Slut not Ho

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Heheheheheheh. Heh. What? I'm totally getting one for all of my favorite people. Heh.

I can haz keeeeeeeessez?

secret by Hex photo by Ninjapants
lolsecretz

So the above picture is from lolsecretz, which I occasionally check and find kinda hilarious. Uhm, until I read the "legal notice." Oh, hai. Now I'z not so enchanted. Behold:

"By submitting content to Lolsecretz, you grant Lolsecretz a perpetual, royalty-free license to use, reproduce, modify, publish, distribute, and otherwise exercise all copyright and publicity rights with respect to that content at its sole discretion, including storing it on Lolsecretz servers and incorporating it in other works in any media now known or later developed including without limitation published books.

If you do not wish to grant Lolsecretz these rights, it is suggested that you do not submit content to this website. Lolsecretz reserves the right to select, edit and arrange submissions, and to remove information from the Lolsecretz website at any time at its sole discretion."

So, you know... if you'd like to maintain at least some creative control over your cat macro or you'd like others to be able to use, alter, or re-post with your permission (the AUTHOR) then I wouldn't suggest submitting your work to this site as the notice suggests.

*annoyance*

While I'm on the subject of cat macros, Danah Boyd blogged about lol last week. Apparently the bible has been translated into lol-speak. I was not aware of this particular meme. And so the LOL universe grows. (I can haz applez? No? Gawddamz!) I derive no small amount of secret joy when the "big brains" apply their skeeelz to analyzing seemly banal cultural phenomena like LOL. A linguist? Analyzing lol-speak? 0h n035!1!!1

So, let's see what's new and exciting in the Jenn-iverse, shall we? On Tuesday I attended an Experimental Tuesday screening of "I believe that somewhere, there is something worth dying for, and I think it's amazing" while I always enjoy experiments, especially of the cinematic variety (or videographic... uh, is that a word? No. Merde.) I have to say that I spent most of the film alternately being awed by the colors they painted the actors, the linguistic style they chose, and the extreme performance-art physicality of it; I did spend most of the film thinking, "Oh Em Gee, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. What in blue blazes is goin' on up in heya?!?"

There's a lot going on at the Peck Film school these days which I find exciting, titillating even. I regret missing Kimberly Miller's exhibition at Woodland Pattern last night... but... uhm... I was, uh... doin'... somethin'... else. Heh. You guys can ask all you want but I'm not ready to tell. When I'm ready, I'll explain why when asked how I am the consistent answer this week has been "excellent." Certainly one secret to my smile was the purchase of a new pair of shoes on Thursday but really, that's kind of minor comparatively.

I think the reasons I'm hesitant to discuss the source of my delight are threefold. First, there innumerable places on the interwebs that one can go to read all about the romantic adventures (tho, probably more in the mis-adventures vein) of girl x. How many times can one read "OMG, he like totally sux!!" before one yawns, stretches and re-directs their browser? Second, I've not made it to 31 without plenty adventures and one gets rather tired of recounting the above scene with their personal audiences. There's an element of pride in there insofar as one does not necessarily like people to know that their taste/decision-making ability is so terrible that they keep having all these mis-adventures with the suck-ass menfolk. Thus, until such time as boy y has demonstrated a viability where consistency is concerned I try not to open my mouth too far. Tho, this has been more public from the get-go than I am accustomed to and I'm trying not to let that bother me because this particular fascination is by nature more public than I'm accustomed to and I've been working on not caring about that stuff as much anymore anyway. (And it is here that I would like to point out that weirdly, I'm not sure I think... no matter the outcome... that this will turn out to be a "OMG, he like totally sux" sort of situation. I kind of know why I think that but this paragraph's getting a bit on the long side so perhaps I'll save that tidbit for another time.) Thirdly, I don't know exactly what I'm staring down the barrel of atm. There's a certain amount of fear mixed in with the joy, which is what makes it exciting. (But that's the nature of new things, isn't it?) But there's also a Shinkansen-speed, whirlwind-i-ness element that's occasionally making me feel like I've had the rug ripped out from under my feet. Which is a good thing. I'm good at rolling with the punches and putting myself in situations where there is no other choice seems like the best way to get better at it. So, until such time as I don't feel that trifecta of advisable silence is at play, perhaps I'll fill you all in.

Tonight I make the journey to Chicago-land for my friend Mariah's (Mariah is boy, just in case anyone was wondering. An old, dear friend of mine who I simply cannot wait to throw my arms around.) Halloween party. It's a costume party. *raises eyebrows suggestively* And to that end I have absconded with my father's letter jacket and sweater. I'll be donning a pair of skinny jeans and chucks, parting my hair like a boy and possibly stuffing my pants. With socks. Hehehehehe. Hopefully there will be pictures.

With sweet, secret smiles. A fluttery heart, and an over-clocked brain I wish you all a happy Halloween weekend.

In the Ether

photo by hopelessly devoted

I'm up there somewhere today.

Made Up Holidays & Narrow Escapes

photo by quinn.anya

Sweetest Day is bullshit. I just wanna say that right off the bat. A Consumerist conspiracy perpetrated by the Master Florists Association, Hallmark, & Hershey... Godiva and the National Fancy Helium Balloon Association (Filled & Unfilled brethren welcome) were there too. At the table. The diabolical table of "we don't think people spend enough money on our crap... how can we guilt the average American into blowing more cash on proving their love?" table. Of doom.

Apparently this bogus day where frightened-looking men toddle into florist shops, grocery store flower refrigerators, candy aisles, jewelry stores featuring short-term credit applications, and cheesy balloon stands in malls was Saturday. I didn't notice.

I was supposed to get together with a friend of mine that night. I bailed. Now I'm glad I did.

Ladies, have you ever noticed that so often you can be friends with a guy for ages and it seems like he's just such a dear friend and everything is happy and wonderful... right up until your boyfriend throws you over to pursue a law degree and skips town to Europe. (Which is the best place to skip town to, IMNSHO.) Then suddenly you're a walking, talking, cooking, physically appealing side of beef seemingly destined to be claimed for their own. (Do you have flag?) Because of course as Proposer #2, whilst declining my extended company so eloquently implied, I won't be happy until I've found that "special someone." At which time apparently I will begin residing in LaLaLand. Which is right next to Ubangy. And Neverneverland. They share a common border.

It's funny how a day like Sweetest Day or Valentine's Day can take such a hold of fear over men. (And gay couples? Is Phil mad at Steve if Steve forgets to bring home the rainbow carnations Phil lovingly admired in the arts district florist window? Is Tanya mad at Jan if there's no trail of rose petals leading her up to the bedroom?) Are other women/gay men really angry if their "significant other" forgets? I'd be waaaay more pissed if say, one of my entanglements forgot my birthday. (But you all know how I feel about my birthday. Best. Day. EVAR.) It's such crap. If you love someone you show them every day, as much as possible in a million small ways. Flowers and candy and sparkly things -while nice - are really quite irrelevant to the whole "love" thing. But maybe that's just me.

NOW. That being said, some horrible pink bear thing was just delivered to a co-worker of mine from some man in honor of Sweetest Day. And I can't help thinking... I can't remember the last time I got flowers. Truly, I can't. Candy's origins are parental. As for sparkly things... well I'm a farging crow and I scare up that sort of thing for myself. (Heh.) But flowers... odd symbol though they are... here, have something that'll be dead in two days. Fewer if you forget to add their embalming packet. But look! Fleetingly pretty! Just like you! Anyway, I'm kind of jealous. Which is totally stupid. I'm sure it'll be just as fleeting as that silly bear's existence.

Seems Like Such a Small Thing...

...and yet, it could not be more annoying. Like a toothache.

I posit that silk underwear are not all they're cracked up to be. In fact, they're turning out to be rather uncomfortable. Elastic-squished lady-parts is for teh no.

Just in case anyone was wondering.

Ursula K. Le Guin is Kind of an Ass

Last night I attended a session on Intellectual Property Rights at Barcamp Milwaukee, imagine my amusement when I visited BoingBoing and found this story as the lead piece. Misquoting, mis-crediting, and out-of-contexting aside I am more than a little horrified by Ms. Le Guin's reaction to the situation. This open letter is posted on her site, which I read with no small amount of surprise and disdain.

Of course, I might feel differently if I had ever been presented with the same situation but I think as long as I was properly credited I wouldn't really care and would only address the contextual mistakes in my own way. Ms. Le Guin's use of the asshats at the SFWA presents an ethical problem to me. As a writer, I would never make use of an organization which has made such grave mis-steps in their handling of digital copyright.

Don't get me wrong. I love Ursula K. Le Guin. I love the Earthsea series. I do not love her reaction to this situation. I do, in fact, think she's being an asshole. She apparently "remains upset" at Cory Doctrow. Which smacks to me of a cranky old lady looking for "gravy." Maybe she'd chill out if Doctrow sent her a check?

Any Volunteers?

Dude, seriously - for like, the last week or two my shoulders have felt stitched together with barbed wire. I need a backrub so badly I am almost to the point of being willing to pay for it?!?!

In other news, I am now a Gawker commenter. Which may well turn out to be bad for productivity :D *sheepish*

In other, other new I am currently embroiled in a battle of wits with another department at work. Even though I'm wittier I think I'm still losing. (Which may well be the source of the dire need for a backrub.)

And in other, other, other news I can't wait for the MIFF Volunteer Appreciation party @ MOCT on Thursday. The bastids still haven't posted the pics from the festival to their site. Which sucks because I have a bet running that I'm in at least 5.

Finally, any Milwaukee-area Geek readers (Are there any? Hmmm, I wonder...) Should check out barcampmilwaukee2 - looks pretty interesting and like it'll be a boatload o' fun. If you've the time, check it out.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder?

Or forgetful.

Yes, yes I am quoting Disney's Robin Hood. Maid Marion to be exact. The title question is posed by the Mother Hen character. And the line above is Marion's response. Rather fitting right now, I guess.

My sister and I used to be able to watch that movie over and over again laying on the floor in front of the entertainment center (with it's VCR with the remote you had to plug in) me operating the face controls with my toes. Much to my parent's chagrin.

Well, I'm all grown up now. I have my own VCR, which largely collects dust but I definitely don't operate it with my toes. I've learned a lot of hard lessons over the years and some of them have only recently galvanized in my mind.

That left unfulfilled the starved mind does you no favors.

That being a grown up comes down to one very simple concept that my stupid ex-fiance told me years ago, but I didn't listen: Seeing what needs to be done... and doing it.

When given the chance to prove it, you'll generally find that not only are you waaaay smarter than you thought you were but you're even smarter in the eyes of the people who gave you the chance to prove it in the first place.

Simple concepts, all three... but oh, so easily overlooked. So easily ignored. So easily skimmed over out of laziness or fear.

I got the full-time version of the job I harangued over when I started this blog at the end of August. I am be-salaried and be-awesomely-benefitted. I have a metric TON of projects that I'm working on and I've also been invited to join a planning council for the local Young Professionals group.

I had another go-around with the boy from this spring. Which lead to disappointment and a sadness I am still working through. Yet another round with, "but I really liked him and thought that he liked me and then he had to go and ruin it."

But I've rebounded with not one, not two, but 4 new crushes. I won't name names but one works for the film festival, one works for a local arts organization, one is a little too close to home for comfort (like... in my building) and one works on my floor. The beauty of all of them is that they're all just out of reach. All it would take would be a chance meeting with one or any of them so I live deliciously on the edge. Being very careful not to get too close, lest I spoil the illusion that they're the kind of people I might like.

So that's life from the fast lane. Passing you on the left hand side, waving, singing along to the music only I can hear.