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Madly Off in All Directions
29 November 2005
I can't feel my hands...



*dies*

splogged by compass-rose at 2:25 AM EST
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10 October 2005
Pain! I love pain!
Ooooo-kay! Pass me that big hammer! Oo! Ow! That felt good!

I'm crazy, aren't I? O yes.

Never mind. Blame my cousin.

splogged by compass-rose at 7:43 PM EDT
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6 October 2005
"Strives to emulate these traits" - wince
I don't know why I trouble to do these things. I always know the answers...



ColorQuiz.comCompassRose took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!

"Needs to feel identified with someone or something..."


Click here to read the rest of the results.



splogged by compass-rose at 6:56 AM EDT
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26 August 2005
Keep on dancing
Let me preface this with a rant

Let me preface this with a rant. I hate "retro". I don't want to hear the Greatest Hits of my Dubious Youth. I've been there. I've done that. Show me the new stuff. And I mean the really new stuff. Retro. "The eighties" were twenty-five years ago. Minimum, people. They are over. Remember when you were in highschool, and you would eyeroll at some thirtiesh or fortiesh parental person trying to deny their years and groovin' down to the sounds of the seventies? That is you, my friend.

There's an "alternative" radio station here to which I sometimes listen. Despite its flaws, it's still better than the other choices, which mostly cover "Classic Easy Listening from the Eighties, Nineties and Today! Music EVERYONE can enjoy!" Except me, of course.

Anyhow, at any rate. Said "alternative" station has a tagline which runs "The Edge. New. Music." It is invariably - invariably - followed by some fine selection off, perhaps, U2's War album, or maybe something from the prime of R.E.M. Over two decades old. It is not, no matter how much you would like it to be, "new" any more. Influential, perhaps. But over. Shed a tear, put the vinyl away, and play the real new stuff. Please.

Let us begin. Go to musicoutfitters.com and plug in the year of your graduation along with the words "Top 100." Eh bien. Then bold the items you like, and strike out the ones you don't. And tint blue the ones you don't remember, and make comments, because you are me.

Top 100, 1987

1. Walk Like An Egyptian, Bangles
This was the best song of 1987? Oh, all right. Catchy. I do still have it on my MP3 player in the "workout" playlist, so all right.
2. Alone, Heart
I do not remember this song. I vaguely remember Heart. I once auditioned for a Heart tribute band. I was not hot enough for them, and my performance was abysmal, too. They probably still laugh about me.
3. Shake You Down, Gregory Abbott
4. I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me), Whitney Houston
Yuk.
5. Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, Starship
I only vaguely remember this song. But what I remember isn't good.
6. C'est La Vie, Robbie Nevil
This is stupid, but boppable. Not worth a strikethrough, but not greatness, either.
7. Here I Go Again, Whitesnake
Hair metal. Yurgh. One of the worst things about the eighties.
8. The Way It Is, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
Agh! Agh! Agh! Get it out of my head! Blech.
9. Shakedown, Bob Seger
10. Livin' On A Prayer, Bon Jovi
11. La Bamba, Los Lobos
Please. Everyone. Please just forget this song ever happened. Delete it from ALL playlists - particularly those of staff parties and tacky weddings. Why oh why?
12. Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Chung
Beyond stupid, this song was.
13. Don't Dream It's Over, Crowded House
And now this is stuck in my head. Great.
14. Always, Atlantic Starr
15. With Or Without You, U2
It was okay. At the time. I've heard it a couple hundred times too many though. O-Ver. Take your cash and retire, U2. And someone stick a pin in Bono's ego while you're at it.
16. Looking For A New Love, Jody Watley
17. Head To Toe, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
Probably mercifully. I have the feeling I should remember something about Lisa Lisa et al, probably "puke".
18. I Think We're Alone Now, Tiffany
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.
19. Mony Mony, Billy Idol
Mr. Idol had a few acceptable items in his musical resume. This is not one of them.
20. At This Moment, Billy Vera and The Beaters
21. Lady In Red, Chris De Burgh
I hate Chris De Burgh. Hate. Everything about him, his smarmy music and his nasty little hairstyle. Everything. 22. Didn't We Almost Have It All, Whitney Houston
On a first run through the list, I thought I had forgotten this one. Then on a second look it played vaguely in my brain. To my intense distress.
23. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2
Whatever. See above, re U2, over, ego, go away.
24. I Want Your Sex, George Michael
I never "got" Georgie. But I did recently see a photo of him from this era, pointing out his obvious emulation of Princess Di's fashion sense. Heh.
25. Notorious, Duran Duran
One of the less-than-stellar offerings from a more or less throwaway band.
26. Only In My Dreams, Debbie Gibson
27. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life, Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes
Oh, argh. And yuk. And argh.
28. The Next Time I Fall, Peter Cetera and Amy Grant
29. Lean On Me, Club Nouveau
30. Open Your Heart, Madonna
I liked Madonna for thirty seconds when she was all hot and cute and orphanish, rolling lasciviously about the floor "Like a Virgin". By this point, however?
31. Lost In Emotion, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
32. (I Just) Died In Your Arms, Cutting Crew
33. Heart And Soul, T'pau
34. You Keep Me Hangin' On, Kim Wilde
35. Keep Your Hands To Yourself, Georgia Satellites
36. I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me), Aretha Franklin and George Michael
Why not just pour high-fructose cornsyrup right over your turntable and stick the needle in that? Ech.
37. Control, Janet Jackson
38. Somewhere Out There, Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram
39. U Got The Look, Prince
I have never got the love for the artist formerly and once more known as Prince. Musicians seem to like him, and I have no musical talent; perhaps that explains it. Noxious little tweak, I say.
40. Land Of Confusion, Genesis
41. Jacob's Ladder, Huey Lewis and The News
There are a few performers who bring me out in hives of horror at the first twang. Huey is one of them. Blgblgbglbglgblg... Also Elvis Costello, Elton John and Billy Joel. Full-body shudder.
42. Who's That Girl, Madonna
43. You Got It All, Jets
44. Touch Me (I Want Your Body), Samantha Fox
45. I Just Can't Stop Loving You, Michael Jackson and Siedah Garrett
46. Causing A Commotion, Madonna
47. In Too Deep, Genesis
Not that I would like it I expect. Never cared for Genesis, though Phil Collins was worse on his own.
48. Let's Wait Awhile, Janet Jackson
49. Hip To Be Square, Huey Lewis and the News
Blgblgbglbglgblg...
50. Will You Still Love Me?, Chicago
51. Little Lies, Fleetwood Mac
52. Luka, Suzanne Vega
I liked this a lot at the time. I also enjoyed Jane Siberry. Shuddup. I was a black-clad artsy. Shuddup.
53. I Heard A Rumour, Bananarama
54. Don't Mean Nothing, Richard Marx
55. Songbird, Kenny G
56. Carrie, Europe
57. Don't Disturb This Groove, System
I don't remember this, but it sounds bad.
58. La Isla Bonita, Madonna
Horrible, even for mid-period Madonna. Saccharine and uninspired.
59. Bad, Michael Jackson
I adored, however, Weird Al Yankovic's "Fat".
60. Sign 'O' The Times, Prince
61. Change Of Heart, Cyndi Lauper
"She Bop", "Time after Time" and maybe, just for kicks, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." All right, Cyndi, your Novelty Moment is done with. You aren't actually a musician or anything, nor can you sing.
62. Come Go With Me, Expose
63. Can't We Try, Dan Hill
64. To Be A Lover, Billy Idol
65. Mandolin Rain, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
66. Breakout, Swing Out Sister
67. Stand By Me, Ben E. King
68. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight, Genesis
69. Someday, Glass Tiger
70. When Smokey Sings, ABC
"Wheeeen Smokey sings - I hear violins! Wheeen Smokey sings - Hoo-Hoot!" Pflarch.
71. Casanova, Levert
72. Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine
Ew! Ew! Ew!
73. Rock Steady, Whispers
74. Wanted Dead Or Alive, Bon Jovi
75. Big Time, Peter Gabriel
It was okay. I guess. Most of this album I still quite like on very occasional occasions. This isn't the best of it though.
76. The Finer Things, Steve Winwood
77. Let Me Be The One, Expose
78. Is This Love, Survivor
79. Diamonds, Herb Alpert
80. Point Of No Return, Expose
81. Big Love, Fleetwood Mac
82. Midnight Blue, Lou Gramm
83. Something So Strong, Crowded House
84. Heat Of The Night, Bryan Adams
85. Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You, Glenn Medeiros
86. Brilliant Disguise, Bruce Springsteen
I don't remember this particular song, but the ubiquitous "Boss" was a perpetual annoyance to me, him and his frikin working-class jeans.
87. Just To See Her, Smokey Robinson
88. Who Will You Run Too, Heart
89. Respect Yourself, Bruce Willis
90. Cross My Broken Heart, Jets
91. Victory, Kool and The Gang
92. Don't Get Me Wrong, Pretenders
I do not like the Pretenders.
93. Doing It All For My Baby, Huey Lewis and The News
94. Right On Track, Breakfast Club
95. Ballerina Girl, Lionel Richie
96. Meet Me Half Way, Kenny Loggins
97. I've Been In Love Before, Cutting Crew
98. (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right To Party, Beastie Boys
Oh, yeah. Another one that should be long since buried, a throwaway that STILL floats up like a bad turd on radio and dancefloor.
99. Funkytown, Pseudo Echo
There's a rather funny Dykes to Watch Out For cartoon, though, with Lois half-dressed in drag ironing her boy-pants and Sparrow grooving, both singing this, while Ginger, in the throes of her thesis, despairs. "Oh take me dooooown - to Funkytown!"
100. Love You Down, Ready For The World

That's it? Not a very good year, was it? Where's all the good stuff, the dark alternative I jigged to at Club Zinc? Not here, apparently.


splogged by compass-rose at 7:59 AM EDT
Updated: 26 August 2005 10:34 PM EDT
31 July 2005
All right, pull up a bit
How about a slightly less depressing altfriday 5?
1. What gender do you consider yourself? Female. I suppose. But honestly, I think of myself as sort of genderless.

2. Is this the gender you were assigned at birth?
The female part, oh yes.

3. Do you like being your current gender? Why or why not?
I don't like the way most women behave; it annoys me. Girliness and makeup and needing to shave this and look like that -- oh please. Go away.

4. If you could change one thing about how society perceives/constructs your gender, what would it be? (don't go nuts here, I know the response to this could make for several doctoral theses)
Society? If I could change one thing, it would be the femme-to-femme girly police. Are you female? Ever changed in a public changeroom with full-grown pit hair? Ah, then you know what I mean. You'd think I brought a loaded pair of Uzis to the gym and unpacked them by the lockers.

5. Everyone gets their ideas of what it means to be "a man" or "a woman" (or "a boi" or whatever) from somewhere (parents, movies, magazines, books). What was the single biggest influence on your gender identity?
Two things, I think. First, the boxloads of romance novels I consumed, along with everything else, in early childhood when my powers of critical discrimination had not yet even begun to approach my reading skills. Second, the discovery of hardcore feminist theory when I was, I think, about sixteen.

Funny, how nearly everything pivotal in my life can be traced somehow or other to books.

splogged by compass-rose at 12:51 AM EDT
30 July 2005
In keeping with the theme
Unearthing a slightly aged AltFriday Five.

1. How much time do you typically spend alone* each day? Each week?
Most of it, unless you count critters. I work in my own office (gawds know why I merited that); there's a woman who shares it, but she's on the other side of a divider and only in there a couple hours a day. I come out every now and then, chat with people. And at home... well, no one here but us critters, and I rarely go out. Eeh. Scary, that. I probably spend at least eighteen hours of every day with no human contact at all, except weekends.

2. Would you like more or less alone time?
Not sure. Sometimes I go along without thinking about it, used to it. But the truth is, I think I'm lonely... but used to it. I think less would be better for me, but I'd need to break out of my rut, make an effort.

3. What do you typically do during your alone time? (Or, if you don't get any, what would you do?)
Well, you know, everything. Live, eat, sleep, surf, work out...

4. How much time did you typically spend alone as a child? Did you want more or less alone time?
Lots. I had few friends. And again, I theoretically wanted friends, but I was actually afraid of people. They seemed alien to me; they would pretend to like me, then turn on me like feral dogs, apparently for fun. I didn't understand; I still don't understand.

5. How does being alone usually make you feel? Refreshed? Antsy?
Fine. A little bored sometimes.

6. Bonus question! Did you recognize the song lyric quoted in the title of this entry? Yes, but I can't remember who sings it. Men without Hats? It is certainly from my prime, 80s Retro.

Ah, Google. Tiffany? Who the heck is Tiffany? But 1986 sounds about right. Now that I play it round my head, yes, it is a girl's voice, with that very distinctive 80s "swallowed" quality. And covered by Veruca Salt. Interesting.

*alone = all by yourself, with no one else around (not "by yourself in a crowd")

splogged by compass-rose at 3:00 PM EDT
15 July 2005
(Pest) ridden
Orrigh', let's say just for the sake of a story that you are a person living in an oldish house with far too many critters. Suppose on the night in question you'd already stayed up too late, and were now headed for bed, and your evening errands, on this occasion, took you into a particular room of your house that is rarely used. A second bathroom, let us say, which is not at present equipped with running water, as the Tide of Renovation hasn't reached it.

In this room, you find something horrible a cat has done. A while ago. Now, you are lazy, and let me see, you know it wasn't there, hm, not last week, but the middle of the week before you cleaned, fairly thoroughly, a week and a half? not more than two weeks. But forensic evidence suggests that this Horrible Thing might have been deposited at any time ranging from a week and three days to a full thirteen days -- and how DID said cat manage to get it to splatter like that? All down the back of the toilet, if you must know -- again, a reconstruction of the crime indicates that the cat in question was perched upon the tank when sickness overwhelmed it.

So you start to mop up the dreadful thing, with Fantastik and a rag, and as you are getting, as it were, up close and personal with the toilet, it is forcefully brought to your attention that YES, it HAS been a week and a half, or maybe two weeks, since you cleaned, and I know it's hot and you are also of a lazy disposition -- but yuk.

So you pull out the vacuum, and since it's out you might as well vacuum the entire ground floor, and as you do you suck the dog's tennis ball out from deep under the furniture and pick it up -- and find the whole THING simply CRAWLING with LIVE, HORRIBLE CLOTHES MOTH LARVAE. And true, it is no more than an indication of the fecundity of a hot, humid summer, and you know that an old house is always shared, involuntarily, with a variety of fauna -- but need they get right in your face like that? They need not!

Next thing you know, you are on your hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. By two-fifteen in the old A your floors are spotless, every stray bit of fluff has been vacuumed, vacuum bag discarded in the garbage, both bathrooms scrubbed and shiny... and yet you cannot go to sleep, for your entire house seems to you somehow to be crawling with leggy and rather horrid life, which will infest your bed and suck your breath if you sleep.

You are, however, much surprised to know that in this decadent age tennis balls are still made with natural fibres.

splogged by compass-rose at 2:15 AM EDT
15 June 2005
(Figuratively) tied
It occurred to me today that I have recently made great strides towards my stated goal of becoming a crazy cat lady, dying after one of my overloaded bookcases collapses on my head, and being discovered weeks later, after aforementioned cats have already devoured most of my meaty bits.

Seriously. If I fall in the shower, or even better, get murdered by some psychotic drifter, there's no one who'd even notice my absence.

Well, I suppose they would notice at work. I do have a habit of coming in most days. But what would they do? My "emergency contact" is unreachable, somewhere in an Ontario military backwater, and there's nobody here. Unless someone got overzealous, and actually called the police -- which I expect they might, after a few days or maybe a week. By which point, the way the weather's been lately, things would be ugly.

I've often wondered how one really goes about growing and maintaining friends. I've heard the theories -- keep in touch, hang out -- but honestly, how does one do that? How do you call someone with no particular reason, and not feel like you're wasting their time? How do you know if you've overstepped and you ARE wasting their time, and they wish you'd go away?

I always assume the latter as read, and I'd really rather not get told straight out. I don't want to be a pain, one of those boring people one sees out of duty. "I feel sorry for her, I suppose it's only an hour out of my life."

But damn, I'm bored with myself these days.

I'm reading Tony Bourdain right now. I picked up A Cook's Tour at the library, zipped through it, and went back the next day for Kitchen Confidential.

He had me right. there. for a while. Funny, self-deprecating yet full of smartass attitude, generous in his humour -- then I hit the chapter on smoking. He smokes in his kitchens? While cooking?

Ugh.

I've been a serial quitter for much of my life, but I have never smoked over food I was making. Not even in university, when for a while I smoked two or three packs a day and roomed with two other equally nicotine-steeped individuals. Even then I stepped out of the kitchen to smoke, and washed my hands when I got back. Ugh.

Tony, I still think you're funny and crazy and a darn fine raconteur, but I never want to eat your food, or in your restaurant. Sorry.

splogged by compass-rose at 3:51 PM EDT
12 April 2005
Theatrical contrivance
My film rental adventures take me to another eyeroll: Stage Beauty, a froth of a thing starring Billy Crudup (who?) and Claire Danes.

I like me a period flick, and this is one of my favourite periods, but oh! how silly! King Charles II and his spaniels: silly. Richard Griffiths (who plays the spiffy old attorney with the nasty wigs in Sleepy Hollow) plays Sir Charles Sedley, another spiffy individual in nasty wigs (and beauty patches). Crudup plays "the last" of the stage boy-girls, Danes the first.

However... however. The sweet romantic ending? Speaking as one who has the scars: not. Doesn't happen, my loveys. And anyway, the whole movie is silly.

Pretty costumes, though. I recognise the cut of Danes' bodice in at least one scene. I am beginning to realise just how few surviving items there are from certain periods; the more I study the likes of Norah Waugh and Janet Arnold, the more I see their fine drawings of the real thing reproduced more or less wholesale across stage and screen.

I'm not even going to talk about the real barker, the film before, The Return of the Cat. It was made by the same guy who did Spirited Away, and I had high hopes, which were all -- dashed.

splogged by compass-rose at 5:22 PM EDT
5 April 2005
Plot, and plodding
As the Monthly Blog of Compass drags on. Happy birthday to people whose birthday it is! (Someone is bitter because someone will have to salute you if you two meet on a narrow road in uniform.)

I'm reading a lot of books, again. Therefore, it seems appropriate that I post this book meme.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.

I actually have a wide variety of choices right next to me. They're mostly reference, though; somewhat dull. From Debrett's Etiquette and Modern Manners: "Part of the secret of a successful dinner party is that it should run smoothly, with minimal interruption to the flow of conversation." Other than food, I suppose. Once, dinner parties were about conversation; now they are about three days of crazed cooking from the more challenging sections of Gourmet and Bon Appetit, interspersed with runs to small shops with extensive selections of imported comestibles.

Once, it was considered not quite the thing to even mention the food, and now you would probably never be invited back if you didn't. Eh, well.

I got a large armload of things from the library on Saturday, to amuse me through my cold. So far, I have been deeply pleased by Michael Chabon's The Final Solution (quite the most elegant Holmes pastiche I can remember reading; nearly makes up for the torment I suffered experimenting with the execrable and puzzlingly admired works of Ms L. King starring Mary Sue Russell). I'm currently reading Craze, a study of the gin craze in 18th century England -- I'd seen it remaindered, and thought I didn't need yet another work of social history cluttering up the shelves. I -- no, I still don't need another book. But it's very well written and entertaining. Also entertaining: The Pirates, in an Adventure with Scientists. With footnotes.

The other night I rented House of Flying Daggers, and was left stranded by the sudden expiration of the plot, as well as more than a little cranky.

From the press kit: "When a woman is torn between two men, we know that it will end in tragedy." Well, no. When a woman is torn between two assholes, and moreover behaves like a waffling idiot herself, we know that all of them will meet a well-deserved end. And we may even sigh with relief.

Man. I hate "love stories" which are entirely propelled by each protagonist acting like a self-centred cretin.

I lost sympathy with Jin ("the cute one") right at the very beginning, when he tried to rape Our Lovely Heroine. And I lost sympathy with Leo (the... um, other one) shortly before he tried to rape Our Lovely Heroine, when he demonstrated an equal lack of any sort of caring about her existence (other than, of course, as a foil for his own).

And one more thing: when you are a lovely woman martial artist, who has already shown a certain amount of agility and talent, what do you do when some bozo tries to rip your clothes off and rape you?

"Hit him hard and leap away! Ma'am!"

And when you are a lovely woman martial artist who has demonstrated through most of the rest of the movie that you can in fact kick the butts of everyone else in the film, what do you do when a second bozo tries to rip your clothes off and rape you?

"REDUCE HIM TO A MOANING PUDDLE OF EXPLODED CELLS AND BODILY FLUIDS ON THE FOREST FLOOR! MA'AM!"

Right. NOT lie there squeaking a bit while your lovely porcelain skin is exposed for the prurient delight of the viewers. Sheesh. And as for "falling in love" with the first bozo, sheesh.

splogged by compass-rose at 1:14 PM EDT

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