bloodyrosemccoy: (Ferb Rocks)
Aww. I'm sad now. Summer is finally ending for Phineas and Ferb.

Seriously, y'all, that show is brilliant. Check it out if you haven't already. It's like Animaniacs once was--in 20 years the kids who watched it and loved the jokes will go back and finally get the REST of the jokes. And it's so good-natured. Excellent show.

Curious to see the next thing Dan and Swampy do, too. They've earned my loyalty with this show, dangit. I hope they've earned yours, too!
bloodyrosemccoy: (Death)
The guy who really got me going on Terry Pratchett was my college buddy Josh, who brought all the Discworld books with him to his apartment so he could have them handy whenever he wanted. He was jealous of me since I had so many books yet to read. (I still do. Savoring it and all that.)

I tried to come up with a favorite Pratchett character, then realized there were too damn many of them. He had brilliant characters, smart stories, and great comedy. I am glad he was here on this Earth as long as he was, and I hope whatever Death ushers him to now is peaceful for him.

... I may have to go read Small Gods again now. I'm sure I'm not the only one.


Feb. 27th, 2015 10:45 am
bloodyrosemccoy: (Logic Fail)
But at least he DID Live Long And Prosper. What a life.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Why)
Looks like the M7 Build Team is leaving Mythbusters.

I hope they're planning to go get their OWN show. With blackjack! And hookers! But dang, I'm gonna miss them.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Hobbes Waits)
Robin Williams was great. Sometimes he was annoying, sometimes he was sappy, sometimes he was coarse, but mostly he was fucking hilarious and awesome. Also, he was the Genie.

We don't think of depression as a terminal illness, but way too often it acts like one. I'm sorry, Robin Williams, that even with the science we have we can't cure it or even manage it all the time. I hope the science continues to improve, so that we don't lose more awesome people to it.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Why)
I am pretty sure that a recent confession on Twitter that, despite its utter stupidity and its complete failure to have anything to do with the games and that Mini-Amelia spent vast amounts of time constructing a much better universe for the characters to play in that actually REFLECTED the spirit of the franchise and thus she could not be bothered to care about the movie's idiocy, I am completely incapable of hating the Super Mario Bros. movie, somehow contributed to Bob Hoskins' death. I have this suspicion that one day not long ago, I confessed that I just love it for no good goddamn reason, and he felt a sudden shiver down his back and had some sort of post-traumatic flashback to that horrible experience, and then he gasped and aspirated a potato chip and it gave him pneumonia and he died. So sorry about that.

I have no idea how I managed to kill H.R. Giger today, though. But I'm sorry about that, too.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Robot Santa)
I gotta say, the Annual Xmas Plumbing Disaster is the WORST holiday tradition this family has ever invented. Even waiting till it's closer to the Feast of St. Emo doesn't make it a good tradition.

At least all the water in my closet was from the water heater, and thus was Before water, so my shoes are only wet. I am just glad my shoes weren't bathed in, y'know, AFTER water. That would have been an even BIGGER disaster.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Why)
Futurama has been cancelled. Again. Some more.

On the bright side, this might turn out to be their best series finale yet.

How sad is it that half my sorrow is that there will be no more commentaries? THOSE GUYS ARE MY FRIENDS!
bloodyrosemccoy: (Why)
I have nothing useful to add to the Boston business except more of the same "Damn, that is not awesome" and "But it's nice to know that most folks are not so much the blowing-you-up type as they are the type who will run alongside your wheelchair holding your arteries shut after an explosion."* I just need to get it off my chest that, you know, randomly and anonymously exploding people seems to be a poor way to make whatever crazy point you want to make.

*Although some people around here are of the "exaggerate the shit out of things" type. We had one lady in the office yesterday claiming authoritatively that it was a country-wide attack. The way she was telling it, every major landmark and city in the country was being Emmeriched into shrapnel by The Terrorists.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Why)
The HELL? A VERY sad day!

I was half-convinced he was immortal.

Ah Ah Ah

Aug. 25th, 2012 01:07 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (ABCDEF Cookie Monster)
Today is a sad day.

Farewell, Gobo, Count, half the Two-Headed Monster, and so many others …
bloodyrosemccoy: (Not So Lucky)
Haven't been online much the last few days because my brother is home for a visit. So it's been busy, what with going to see Brave, discussing the effective use of storytelling register as it applies to modern media, MSTing a planetarium show,* laughing our asses off at Phineas and Ferb, enjoying some of the delicious home-cooked food he can't get in California, and plotting a mountain bike ride for him, Dad, and our sister.**

All of which was awesome, right up until the last leg of that bike ride, when my sister hit a gravity flare or something and crashed spectacularly.

So the next Fun Activity was hanging out in the ER determining the extent of the damage.*** Which could've been worse: her helmet did its job admirably, in that it is cracked but her skull is not. Unfortunately , the diagnosis for her ankle was "totally broke." So she got to spend the night in the hospital while the doctors got out their DeWalt drills or whatever it is they use to convert her into a cyborg with a couple of metal pins in her leg.

She's home now, a bit loopy on painkillers and residual anesthesia, and oscillating between pretty cavalier and completely disconsolate. Poor ol' [ profile] sunshine_shaman.

I'm pretty sure that will be the highlight of my brother's visit. But I could be wrong: we're cookin' steaks tonight. I mean, sure, medical emergencies are one thing. But STEAKS? The way we do them, they could make even my sister forget her sorrows.

*YOUR HOST, Q: … But how could this neutron star become so massive and powerful?
ME: Pumping iron. GET IT?

**But not me. I used to go mountain biking, but it tends to make me hate everything.

***While--I am not kidding--listening to a bored-sounding nurse announcing a constant stream of "CODE PINK"s over the PA. "Wait, doesn't 'Code Pink' mean 'HOLY SHIT SOMEBODY'S STEALING A BABY'?" I asked. "Yeah," said Mom. "They've got trackers on the babies in the neonatal ward, though. So the dads'll go in to take their babies for a walk or show 'em off to relatives and trip the sensor …" So basically if masked bandits ever do try making off with a baby, the hospital will be totally blasé about it until it's way too late.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Not So Lucky)
The weird thing about a car accident is, while actually crashing, my brain goes completely deadpan. I’m not thinking “OH GOD I’VE CAUGHT THE SLUSH I’M SPINNING OUT,” I’m thinking, “Oh, great. I’m spinning out. Damn this is going to change my whole day—oh, that crunch sounded like my headlight hitting the barricade. … And now I’m facing the wrong way. But at least I’m I’m on the shoulder. Now. I suppose I should turn on the hazard lights and call someone.”

The irony of it is, I was going home early from work because it was looking ominous and snowy for once.

Anyway, yeah, so I’m okay mostly. My knee was braced against the dashboard and got whacked, the headache I’ve got is probably an indication that my brain got rattled around in my head a bit, and as the panic hormones wear off I’m sure I’ll notice a few more dings and bashes. But I’m not dead, so that’s a plus, anyway.

Thanks, all, for your concerns and sympathies. I’ll keep y’all posted if any new developments develop.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Movie Sign)
Hey, guys! Guess who got in a car crash this afternoon?
bloodyrosemccoy: (Old Spice Onna Horse)
Ahh, post-holiday crash time. It was great to have my brother here, but when it’s for a visit, and when it’s the holidays, it’s also exhausting. (He seemed pretty tired by the end of the week, too.) On the other hand, going back to routine means going back to getting yelled at by angry patients or showing clueless patrons how to use the Scary New DVD Dispensinators.* Maybe I’ll stick with the exhausting holidays.


MY SISTER: Whoa! Where’d Christmas go?!

ME: I don’t know. I woke up this morning and it had vanished. It’s like we got the Grinch a week late.

MY SISTER: Dude, if the Grinch had waited a week to steal Christmas, can you imagine how much those Whos would’ve paid him to do that very thing?

ME: Sure, the business is seasonal, but it’s quite lucrative!


At least I can get the sewing machine up and running again now the tree is down. Rocket needs clothes—and fortunately, I have a whole wardrobe planned out for her. I may have to start with her nightshirt, since it’s pajama time at the Treehouse. But I’m looking forward to making her a flight suit. Not to mention shiny clothes. Lightning bolts all the way, baby!


Speaking of dolls, I hereby decree that American Girl needs to quit bundling accessories in with big old furniture items. 2012’s unappealing Girl of the Year has a whole batch of little thingy-things that can only be gotten if you drop a chunk of money on her big loft bed. This time around I’m not really devastated—none of those items really catch my interest—but it’s an obnoxious trend. And it was rather frustrating a couple years ago when you could only get Lanie’s nifty cooking gear and food items if you bought her FORTY-POUND TRAILER CAMPER. Yeah, I may have a strange love for doll-sized accessories, but give me a break here.


Just found out why that sad bloodhound next door hasn’t been howling lately: she fell over dead a couple weeks ago. I’m gonna miss that dog.


Aside from the epic movie-watching experience of both Real Star Wars and Dumb Star Wars,** my brother finally got me to watch Memento, the inside-out and backwards movie. Stylistically it was a fun movie, enough to get past the idea that Everybody Is An Asshole just because figuring out the precise nature of everyone’s assholery still made it entertaining.

But the part I had really wanted to see was how they portrayed the concept of an acute case of anterograde amnesia. Leonard keeps insisting that he doesn’t have amnesia, but what he means is he doesn’t have Hollywood amnesia. Science-types note that Memento is one of just two movies that accurately portray a real form of amnesia. (The other? Finding Nemo.)


I haven’t forgotten that y’all want the recipe for the awesome pizza I made the other night. And as soon as I figure out how the hell I made it, I’ll let you know.


Fortunately, I have saved Skyward Sword for the post-holiday crash. Off to start that now.

*My sister has convinced me to watch Phineas and Ferb. That show should NOT be as damn entertaining as it is. I feel like some kind of Brony now.

**Mom on Emperor Palpatine in Return of the Jedi: "He reminds me of a lot of the nuns I had in Catholic school."
bloodyrosemccoy: (Kenya!)
This is a damn shame. Lamu is a wonderful place, and to think of misery striking its people is quite painful. I really hate how strife leads to more strife. And it's sad that some people may never get to see the mangroves, or the brightly-painted dhows, or the proprietary cats strolling through the narrow alleys and hanging out in the elaborate and beautiful doorways,* because of the danger of pirates.

Plus, it makes my dream of going back there one day even less likely. Oh, fresh passionfruit juice, will you be forever out of my reach?

I’m not really so sure what I think about this, however. The optimist in me thinks that it might be a good opportunity, but the conservationist in me is a little nervous. I think I need to read more on it; I’m definitely not qualified to comment on What Lamu Needs, but I do feel a kinship to the place. It’ll be interesting to follow, though, and see how the place I remember changes. Because pirates won't last forever, right?

*Not having to hear the mosques is a small blessing, though. I hear that in the olden days the calls to prayer were beautiful, but that was before every mosque was equipped with an ear-blasting drive-thru-quality sound-bending loudspeaker. And since Lamu has mosques like American cities have Starbucks, that meant five times a day you'd get a serious racket. I swear I heard two mosques have an argument once.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Licking)
OKAY, I think we got LJ all working nicely again. What’d we all miss?

Me, I had quite a week. Rich and full experiences, that’s my life: futzed around in the garden, got bossed around by my micromanager, lost another coworker to the deep discontent around the library and the lure of Living Free And Easy, lost a favorite patron to That End Which Awaits Us All, finished a necklace and made an earring, gave up on the X-Files, started Fringe, and wrote a bunch of OGYAFE stuff.

Oh, and also there’s the whole, y’know, SURGERY business. That’s going on.

Seems that while I was away I picked up some kind of gallbladder inflammation. It announced its presence in the middle of a cart of books I was shelving on Saturday. It felt like this:

An apt metaphor for so many of life’s little golden moments, this.

So I mentioned this to my supervisor, who ordered me to get rid of the stupid thing. Sounded like sage advice, but I figured I’d get a second opinion from someone who was not a librarian. So after a few days spent curled in a fetal position cursing the cold unfeeling universe, I went to see Dr. Hyper, a woman I’ve always liked but whose actual name I could never spell.

DR. HYPER: So it hurts more whenever you eat anything?

ME: I’m down to dry Cheerios. Nothing makes you feel more like a three-year-old.

DR. HYPER: That is the right thing to do. Now let’s see if we can get this solved.

ME: Good, because I’m really hungry.

Then she poked at my abdomen.

ME: *squeak!*

DR. HYPER: I haven’t even poked you yet. My hand is still a foot away.

ME: I can’t help it. It was a dark day when my friends found out that even poking in my general direction makes me the Pillsbury Doughboy.

DR. HYPER: Okay, now I’m going to poke your back.

ME: But the pain isn’t in my baaAAAAAAaack—well, what do you know.

DR. HYPER: The pain does refer sometimes.

After that I went to get an ultrasound, which didn’t show anything,* and so I got to have another test: the Making You Lie Perfectly Still In A Tube For Two Goddamn Hours While They Blast Radioactive Dye Into Your Veins Test. Your job is to lie down and try not to think about just how much your nose itches. It itches a lot.

RADIOLOGIST: Okay, you’re all done! How are you feeling?

ME: … I just got out of the TUBE, man!

RADIOLOGIST: You’ll get the report from your doctor in a bit.

ME: Just as long as it’s not a queen.

And yes, I did get the report, just a few minutes ago, and after analyzing it carefully to see the cause of my distress, Dr. Hyper concluded—let me tell you, modern medicine is great—“Fuck if I know.”

So my gallbladder looks fine, but let me tell you internet, it does not feel fine. Doctor Hyper’s got some other options, such as Taking An Antacid For A Couple Weeks or, if that doesn’t work, Carving Out The Damn Thing Anyway, Because Often That Does Seem To Fix Things Even If Nothing Else Shows Up On The Test. So depending on how things go in the next couple of weeks, I either get better, or I get surgery. Either way, I plan to whine about it quite a bit.

Aren’t you glad LJ’s back?

*But it was more pleasant than the last ultrasound I got checking for ovarian cysts, since this time I didn’t have to drink a quart of water half an hour before the scan just to make my bladder visible. Especially obnoxious when you’re in eighth grade and “half an hour before the scan” is “math class.” I damn near exploded before I even got all gelled up.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Hobbes Waits)
So last Friday, somebody killed herself at the main branch of the Salt Lake City Library.

This is not the library I work at. My library is tiny and scuzzy, and its most notable architectural feature is the emergency exit door, whose sole purpose seems to be to terrify small, careless children. No, the downtown library is big and beautiful and full of light, with tiered floors and window banks and an awe-inspiring entrance hall. I don’t work there, but I love that library.

And so when a woman leaped from the fourth floor and crashed, screaming, down into this entrance hall, I found myself wanting to say two very different things to her:

1. My god. What an awful state you must have been in to so deliberately want to end your own life. Mental illness is a terrible thing, and my heart goes out to you in recognition of that very real, indescribable anguish. I wish we could have recognized your distress and gotten you help sooner.

2.You god damn selfish monster, how dare you use a beautiful, safe, public building to traumatize innocent bystanders? You could have killed someone else, but as it is, you simply left many patrons and staff deeply scarred because you wanted to die FLASHILY. No words can express how contemptible I find that.

The second reaction there is completely unfair to someone who wants to kill herself, because if you are committing suicide, you are probably not thinking straight. I firmly believe suicide itself is not so much a selfish act as it is a fatal symptom of a range of conditions that all fall under the heading of Deeply Fucked Up. Mostly I wish there was something that could have been done before to help her, to keep from driving her to this.

But I can’t deny that I harbor some resentment toward someone who affects innocents around them. It's natural enough, I think, but it's also a sign that there are many, many shades of suck involved here.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Movie Sign)
MOM: Your dad and I can’t stop reading about and watching footage of the Japanese tsunami. I don’t know … I guess in some way it feels like, if I worry about it, it will help somehow.

AMELIA: And thus was prayer born.

Anyone have any links to somewhere I can send money? The Captain Atom Containment Fund, perhaps? Or just Food And Blankets For Just Such An Emergency Foundation? I want to do more than just sit and worry, but it's hard to be useful from half a world away.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Movie Sign)
Life. It’s funny. Some days you’re the dog; some days you come home from work and there is a terrified and miserable college kid sleeping off a traumatic brain injury in your old bed.

Today is one of the latter days.

He’s one of Mom’s many honorary nephews, and he goes to school near here. Since his mother and mine are Like Family, and also since Dad has been to Brain Surgeon School,* he wound up here until tomorrow, when we take him to the hospital and hopefully his parents can fly in.** His scans (he has scans; also don’t ask) show that his skull is, in strict medical terms, goddamn LITERALLY CRACKED, and the rest of his head is reacting in general WE GOT MOVIE SIGN pandemonium.

And so we come back around to the part where he is terrified and miserable. Thank goodness we have Dr. Brain Surgeon to help us out here.

The weirdest thing is, Dad doesn’t even realize how damn reassuring it is to have him around. He feels like he hasn’t done much because all he did was frown at our pavement-diving pal’s scans, tell him what it looked like in there, and make some recommendations for plans of action tomorrow. Which probably doesn’t feel like much, but he forgets that “You are probably not going to die tonight” carries more weight when it’s coming from a guy who spent years in school learning to make these kinds of judgments, a guy who deals with this sort of thing enough to actually put it in perspective, and guy who is qualified to staple your broken head back together on his lunch break.*** If he figures you’ll live the night even though you feel like you’re gonna die, you are fucking REASSURED.

Makes my contribution of a bucket for the kid to barf in look rather paltry.

I did reassure the kid of one thing, though—this is not a thing he should feel terrible for burdening us with. I told him this is us paying it forward for my Mombasa host family hauling my culturally-stupid malaria-ridden ass to a clinic without complaining. When someone’s in distress, you do what you can.

*Dad swears up and down that this is a direct result of watching The Brain That Wouldn’t Die when he was six years old.

**Why is he not in a hospital already? I’m glad you asked that question! The answer is DON’T ASK.

***And by “your broken head” I mean “Mom’s broken head.”


bloodyrosemccoy: (Default)

July 2016

3 456789


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 12:50 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios