bloodyrosemccoy: Panel from The Killing Joke: the Joker clutching his head and laughing maniacally (Ha)
Fun, huh? But let's start at the start. Last summer, I got whomped pretty hard with a tsunami of hypomania.

... Hang on, hypomania doesn't generally lead to strokes, right?

Yeah, uh, so ... that's the thing.

My hypomanic episodes are generally harmless, but my brain goes nuts, lighting up like a goddamn Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas house. I have ALL THE FEELINGS AT ONCE, and generally outsource those feelings to fiction--either my own or other people's. I wrote a good chunk of the OGYAFE* because, given the Fire Hose of Ideas I have during these events, I felt like I had SOLVED IT, and I probably watched the entirety of Stranger Things around four times. Also had friends over to watch the Lord of the Rings movies, because those movies definitely have some FEELINGS in 'em.

HOWEVER.

Did ... did my head just explode? )
bloodyrosemccoy: (Bugs Loses It)
Space Place Job has me jumping through hoops before I can start working there. They're hoping sometime next week. In the meantime I get to sit around and build up anxiety about it. I'm not used to having somewhere to be five days a week, and the thought of doing that is alarming, especially since I have to get up in the--GUH--morning on each of those days.

The biggest thing is anticipating something without having experienced it, though. I'm terrible at that. So if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna sit here and worry for a few more days.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Bugs Loses It)
ME: Huh. Says here you can predict someone's level of suicide ... suicidality ... with a blood test.

DAD: Turns out it's directly tied to your blood glucose level.

ME: I can definitely vouch for that. "I live in a black well of tearstained despair and life has no meaning!" "When's the last time you've eaten?" "... yesterday." "Dude. Candy bar."

DAD: Snickers: It Saves Lives!
bloodyrosemccoy: (DEEP HURTING)
They weren’t kidding: the 2006 version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers is the worst yet. Its messages seem to be that we need war, rape, murder, etc. in order to enjoy the full breadth of creativity, love, and colorful clothing, and also that delicious Pepsi products will keep us human. But more to the point, it was not creepy enough. The wonderfully creepy part of the other movies is that body snatching meant a soulless alien version of you was dumping your dead and disintegrated remains into a trash compactor. No wonder this movie sucked. It had nothing to do with pods, although it did have something to do with people, unlike Experiment 303.*

Also, did anyone notice that the actual hero of the story was Steve the Doctor, who was barely in it? It was the weirdest bit of tokenism ever—movie focuses on a bunch of panicky white people running around having Family Issues and bemoaning violence, and meanwhile in the background Black Doctor #2 sneaks off to his Secret Fortress Of Science, figures out how to CURE pod people—something no other version has done**—then, because the idiot protagonists won’t shut up, jumps in his helicopter to rescue their flailing asses. I wanted the movie to be about him.***

After seeing all four movies, I am surprised that not one of them took advantage of the Capgras delusion. You’d think a movie that starts out with people stubbornly insisting that their world is suddenly populated with evil impostors would totally jump at the chance to toss in a red herring about an actual neurological condition that causes people to stubbornly insist that their world is suddenly populated by evil impostors. Perhaps I will just have to make my own Body Snatchers movie, since I’ve run out of these. So a shout-out to my movie-making buddy Josh: If you’re reading this, I have a pitch for you!


FAVORITE PART: When the CDC villain guy in the beginning returns from examining the contaminated shuttle debris, walks back through the quarantine tent, strips off his HAZMAT suit, and then immediately bare-hands a piece of fungus-encrusted debris handed to him by a little girl. I half-expected him to start chewing on it, like Wilford Brimley chewing on the pencil eraser he has JUST POKED INTO A GELATINOUS DEAD MASS OF MUTATED NORWEGIANS in John Carpenter's The Thing.


*It still had everything to do with hurting, however.

**Sorry, teen slasher 90s remake, the 30,000 missiles mounted on that one helicopter do not count as a cure. And yes, the aforementioned lack of actual body-snatching makes the possibility of a cure lame, but BY GOD don’t knock the guy who found it.

***It also didn’t hurt that I thought the actor, Jeffrey Wright, was so darn cute I looked him up on Wikipedia, where his bio has the awesome line “Wright was born in Washington, D.C. to a mother who worked as a customs lawyer and a father who died when he was a child.” That right there is linguistic ambiguity at its very best.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Bugs Loses It)
Have been exceptionally nervous, cranky, and low-self-esteemy the past few days, to the point where everything, including blogging, is becoming an impossibly huge source of anxiety for me. So while I am over here nursing a cup of Tension Tamer tea and trying to bring myself down (or up, depending on where I am metaphorically at right now), enjoy this video of Jersey Shore dialogue performed in the style of The Importance of Being Earnest:

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: Panel from The Killing Joke: the Joker clutching his head and laughing maniacally (Ha)
I have had conversations like this before.



... Actually, I think Dad gave me this exact lecture once during dinner.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Icon Doctor)
When your mom comes into your room and says, “Hi, honey! I found those T-shirt scraps you were looking for. Also, I think you have Asperger’s. Ask your psychiatrist when you see him again.”

What am I supposed to do with that? I told her that Asperger’s is the latest condition you can suddenly get by reading the Wikipedia article about it,* but when your mom decides that you have it, it kinda makes the Forer effect seem a little harder to discount.

If nothing else, it'll make for an entertaining round of Ask The Psychiatrist.


*Although let’s be fair—sometimes reading an article on a condition can be an epiphany. As in, “Holy shit! There’s a name for that characteristic of mine which people have commented on for years!”
bloodyrosemccoy: Beast from X-Men at the computer, grinning wickedly (Beastly)
All right, all right! I’ll do the damn meme, Facebook. Yeesh. Pushy bastard.

25 Random Things About Me:

1. For me, some very strange words are intrinsically onomatopoeic—such as garnet, swelter, and bottle. It's an odd extra of the synesthesia, I guess.

2. I chose Kenya for study abroad because I was already studying Swahili. I was already studying Swahili because one day in high school I saw a book in the library that said Teach Yourself Swahili and I figured, why not? Life is just full of these little oddities.

3. I am a first degree black belt in tae kwon do. No, really. No, really.

4. When I was in elementary school I spent every single recess from third through fifth grade meandering around in circles on the school’s crummy little track. I was dreaming up story ideas. I never realized how weird this was. (In sixth grade I discovered that I could do odd jobs in the library at recess.)

5. I started conlanging for real at the age of 12 or 13 when I included a sentence in “Yoshese” in a Super Mario story I was writing. I believe the sentence was “They don’t call him ‘Fireball’ for nothing!”

6. When I was ten, I struck up a long-lasting friendship with a children’s book author because of my name.

7. At one point in my house we had three cats, a budgie, a rabbit, and intermittent frogs and goldfish.

8. According to my mom, I have a defective imaginary audience—that chorus of people we think is watching our every move and judging us. Mine rarely shows up, and when it does it’s after the fact. It makes me immune to self-consciousness most of the time, but it also puts people off.

9. Between the ages of about four and seventeen, I was the Human VCR. I could recite or sing almost everything you told me after hearing it once, and I can still recite everything I learned back then. This includes the entirety of “Yakko’s World,” Rockapella’s “Capital,” and songs I didn’t understand—I learned “Cielito Lindo” from a Speedy Gonzales cartoon, and could sing a song in French. The trick was to memorize the sounds, not the words themselves. Either normal brain development or antidepressants robbed me of the ability.

10. Kermit the Frog was my first crush. (I was four.)

11. I have skinny-dipped at night in a phosphorescent ocean.

12. My hip still sports a big old scar from the great rollover car crash I was in when I was six. I got out of my seatbelt for ten seconds to reach for some markers on our cross-country trip, and of course those ten seconds were the ones we crashed in. I was thrown from the car so violently that I blew the back doors open; I apparently skidded to a halt and shredded my right side. I woke up in a thorn bush and for the next six months was picking thorns and broken glass out of my scalp. But all my abrasions were superficial, and I didn’t even break any bones.

13. I used to play the stand-up bass in orchestra and jazz band in school. That got me involved in all sorts of crazy capers.

14. I am a tea snob and can tell you the correct temperature and brewing time for white, red, green, black, and herbal teas. People laugh at me until they realize that the tea I make tastes a helluva lot better because it’s done right.

15. I once threatened to steal Penn Jillette’s ponytail, until he pointed out there was no way I could reach it with our height discrepancy. I still plan to steal his house someday, though.

16. My birthday is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

17. I’ve had malaria.

18. I have a huge crush on Dr. Henry McCoy from X-Men. My friend drew several comics in which she and I hounded him the way Twilight fans hound Robert Pattinson, although to my knowledge Twifans have not, so far, given the object of their affections a bubblebath in a big washpan in the front yard.

19. For years I had a “Padawan braid” at my left temple while I kept the rest of my hair short. People knew me as “the girl with the braid.”

20. Until I was 19, I had never seen an episode of Star Trek. Then Liz, my best friend in college, introduced me to it. Blame her.

21. Liz and I also started CSI Night our first year in college, which remained a weekly party over the next four years. Sometimes we actually even watched CSI.

22. I collect mermaids.

23. I know how to cast a piece of jewelry using the lost wax process.

24. I have had a theme song since before I was born, courtesy of my mom, who would put headphones on her pregnant stomach while she worked and pump in Annie Lennox’s “There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart).” According to her, I could recognize that song long before I noticed any other music.

25. I once got to be in the OR to watch a brain surgery. I was really enjoying it right up until I passed out.


Most of you with Facebook accounts have probably already been tagged 25 times, but if not consider yourself tagged. I like random facts about people!
bloodyrosemccoy: (Retro Tea)
What I learned since the Autumn Equinox
  • Pennies no longer count as money in some vending machines.
  • You’re supposed to cut divets out of the seam if you’ve sewn an outside curve so the fabric lies flat properly.
  • Skin-picking is a horrible, horrible disorder affecting millions of Americans and its tragic consequences cannot be properly recorded. I learned all this from a website where you can pay $29.95 a month for a subscription that will apparently help you master the compulsion. In due time, of course. These things are not instantaneous. (And here I always thought it was just a bad habit.)
  • Black holes have a region outside the event horizon called the ergosphere, where space gets sort of tangled up in the spin of the black hole and moves faster than the speed of light. Which matter can’t do, but which space apparently can. Dude.
  • If you are going to make disgusting lewd comments to the doctor’s receptionist, do not be surprised when the doctor refuses to see you.  Especially when the receptionist happens to be the doctor’s wife.*
  • I am not cut out for customer service. I don’t care enough about what I’m doing.
  • Don’t use windshield wiper fluid on a cold day.
  • Americans are willing to vote for the competent guy, and don’t let silly things like whether he’s black trump the fact that he’s competent.
  • On the other hand, Hollywood still feels that an all-white cast playing nonwhite characters is an improvement on a story.
  • Hooper’s sign is a test you do on the leg muscles of paraplegics in which you massage the muscles of one leg while holding the other leg as well.  You are feeling for countermovements of the muscles there. And if Hooper’s sign is positive, your next step is to call a psychiatrist, because the person is not actually paralyzed. (There is a whole battery of tests doctors do to see if you’re really paralyzed. My favorite is the test to see if a patient's arm is actually paralyzed: lay the patient down and hold their arm straight up with their hand over their face.  If they’re really paralyzed, their hand hits them in the face.)
  • The newspaper is being held up right now by two groups: old people who can’t figure out this newfangled internet, and Coupon Ladies—frazzled-sounding housewives who obsessively chase after bargains, to the point where they demand four Sunday papers in order to get the coupons out of them. And who get very upset if their K-Mart or Harmon’s ad is not included.
  • A lot of people don’t quite understand human rights versus stuff you can vote on.
  • My brother loves The Sandlot the way I love It Takes Two—nostalgically and unconditionally.
  • The infamous 9999 Damage Geno Whirl in Super Mario RPG is not a myth.  And it is awesome.
  • When you say your company is going outta business and everything must go, you attract a whole lot of vultures and the customer service you pride yourself on gets flushed away in favor of just keeping track of everyone.
  • Vulture-shopping is different from normal shopping: you treat stores that are going out of business like you are looting them. Shoppers become much less observant and impatient and instead of waiting for you to take their rejected clothes they just put them back themselves, which never goes well.**
  • “High definition” really is.
  • They really trowel on the makeup on non-HD shows.  While this makes sense because, as Roger Ebert pointed out in his smackdown on Expelled!, nobody looks quite right on TV without it, this has become a drawback now that I have an HD TV and can see that my wimmin doctors’ faces are pretty much masks made of pancake.
  • You can actually browse the stalls at the Hyrule Castle Town market in Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess.
  • Street performance has a lot more to it than just going out and juggling or whatever.  If you’re doing it properly, like [livejournal.com profile] street_show, it’s a pretty complex but very worthwhile profession.
  • Originally when Jim Henson came up with The Dark Crystal, he wanted to make all the dialogue in Fantasy Language—actually, a whole host of Fantasy Languages for the different characters.  His buddies were like, “Jim Henson, no.” But I now know about this and love him even more.


*Since some of you are not aware, the doctor in question is my dad, the receptionist is my mom, and the creepy patient is gross and inappropriate enough that we're wondering if we should send him back to the scan people to take a look at his head for tumors.  Except we found out he was gross with every single person there, too, and they may refuse to scan him.

**Dear shoppers: I appreciate the thought, but for the love of god don’t put clothes back when you’re done trying them on. Customers never seem to notice that all our pants are hanging up a certain way, they never button the shirts, they frequently put the stuff back in the wrong part of the store, and in the rare instances they find the correct spot they mix all the sizes up and hang the wrong sales tags on them.  Not to mention we have to at least try to account for the clothes.

bloodyrosemccoy: (Default)

You might not realize this, but there are some perks to being a neurosurgeon.*  You get to sit next to rocket scientists in the bracket of Smartest Dudes Ever, and you get the opportunity to closeup observe many great moments in brain damaged behavior. If things go well you also get to fix that damage!

 

Also, you may get an invitation to go to a special gala opening viewing of the Body Worlds 3 exhibit!

 

Yes. Dad got invited to go check out the Famous Dead Body Exhibit,** for free.  Even neurosurgeons like Free Stuff!

 

However, there are also some drawbacks to being a neurosurgeon. One of them, for example, is that on the weekend you are invited to a special viewing of a cool exhibit, you may be already scheduled to fly to Tennessee to … well, to get some hands-on experience with dead bodies.  He’s got a conference on some nifty advance in back surgery, which he gets to practice on cadavers.

 

Which meant that there was this ticket for two to Body Worlds just sitting around.

 

Gee.

 

So! Body Worlds is a pretty damn nifty exhibit.  I didn’t exactly wander through filled with wonder, though I was fascinated by it all.  The bodies were extremely interesting, but I admit the exhibit’s a little redundant on that point—they could have cut a few of the poses. Some of the smaller things were more interesting: my absolute favorite piece was the blood vessels for the entire head, without any of the rest of the head—seeing the way it layered was cool. There was a dense part for the scalp and face, then a sort of sparse area, then a really dense layer for the brain.

 

The brains were amazing, too. The best was the entire nervous system, with the brain, splayed out, in Dad’s words, “like a butterfly on a corkboard.”*** The way it branched was aesthetically lovely, like a cascade.  No wonder he loves this stuff.

 

They did, of course, have a Kids: Don’t Smoke! section with a smoker’s lung in various stages of falling apart.  It was a lot better than the one we got to look at back in school in the heyday of D.A.R.E., when they were showing us slices of emphysema.  

 

AMELIA: Look! I found Uncle Paul’s lungs!

MOM: *cries*

 

Kids: Don’t Smoke.

 

Mom also accused me of being autistic because I talked in my normal voice and made my weird observations and apparently horrified the weirdly quiet people around us.  Well, most of them.

 

BODY: *is balanced on a hurdle as though leaping over it, with one leg extended past it. He is not high enough to clear it*

AMELIA: In about half a second that guy would be wincing pretty bad.

NEARBY 11-YEAR-OLD-BOY: HAHAHAHAHA!

BOY’S DAD: Come away from the wicked woman, Jaden!

 

AMELIA: *observing a body with back snapped open like a trapdoor, who is balanced on three wooden balls and holding up all his internal organs in one lump over his head* So, how exactly does this guy come up with these poses?  Does he tell people when they’re still alive, “You will be almost doing the splits holding up your organs!”?  Or does he wait until they die and let the muse take him?  Or what?

WOMAN NEXT TO AMELIA: *backs away*

 

But my favorite part was the Chamber o’ Fetuses. My favorite book when I was very small was A Child Is Born, because those big photos of the stages of development were so cool.  It was even cooler to see the little things in various stages of turning from a squudge of cells into a human.  Those tiny little hand-paddles were amazing, and those eyespots ... so cool

 

I know y’all may not be neurosurgeons, but I recommend you check this out when it comes to your town anyway.  It’s great to see how your insides work, and it’s one of the few times you get to go check out dead bodies and call it art!

 

It beats what Dad had to do with dead bodies this weekend, anyway. Life is full of these ups and downs.

(You know, they should totally decorate that exhibit for Halloween, too.  How awesome a haunted house would that be?  And how insensitive and plebeian am I for suggesting it?)

 

 

*Not always, weirdly enough, including piles of cash you can swim around in, which is what many people do expect.

 

**For those of you unfamiliar: this crazy German guy plastickizes dead bodies and poses them in ways that show the layers of organs and muscles and whatnot.  He also does that with individual organs and animals like—for some reason—camels.

 

***This was when I described it to him last night.

bloodyrosemccoy: Beast from X-Men at the computer, grinning wickedly (Beastly)
Bison-Ten-Yell Day
Calendar Adjustment Day
Play Days (09/02-09/06)
Ramadan (Islamic)
V-J Day
Birthday - Christa McAuliffe (teacher/astronaut)
Independence Day (Vietnam)
 
Politics with Dad is an interesting experience.
 
Now, as y’all know, The Brain Is A Mysterious Organ, capable of astounding feats of plasticity* and unique to each individual, a great nebulous vessel of consciousness that works in sometimes uncertain ways.
 
However, even though the media’s always telling you this, the brain is consistent enough that one’s behavior can give you a pretty good idea where something has gone wrong.  This works best with white male adults, who for some reason have been studied the most.
 
Hey! Guess which group also seems to be at the forefront of politics!
 
So with Dad, watching the news can easily turn into a fascinating exercise to actually see whose brain is working.  He has a very good explanation of John F. Kennedy’s motor reactions to being shot from a neurological standpoint, and has correctly diagnosed tumors from news reports of People Acting Crazy.  He had Bob Novak pinned for months before it was announced, and has even taken guesses as to the progress, size, and location of the thing.
 
And now he’s on to the presidential candidates.
 
Obama, y’all will not be surprised to hear, seems to be pretty with it. Even before you find out he’s got a Plan and that he’s articulate and seems to have the scheming political savvy of Lex Luthor,** you will notice that he seems to be aware of what is going on around him, and is able to adapt to new situations and quickly think through answers. This is sort of sad, but when compared to his opponent, “Can tell what is happening” starts to become an actual criterion you’ve got to look for, instead of just one you’ve assumed.
 
Because as Dad has scrutinized John McCain, he’s started coming to a rather unnerving conclusion: as far as he can make out John McCain is actually going senile.
 
He’s got evidence and everything. Not remembering even a ballpark estimate for how many houses you have is a bit of a bad sign, for starters.  He’s also seeing instances of apraxia—a bit of a communications disruption in the nerves that make it hard for someone to do shit like, say, putting together care packages for hurricane victims. The temper might also be a clue, since often people who are slipping are somewhat aware when they do slip up, and losing your temper is a very good distraction from that.  Even his VP pick has made us suspicious, though that’s a lot more based on speculation than observation.
 
You hear some interesting reasons for voting—economical reasons, environmental, values, and the dumb ones like attractive or race or sex or age, but neurological, if it shows up at all, is part of one of those. In this family, it gets a lot more attention. I realize we haven’t made a very solid diagnosis, but every reason to vote for someone is based on assumptions anyway (“Will he keep his promise?” “Does he really hold these values?” “Can he tell left from right?”), and I’d say of all the things we might want to look into, this one’s at the top.
 
 
Oh, and as a nod to [livejournal.com profile] karjack , allow me to add that OBAMA WILL LOWER TAXES!  Beat that!
 
 
*Remind me sometime to tell you about the classmate of mine who performed her own version of the Disappearing Pencil Trick!  Dad helped explain her, too, when I complained about how goddamn annoying she was: “Well, that sounds an awful lot like someone with frontal lobe damage.  Has this girl ever had any injuries that you know of?”  FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK. This didn’t actually make her annoy me any less, but it did help me control my reactions around her.
 
**Although not, I hope, the Pure Evil.
bloodyrosemccoy: Beast from X-Men at the computer, grinning wickedly (Beastly)
Library of Congress Day
National Teach Children to Save Day
Birthday - Barbra Streisand (singer, actress)
 
It may have to do with the fact that I started drinking my caffeinated tea right then, but today I perked up in linguistics and gender class right as we got to swear words.
 
Okay, it wasn’t the caffeine. I’m just a big fan of swear words.
 
Now this might seem odd for a girl from the white side of Salt Lake, a city so pasty that baby turtles on coasts hundreds of miles away mistake its light for the moon and move inland, a city where one of the biggest scandals during the Olympics was when Mitt Romney said The H-Word.* Or it might seem perfectly reasonable, in a forbidden fruit sort of way—but that’s not true either, because while Utah itself might cuss like Playhouse Disney, my family is full of old pros at it,** and I do not lack experience.
 
The thing is, I just find every aspect of swearing cool.
 
You can learn a lot about a culture by what it considers Taboo Language—look at the Victorian fears of the word “pants” or “leg,” or some languages’ words for certain relatives, and one I’ve heard of where the world for “left hand” is bad but don’t quote me on that. I love making up swears for my conlangs from this principle—basing curses on certain fun aspects of the societies, such as the arhode’s distaste for getting wet resulting in “go soak yourself” being a lot more vulgar than it is in English, or the sprites’ equivalent of “son of a bitch” meaning something along the lines of “black personality.”***
 
The sound of swear words can be fun, too. They’re often words that get spat out, so they slur if they’re polysyllabic. “Shit” is the most evocative of its literal description for me, but “damn” and “fuck” and their various forms are more fun to say.
 
Profanity is neurologically interesting, as well.  Such interjections are actually stored in a different part of your brain, which is why it’s so easy to access “God dammit sonuvabitch” when you bang your shin.  That’s also an explanation for the more well-known (but, might I add, least common) form of Tourette’s syndrome, when the tics include uncontrolled swearing or repetition of a phrase such as “you know,” and why people with various aphasias can still swear.  (That’s also where you store song lyrics or poems you “know by heart,” and why after fifteen years I can still sing the entirety of “Yakko’s World.”) Once again, This Is Your Brain On Language is awesome.
 
I also like creative swearing, like they do on Firefly, which doesn’t seem like something you store but that you have time to think about. Favorites from that show include (translated from Mandarin), “Holy mother of god and all her wacky nephews!” and “Explosive diarrhea of an elephant!”  It’s nasty, but funny.
 
And, of course, there’s the naughty rebellious feeling you get when you do swear.  Street cred. Acceptable badness.  It’s fun to play with the taboo. Even telling people that swearing is interesting sounds slightly rebellious, and you’re delighted with that.
 
I am, anyway. “Damn,” I seemed to be saying in class, “this shit is fanfuckintastic.”
 
 
*I am not making this Olympic scandal up.
 
**Slam. “God dammit sonuvabitch!”  “Hey, everybody, Dad’s home!”
 
***The actual phrase is “Fulo vetuk!” If you think you know why that’s a joke, then present yourself to Ian McKellen for your prize. If you know why that’s a joke, then there is no hope for you.
bloodyrosemccoy: (A Wizard of Tea)
No Interruptions Day
Saint Thomas of Canterbury Feast Day
Tick Tock Day
Anniversary - YMCA
Birthday - President Andrew Johnson (17th President)
Admission Day (Texas)


Dude! This parrot is smart enough to say “flied.” Flied! Do you know how cool it is that he can understand past tense and even process the patterns applied to them? So he was ultimately wrong on the correct grammatical pronunciation—the point is the pattern. That is Really Cool.
 
Yet another hint that animals* are smarter than certain people think they are.**
 
But parrots—I often wonder what my budgie is thinking when we talk to her. Maybe we should give her more mental stimulation, unless that blue fluffy prismatic tribble Mom put in her cage is enough. 
 
 
*Except quail. Quail are dumbasses.
 
**Yeah, I’m looking at you, Noam Chomsky
bloodyrosemccoy: (Default)
Great American Smokeout
MADDs Tie One On For Saftey Holiday Ribbon Campaign (11/16-12/31)
UN International Day for Tolerance
Admission Day (Oklahoma)
Day of National Rebirth (Estonia)
 
I got to thinking about my brain recently.
 
Whenever I have a weird thought, an idea that seems a bit inexplicable and off-the-wall to me, I will say something like “My brain came up with this crazy idea.” As though it’s a separate entity from me, that my consciousness is somehow independent from the crazy ideas that I’ve been coming up with. And it’s not just me—I know others who have said that, as well.
 
Which can only mean one thing: my conscious mind has a suggestion box set up for my subconscious.
 
It’s an interesting perception of the mind: the conviction that much of it is going on without you being there. And it’s not just me; I’m sure you’ve seen some cartoon where people’s heads are inhabited by a whole mess of little people.* Definitely a metaphor there—this is a common thought, at least in our culture. I think it’d be interesting to see how other people, people outside of my own little world, would view that—if they even think about it.** I’m not even sure of my own perception, though—whether there’s somebody up front driving and a whole bunch of others in the back, or if they rotate, or which part or even how much of me is me.
 
Where do you identify yourself? Your consciousness? The conglomerate of it all? There’s a common definition of soul or mind as separate from the body, but your consciousness separate form the rest of your mind? Which part is you? And what’s the rest of it for?
 
It’s an interesting point to contemplate, but I think I have to dig up more from the back of my head before I form any ideas.
 
 
*The most memorable, for me, being a Disney one with Professor Von Drake. Von Drake has the despicable distinction of being to gender equality what Warner Brothers’ Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs was to racial equality. The two people in the woman’s head were Reason, who was a prissy frigid ugly spinster who was supposed to be driving, and Emotion, a red-headed pink-dressed selfish cavegirl. Their dilemma? What to eat for lunch. Reason favored something light, but then Emotion took over and made the woman bacon and eggs and then she got fat and nobody loved her anymore.
 
(If anyone is interested, the man’s little headpeople were the same, only the caveman had a club. Their dilemma was whether to approach a woman with a stupid pickup line. Finally Emotion clubbed reason over the head and took over, and so the guy got slapped. Which just goes to show that Emotion is for big fat stupid cavepeople and can ony lead to no good.)
 
**With their conscious bit, of course.

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