The Art of Corpsing

Remember I told you that I suffer from HPLD*? I learned yesterday that I am not alone. My disorder may possibly be related to a phenomenon known amongst practitioners of the dramatic arts as 'corpsing'.

Sister pointed me to this blog, where I discovered a documentary on this very topic.

I am embedding it here as a Public Service Announcement to raise awareness of this apparently common and somewhat disabling condition.

Fair Warning: You know the drill; rude and suggestive language, blah, blah, blah. I suggest that HPLD sufferers exercise all due caution as this is a Class One Trigger.

Part I:


Part II:


I made the mistake of watching this at work yesterday afternoon. Risky behavior, I know, but that's part of the disorder: engaging in behavior known to bring on an attack. I got so close a couple of times that I had to stop playback and walk away from my desk.

Thankfully, the support phone didn't ring. That would have been awkward.

* OK, 'suffer' might be a slight overstatement, but the threat of anal leaking and/or asphyxiation are always present and not to be trivialized, I assure you.
 

Witness!

 
Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises.
- Samuel Butler, 19th cent British poet

I think I need to either cross-stitch that on a pillow or tattoo it on my ass. Or backwards on my forehead.
 

Rant: Future Cuss

Fair Warning: Lots of f-bombs afoot. Watch your step.

Dear Science Fiction Writers:

I believe with all my heart that people will be saying 'shit' and 'goddamn' and 'fuck' in the next century, and probably beyond. Why do you feel compelled to invent new cusses to substitute for the profanity we already know and love?

Do me a favor, wouldja? The next time your write a story and you want someone to say 'fuck', please just have them say 'fuck' and not some stupid-ass made up word like 'dumpit' that is absolutely void of emotional impact and just sits there on the page like a cold turd. (Yeah, I'm looking at you, David Brin.) That shit yanks me right out of the story and leaves me feeling like I just missed a mind-blowing orgasm by that much.

(Well, OK, it's not exactly like that, but you get my point. It totally harshes my buzz.)

The only exception to the rule is TV where, for the most part, the characters can't say 'fuck'. But the actors usually can deliver the equivalent with enough emotional intensity to make us believe they just said 'fuck'. Which is almost as satisfying as the real thing.

But please, in a novel, just say 'fuck' when you mean 'fuck'. Or if you're too well-mannered to say 'fuck', a heart-felt 'crap' will do. Pretend you're translating from Russian or something and are simply using the nearest equivalent that your feeble-minded, primitive, 21st-century audience can relate to.

Please don't just make shit up. It really pisses me off.

Love,
Liz

 

I thought it said...

Mis-read sign on the way to work this morning:

Distraction Derby
Saturday 8 pm
Yeah, I think that just about sums it up.
 

Matter of priority

Even a kayak already strapped to the top of the Urban Escape Vehicle wasn't enough to get us out of the garden and onto the water today.

 

How I spent my 4th of July

• Bratwurst, simmered in beer and onions then charred on the grill


• Squishy, white, store-brand buns


• Mustard, pickle relish, and sauerkraut


• Heirloom tomatoes


• Sweet corn and butter


• Beer


• Strawberry shortcake


• Vanilla ice cream

Burp!

A quintessential Summer Feast from my adopted native culture in the Heartland. No matter where you hail from, those are some Very Good Things.
 

Celebrating Independence Day

My new favorite 4th of July tradition is watching Independence Day. Please take 1:11 to enjoy my favorite scene:



I could'a been at a barbecue! Love that.

Best yet (aw, you knew it was coming,) I have a so-tenuous-as-to-be-insignificant connection to this film. Sister went to high school with Vivica A. Fox. Although back in the day, she was known as Angel.

What's not to love?

Happy 4th!
 

Fly Away

I know it's not officially time to Rock the Friday, but I wanted to help you get your mind right for the holiday.

It's for your own good, seriously.


Fly Away,Lenny Kravitz, 5

How's that? Feel better now? See?

Song rocks, but I thought the video got old after about a minute. Or maybe it's just me that's old. I find most of his recent stuff less-than-thrilling but this one remains a favorite.

Wish we were 'flying away' for the long weekend but we're doing that 'staycation' thing. And eating lots of fried food.

But I'll be around, so I'll be posting.
 

Rant: The Big O

Two back-to-back letters to the editor from a recent issue of O Magazine*. I am not making this up.

Letter 1:
I have wasted many a Saturday buying pants that really don't fit. Your shopping advice [in the previous issue] helpfully guided me toward the best style for my shape. But $285? That's my two-week grocery bill for a family of six. Please suggest brands I can buy on a social worker's salary.

Editor's note: There are plenty of affordable pants out there, and we especially love these options: The Limited's [a], Ann Taylor's [b], Express's [c], Banana Republic's [d], and Liz Claiborne's [e].

Letter 2:
Your [recent] issue had the prettiest cover! Can you tell me the name of the magnificent red rose Oprah is holding? I'd love to find it locally so I can put it in my garden.

Editors' note: The flower is a hybrid that Oprah designed and named the Legends Rose in honor of the 25 pioneering women she celebrated in 2005.

There is so much wrong here that I can't even verbalize it. Asking O to recommend something 'affordable' is like asking the president the cost of a gallon of milk. There is simply no possibility of relating to the average American's reality. Not a single pair of those 'affordable' pants were under $50, and most were at least $70.

And how can that second letter possibly be real? Could it possibly be any more self-serving? Oprah is on every single cover -- they're virtually indistinguishable. Girl? Puh-leeze. Just put in a full-page ad for the freakin' rosebush and be done with it.

Oooh yeah, baby! C'mon, do it! You know you want to.
Am I the only one who finds this absolutely repellent? This whole Big-O-centric/elitest-consumptionist/omnimedia-circus thing? Most upsetting is knowing that there are millions of people allowing themselves to be manipulated and seduced into craving that impossibly artificial and pretentious lifestyle, thereby encouraging the entire obscene enterprise by buying into it. Hell, at least Martha teaches you how to make things. I'm smelling something and it ain't no 'Legends Rose'.

Hmmm? What's that? Why do I have a copy of O Magazine?

Uhhh... bathroom material? Yeah, that's it, I only read it for the articles.

* Red emphasis is mine, my comments/edits in [...]
 

Wordle

Want to lose track of your surroundings for hours at a time? Make your own word cloud pix at Wordle! Here's one I generated using the text from 'Open letter to my ovaries':


You can also browse their gallery.

Hours of amusement!