she writes!  I won’t analyze it, just enjoy it.  But probably I’ll end up Googling it and reading other people pick her work apart.

The hairy raspberry

Had a hungry day today – which happened to coincide with an office meeting next door that had a veritable buffet in the break room.  I tried the ‘I’ll just take half a donut, and some fruit’ route – but that didn’t last long.  Half a donut and some fruit is an appetizer really.

I traveled back for another half a donut and some more fruit.

Whilst in a sugar stupor,  I stared at the raspberries on my plate and wondered “why do they have hair?”

My first thought was, ‘oh – maybe to ward off pests and small critters from nibbling them while they’re growing’.  But that hardly seemed a fair hand dealt by nature for the poor,  defenseless, bald blueberries on my plate!

I obsess over things like this.  I do.  Anything I don’t know I HAVE to know.

In a moment of quiet at my desk, I guiltily Googled ‘why do raspberries have hair?’.  (A sentence I never thought I’d type).

Well!  It’s to help them seed.  They are the remnants of the pistils, the female portion of the flower.  Big let down.  I wanted them to have some really bizarre secret life or something.

I didn’t wonder anything about my sandwich or chips.  Didn’t wonder much about the Raisinets I wolfed down after my initial sugar high dissipated either.

Pretty sure I’m skipping dinner.