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I have just decided that as opposed to simply mostly liking old lady television, I also and even more so just like television that is for people who like books better.

TV and movies are a part of my daily life now, just like audiobooks; I listen to them negligently while my forebrain focuses on the task at hand every afternoon that I work from home. I have to have my mornings for music or quiet though, or the chitchat in my brain goes from pleasant to overpowering.

I have been giving a decent amount of thought to my viewing selections lately. I think this is probably just the thing to do and since everyone else seems to I do as well; and also I really do think it has some interesting things to say about me psychologically, and I am totally into anything that will talk to me about myself, so.

It is true that I love old lady tv. My only relationship with tv other than lingering in that aisle during thrift or electronic store excursions and picking up just enough of a storyline to tantalize, was watching it when I went to my grandparents’ house. On Saturday morning, the most blissful time of them all, I was allowed to have the tv while my grandparents bustled about their regular weekend morning things, and I reveled in all the usual kid cartoon things. During the week days though while my parents worked, during my preschool years, my grandma kept up on her stories. We watched everything on OPB and Masterpiece Theater and every single soap opera that there was, probably. I have almost no actual memories of these shows, but when I started watching Poirot recently for the first time since I was like, six, I totally had flashbacks. I remember being pleasantly terrified of this one scary guy with a swan topped walking stick, (who totally turned out not to be the bad guy at all, I was shocked), and for some reason for one entire episode (but none of the others) I knew exactly what everyone was going to do or say before they said or did it. So it’s lodged in there somewhere. It’s lodged in there, dictating my current television preferences.

I like stories. It turns out that a lot of my favorite shows actually came from books. And this is not me being all oh my yes, I’m so high class, I only like book television. Most of those books were trash, and most of the shows are trash. But I love them. They satisfy the greedy fable craving. They adhere to the storyline. Every time some tv show starts meandering off the main trail I get impatient. If it has been four or so episodes of pretty much unrelated shenanigans I get pissed off. And if it goes meandering all over the place until it finally winds up in the gutter and does not even give me the only thing I had been waiting for anyway, it is LOST and I will hate it forever.

I like the narrative, I guess. (Not to be confused with the narrated; for the narrated I have a short rope). This is why, other than the odiously many episodes that Jess is not part of, Gilmore Girls is one of the best shows ever. I know that the carefully curated minds of film lovers everywhere have just exploded (bye!) but sadly for them, this is just how I feel. Gilmore Girls has a story and it has tons and tons of lovely words, and throughout its entire span it reeks of a love and reverence for books and reading. I relate. Not to the stupid damn Logan crap, however. Any of it.

I am

givin the devil his due

February 7, 2016

Behold, the costume of the native tribe They Who Spend Too Much of Their Lives Cleaning the Mold Out of the Convertible Seats.

Really, someone tell me. Why is vinegar the answer to everything? I looked up its chemical compound expecting to see simply, 42, but like most of us it is just made out of a neat arrangement of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. Which gives one to wonder, why then aren’t most of us the answer to everything? Like vinegar, always so helpful. I bet Mr Rogers approved of vinegar.

Anyhow, wish me luck with the mold. If Cam Newton is most likely going to win today because he deserves to, then that mold had better go down easy. Although I guess I am pretty well prepared for a difficult day. I have Sun chips.

  
I am

I never had a bedtime. I never had a timeline for waking up in the morning, either.

As a kid I would roll out of bed whenever I wanted, get some breakfast, and then do my schoolwork at the kitchen table or curled into a corner of the couch. I took breaks whenever I wanted, had food whenever I wanted, and sometimes when I got super passionate about one of my subjects my parents would let me just burn through that set of curriculum all at once as fast as I cared to, as long as I still did the scheduled amount of the other subjects. One year I was done with everything but math long before the end of the school year and reveling in imagined months of nothing but sega genesis and fiction; and then my dad brought home the next year’s curriculum. Le sigh. Scholarly zeal was not always its own reward. And yes, I was always behind myself and my grade level in math.

This style of learning really rocked for me. I never had to worry about the needs on the lower end of the pyramid, because the totally freeform education style always allowed me enough sleep, food whenever I was hungry, and exercise when I needed to get up and get the blood flowing. I was able to set my own pace and reach my own goals. There were downsides obviously, like the way math beyond decimals, percents, and fractions just did not exist in my world until I was like twenty seven, and how I completely missed out on all the universal school experiences and a shit ton of pop culture references. And there was the religion-based curriculum, which taught me all the basics like how to parse bible verses and how many parts of the world there were that needed to be reached with the gospel. Also the way that it completely failed to equip me to deal with the usual and customary education establishment. Once I graduated homeschool high school, I had a hell of a time figuring out how to go about higher education. From the very beginning it flummoxed me in every category except the actual academics (saving of course math’s benevolent presence). I remember showing up on the first day, walking toward campus, and thinking suddenly, I have no idea where I’m supposed to be going.

Fortunately, I figured it out. Eventually. I forgot to finish a few classes, I had to take several terms of math twice, and I struggled every single class to actually make myself show up to the crap building and sit in the crap chair in the crap room. Throughout it all I worked. It was hard to make myself keep at it and I often hated its guts.

However, with as grand a flourish as I can make with a sentence, it has been worth it.

paper the first

I have a piece of paper! Only a few more pieces of paper to go!

I am

a hard lovin soul

February 3, 2016

Last night, apropos of an evening conversation, I dreamed about a blue Yaris. It was a beautiful lustrous periwinkle blue and was basically shaped like the love child of the lamborghini diablo and a 90s barbie dream car. It was definitely still a Yaris, I checked its make and model like I always check any cute car; either back and sides or on its belly.

Where did all my HotWheels go?

This is what my dream has made me wonder. I am not surprised at all that my subconscious can just hop in there and help Toyota out with a sleeker, faster model of their best selling sub-compact. But twenty six or so years after the fact I am totally chagrined out of nowhere to find that all of my HotWheels are gone, including my all-time favorites: a wicked little yellow diablo, and a beautiful blue wide angled 70s dodge dart.

Can the auto industry please just start hiring designers who mash together the greatest hits to get incredible new cars, instead of continuing to turn out shoe car after bug car after shoe car? That would be so hot.

Also I need some HotWheels. We should all just file that away for later. I really hope that there is some sort of car show for HotWheels, where old people and children alike gather to goggle with dazzled eyes at the good strong lines and candy apple paint jobs.

I am

that sea

February 1, 2016

January

winter blaze

mushroom cloud

snow

hearts

open 7am

rice rice baby

benchite

defunct

feets

pink

seasons first

taking no shit

I am