Tuesday, February 28, 2006

I sty

Right now I have a sty. I've gotten them every now and again for as long as I can remember so I'm well versed with the cycle of warm compresses to encourage the clogged channel to open. It couldn't be simpler or less painful, but what messes with this simple routine is the fact that I have to take my glasses off to do this (as wearing contacts is discouraged) and actively hold the compress on if I'm sitting up or walking around, rendering me half blind and one handed.

So, as I was laying in bed with my compress last night, with visions of wrapping my noggin in an Ace bandage and warm compress in order to go about my merry way, it struck me: a heated pirate eye patch.
Why hasn't someone done this yet? I'd wear that badboy in a heartbeat. Heck, I'd wear it just for shits'n'giggles. YAAAAARRRRR!!!

I'm not kidding.

Further prove in the unlikely event that you aren't convinced:

My pirate name is:

Mad Jenny Rackham

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

Seriously, though....

Friday, February 24, 2006


Discussion over family meal last night with co-workers

M: Did you get a haircut?
FG: Last week. But I colored it today.
J: Really? It doesn't look any different. No, actually, it's shinier.
FG: Yeah. I'm not exactly pleased about the color though.
M: Why? It looks fine to me.
FG: It's pink. I'm keeping myself calm by callling it magenta.
J & M [jointly]: Oh, it's not pink. Come on!
FG: walks over and stands in well lit kitchen
J & M: both look momentarily stunned
FG: I know, huh?
J & M [graciously attempting to downplay the situation]: No, hey, it's not that bad. You can always recolor it right? That's just in the bright light.
FG: I've been blessing the low lighting on the patio all night long, especially with all the kidlets we had in tonight. I would have crawled under a table if I'd heard, "Mommy, why is that lady's hair pink?"
R [looking at me perplexed from across the room, in a thick Spanish accent]: Wow. Frisbee. Did jhou know dat jhour hair, eet ees peenk?

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Shaking things up

This last week I moved back to the lappy as a music source after a couple months of running through playlists on my desktop. I did a bit of rooting about and came across a bunch of music I hadn't yet listened to and decided to begin at the A's and work my way through. The result has an unusual focus on two bands: Air and...Aqualung.

Air, I can understand as they're groovy and breezy and nonsensically sweet, just this side of coy and silly, but never too earnest. Did I mention groovy? Aqualung, on the other hand.... Hopelessly tragic and romantic and emo to the core and the newest purveyor of the instant cliche. Aqualung reinvents 'earnest'. But, the thing is I actually like it. Scratch that: I really like it. Perhaps it's the lack of apology in his delivery: half the time he seems nearly as dumbfounded telling his stories as I feel as I hitting repeat to listen yet again. Perhaps it's that the guy writes lyrics in a manner that I can only describe as modern standards, so maybe I just have the Berlin/Gershwin/et al set to blame for creating a niche in my musical psyche for this kind ridiculousness. But whatever it is, I think I may finally understand what it's like to have an insatiable sweet tooth.

You know, if only ears had teeth.

In other news, after weeks of debating what my new hair color would be, I woke up this morning and decided to go red. Deep auburn actually. Judging, however, from the color of the formula as it has developed, I fear a color closer to Marge Simpson's.

My shift starts at 7pm tonight. God help us all.

Update: My fears of the new color resembling Marge Simpson have proven to be utterly unfounded as the rinsed and dried color is decidedly pi-, uh, magenta.

As if an undying love of safety orange wasn't enough to appease the fickle and demanding gods of Colors You Can Hear From Distances Greater Than or Equal to One Mile. Magenta. I'm not supposed to wash it for at least 48 hours, but I'm not certain I can go through the whole weekend with magenta hair. Almost as a consolation, though, it's even softer than usual, which is almost impossible and means I now distractedly pet my own head like it's covered in a Chia wig. It's shiny, too, like a sheet of ice. Magenta ice, of course. Thank goodness for mood lighting at work.

Friday, February 17, 2006

More advice for the drunk and/or socially inept:

If you would prefer that I not mock you mercilessly, endlessly even, do not sit in my section in the middle of a busy dinner shift and the pound the table while booming, "And that's when I said 'IT'S TIME FOR A BLOWJOB!!'"

Wednesday, February 15, 2006


First, it was the use of 'delightful' without irony. Last night, it was 'fabulous'. And not just fabulous, but faaaabulous.




Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Same as it ever was...

While going through various boxes in various locations in my closets and trunks, it has come to my attention that I habitually purchase very nice candles and then hide them from myself.

I used to think that I was a Border Collie in a previous life, but apparently I was a squirrel. An amnesiatic, pyromaniacal squirrel.

I wrote that almost two years ago when I was packing things up for The Big Move South. Yesterday, in my epic and ongoing effort to get my room to resemble something other than either a triage center or a construction site, I went poking around again in trunks and boxes.

It could be said that I'm nothing if not consistent.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

"failure notice"

From: MAILER-DAEMON@yahoo.com
Sent: Sunday, February 12, 2006 10:52:50
Subject: failure notice

Hi. This is the qmail-send program at yahoo-dot-com.
I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following addresses.
This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.

Am I the only person who thinks that these 'failure notices' read like incredibly bad break up letters?

Saturday, February 11, 2006

"I wish I had 10 Terry Tates on Team Felcher"

Do I enjoy what I do? Hell yeah.

And just to keep the record straight, this is an old video. You may have seen it. It has been posted elsewhere. By other people. A number of times. You may be that person or one of any number of those individuals. However, I am posting it here for the first time. 'Nuff said.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Hi, MetaChatters!


Nice to see you guys poking your heads in. Feel free to leave a comment and say 'howdo'! Love comments, just love 'em to bits.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Algebra & bubblegum: a lesson I've yet to master

[Every now and again I have to sit me down and give myself a good talking to. This morning was one of those times.]

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Baz Luhrmann

Less in the context of the blindsiding troubles, but in the "troubles" that will niggle in the wee hours. That take the shine off an otherwise great day.
That put that split second of hesitation in the confident stride or, worse, drain precious mental and emotional energy. That work the edges of concentration with the unsettling sense that something...oh yeah, that thing is wrong. [backpedal, backpedal, backpedal, retreat]

And how, more often than not, the monster at the end of the book is none other than ourselves, expertly armed with an overactive imagination and an impressive set of knee jerk reactions.

Wonderfully, the next line in that song is:

Do one thing everyday that scares you

How 'bout giving that monster with the overactive imagination something real, something full of potential to sink its teeth into instead of a quick fix junk food for the brain worst case scenario? How 'bout side stepping self sabotage and instead turning that gleam of possibility toward what you really want? How 'bout honestly going for it? Even better, how 'bout daring yourself you really do it?

If your imagination is going to run wild (and I know mine will; she's got a mind all her own, I'll tell you what), why not let it run wild on the possibilities that make your heart sing and your insides tremble, or, at the very least, leave you not a little breathless with anticipation?

Now. How much does that scare you?

But how worthwhile could it be?

Sunday, February 05, 2006

"Steelers Win Fifth Super Bowl Title"




I probably shouldn't be as excited as I am, but hometown pride dies hard.

DAAAYUUM, indeed.

Yinz guys know how to make a Steeltown girl glow. (No rioting or looting, please; Franco would not approve.)

Friday, February 03, 2006

The knee

in all of its superior healing magnificence, now itches.*

Let me assure you that there are few faster ways to bridge the distance between deathless slumber and psychotically hyper awake than to reach down and scratch this baby in one's sleep.

For about 30 seconds at 5:30 am this morning, I gravely considered beating the ever loving shit out of myself.

When I say itch, I don't mean in that, "oh I'll just scratch around it" sort of way. No. It itches in that "given the opportunity, I just might chew my own leg off because suddenly I understand the sheer brilliance of those dog collars that really just look like upside down lamp shades" way. Yeah. THAT way.

And, no, it's not pretty. Not pretty at all.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

One good turn deserves another

A very good friend of mine is having a bit of a rough week. In November and December, when I hit a few rough spots, he generously administered his personal brand of good will and made those periods immeasurably lighter. I don't have the means to return the favor in exactly the same manner, but I can offer a few good laughs to help take the edge off.

So, Andy, this is for you.

And to anyone who likes what they see at that site, I heartily endorse dropping a ducat or two in their pot. The world needs more wild, absurdists in active circulation.

Bunnies, zees ees vhere ve make zee dinner plans

Because it's easier for me to track things here.

From the original post:

I'm ramping up to host another potluck/byob gathering, but I need to know what dates will work best for most people.

As Sundays are my only guaranteed day off, I'm currently looking at February 12th, 19th or 26th. If you have specific questions, I can be reached through gmail by the name frisbee.girl.

It'll be much like the Orphan dinners were: come and go as you please, bring your bad self and something - anything, store bought or homemade - to add to the table. Sit back and enjoy the company. Also, there's a covered side porch area for smoking.

So, those are the general points. Give me some feedback on a date and I'll get the finer details in order.

Hope to see you guys soon!

[Also, play nice or your ass gets drop kicked to the penalty box. Whiners, as well, consider yourselves forewarned.]

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

And the trend continues....

Chez Fris is host to an afternoon/evening of wine and cheese pairing with work folk. This Sunday. It wasn't intended to be on Super Bowl Sunday, but that was the collective decision. (And this from a group of men, no less! On the other hand, their girlfriends should be quite pleased.)

I'm very much looking forward to it. We have a fantastic group at work. Talented individuals with incredible backgrounds in food, wine and culture and nothing but a desire to share the wealth, so to speak. Additionally, as we conclude nearly every day that we work together by sitting down and breaking bread, it feels like a bit of a priviledge to have everyone in my home to do the same.

Plus: Wine! And Cheeeeese!! Hell, even if was just me with a hunk of Mt Tam, prosciutto from Lucca, loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, the day would be glorious. So, odds are high that the day will be a success.

My only hope is that no one makes me shoot wine out my nose.