October 24, 2005

Beekeeper Redux

So I've been in the process of ripping my CD collection to the hard drive in the new Dell--at least all of my CD collection that I still want to listen to. [Def Leppard and Samantha Fox, for example, will most likely not make the jump. Trans Siberian Orchestra is actually on the list of potential drink coasters.] I now have 83 hours of music on my computer, and if Windows Media Player wouldn't play the same ten goddamn songs over and over again, I could go away for 3 days, come back, and it still wouldn't have repeated itself.

One of the first albums I ripped was Tori Amos's The Beekeeper, which, you'll recall, I cruelly panned a while back because of its stifling excess of estrogen and pedestrian subject matter. After listening to it, or parts of it, several more times, it's grown on me. Also, getting another functioning copy of Pele [with the Tornado Mix, no less] has helped with my Tori withdrawal, which was probably making me unnecessarily harsh.

Bottom line: It's not bad, most of it. "Sweet the Sting" still doesn't pass the smell test. We do not need another song about a mysterious guy coming in with his hat cocked; Carly Simon already covered that, and she did it better. Also, there seems to be a misconception that you can make a boring slow-tempo song more interesting by adding more instruments. You can't. Everybody stop trying, please. [Yes, Phil Collins and Sting, I mean you.] Other than that, it passes; it ranges from good ear candy to actual good music. "Hoochie Woman," which I didn't like at first, really grew on me and is now one of my faves. "Martha's Foolish Ginger" is a sweet song which, sadly, sorta falls apart in the hook, at least for me. I just can't listen to one more person singing about harbour lights, especially when the lines don't flow decently. [Also, how can harbour lights be half a mile inland? Shouldn't a harbour be on a shore? Maybe that's what really bugs me about it...]

I've done that too, in lyrics or poetry, where I really wanted to shoehorn an idea in, but I couldn't get a good alliteration or assonance or melody or ANY other kind of device going that would make it fit, lyrically, with the surrounding lines. I'd leave it and hope nobody would notice, but then I'd come back later and it would be glaringly obvious that it didn't fit. I have a whole book full of broken songs that have exactly that problem and that need to be either taken apart and the working parts used elsewhere, or just scrapped.

She says she listens to her fans and tries to incorporate things that they like into her songs. I wonder how many other people are disappointed at her turn toward more literal lyrics and more commonplace subject matter, and away from her practice of choosing words for [I'm assuming] their sound value and their symbolic meanings. At the same time, I wonder if she's been doing that kind of song for so long that she's tired of it and wants to try something more conventional for a while.

We'll see.

ick...I just turned the furnace on for the first time this winter, and it's going to smell like roasted dust in here for the next week or so while it burns itself out. Ew.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:20 AM

October 23, 2005

In-text citation aneurysm

I've been having trouble finding out how to cite a CD-ROM in APA format, so I looked it up online and found something that made me burst a blood vessel. From apastyle.org's FAQ page on the APA format [underlines mine]:

Q: Why is APA style needed?

A: An author writing for a publication must follow the rules established by the publisher to avoid inconsistencies among journal articles or book chapters.

For example, without rules of style, three different manuscripts might use sub-test, subtest, and Subtest in one issue of a journal or book. Although the meaning of the word is the same (in this case, subtest is APA style), such variations in style may distract or confuse the reader.

The need for a consistent style becomes more apparent when complex material is presented, such as tables or statistics.

So basically they want a uniform format to prevent variant spellings and whatnot from confusing people.

To this I must say:


I'm going to go take some drugs now, finish my homework, and hope the neighbours didn't get alarmed enough at the sound of my shrieking to call the cops. I will take comfort in the fact that as painful as it is to write in APA format, it's even more painful to read it because of the parenthetical citations in every other sentence, and that the teacher has to read two dozen of these horrible eye-bending things every week while I only have to read mine.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 01:08 PM

October 18, 2005

A Vikings Primer

See the nice men. See the men run. Run run run. See the men practice. Practice practice practice.

Now the regular season starts. See the men suck. Suck suck suck. Could you believe eleven men could suck so much? I sure couldn't [with the exception of certain videos] until this season!

Now here come the boats. The men are going to get on the boats. See the men fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why is that man holding a foot-long rubber thing that looks like a big peepee and offering money to a woman? Can you guess? Why, here's Mr. Policeman! Has he come to join the party? No, he's here to arrest people! Arrest arrest arrest.

See the nice men sharing the football with the other team. Aren't they nice? I wonder why the other team isn't sharing the football with them.

It says here that the other team has a man with two sacks. Gosh, that sounds uncomfortable! Maybe those nice Vikings would win once in a while if some of their players had two sacks. Or even one.

Now it's time for cookies and naps. This is also known as Vikings practice.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 09:05 AM

October 16, 2005

just for general reference

To whoever invented the APA and MLA in-text citation formats for research papers: I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns and I hope you die a slow, painful death from an embarrassing genital infection. May your socks always fall down, and may your shorts always work their way into your asscrack no matter how you tug and arrange them.

Just needed to announce that.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 05:34 PM

Bride of Frankincense

I finally found something that can act as a perfume without smelling flowery or making me sicker than shit:

Frankincense oil.

For some reason, burning actual frankincense resin doesn't affect my sinuses as much as burning stick incense, so I figured I'd pick up some of the essential oil and see what potential it had for aromatherapy purposes. It's cut with grapeseed oil, which is fine, because a bottle of 100% pure would be $25 or more, depending on the store; and the oil would probably burn your skin [this is the case with many pure essential oils]. Too, the store didn't carry the pure, so if I wanted it, I'd have to have her order it for me--which she would, because she's a wonderful gal.

It smells woody and exotic and good. Mmmmmm.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 04:02 AM

October 15, 2005

The best part of waking up...

...is Folgers all over your coffeemaker and microwave.

They say you learn something new every day, and it's true. Today I learned why you should always remember to put the pot back on the burner after pouring the water into the top of the coffeemaker.

In spite of being flooded with coffee and grounds, the coffeemaker still works. Long live Mr. Coffee. [The microwave still works, too, but not because it's a Kenmore; it's because the paper towel under the coffeemaker prevented any of the coffee from leaking into the top vents.]

I did not, however, learn where my Tarot deck is. I also apparently didn't learn not to fall asleep with a candle burning. I'll have to lose everything in a fire before that one really sinks in, I think.

And I failed the test-out for my microcomputers class by three points. Not knowing MS Access was what killed me. All it means is that instead of getting credit for the class without having to pay for it, I'll actually have to take it. While I was pissed at myself for this [and left a trail of blue air all the way home], I was nevertheless encouraged by the fact that the dean's assistant, who is also a computer teacher, told me that she's been teaching Word for years and still learns new things. So the course shouldn't be a complete loss. With any luck I'll come out of it a total expert on MS Office and dazzle everybody [whoever "everybody" is] with my l33t 3xc31 and W0rd sk1llz. I'll even learn to use that bug-ridden, STD-prone meth whore known as Outlook Express, in case I ever have the calamitous misfortune of being forced to use it as my default e-mail application. If I ever work someplace where my job actually requires computer access, I will pWn. Or some shit like that.

And my hair is still falling out. I'm starting to wonder if I have a thyroid problem. Either that or I have a human suckage problem. I wonder if there's a supplement you can take that causes other people not to suck and makes them go away. Actually, I think there is, but it's called heroin and it kills you. It probably makes your hair fall out too.

And I am eating brown rice with cheese, taco sauce and chili powder [I can almost hear my poor chair weeping at the mention of all that fiber and lactose], and contemplating going back to bed. I have shopping, library stuff, online class stuff, cooking, and laundry to cram into my Saturday, and I get the feeling I'm going to have to stay up well into the afternoon.

Also, sometimes when your day starts out like this, it's good just to go back to bed and start all over.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 03:49 AM

October 12, 2005


According to the entry counter thingy, this is entry #400. And I have a lot to cover, and not a lot of time, so I'll get right to it.

I. On Minnesota Vikings Jokes.

Written by yours truly:

Q: What has twenty-two legs and no balls?

A: The Vikes.

Q: What's purple, weighs 3000 lbs. and sleeps during football games?

A: The Vikes.

Q: Why did the Vikings make a public spectacle of themselves by having a big goddamn orgy on a boat?

A: They wanted to prove they could score.

II. On Pet Ghosts.

No, you didn't misread that.

Brothers fined for keeping 'pet ghost'

So do you have to walk a pet ghost, or are they litter-trained? Do they howl at the moon? What do you feed them? Do you have to Scotch-Gard the furniture to keep the ectoplasm from staining it? And how in the hell would you have them spayed???

If it turns out they bought it from somebody named Egon or Ray, I'm going to piss myself laughing.

[Thanks to RoisinDubh for the link.]

III. On Grades.

I got A's. Next.

IV. On The Best Goddamn Pancakes Ever.

I adapted this recipe from a buckwheat cake recipe in a Pennsylvania Dutch cookbook. Here's my version:

1 tsp. baking soda
2 cups milk
1-2 T. molasses
1 tsp. salt
2 c. whole wheat flour
2 eggs

The original recipe called for buckwheat flour, buttermilk and 1 egg. This recipe will not form as many bubbles as regular pancake batter, so don't wait for the bubbles to cover the top before flipping it over. They take a long time to get done and come out very thick. They're fantastic with real maple syrup. I didn't have any meat with mine, but I'm betting they'd be perfect with some good sausage links or some fried ham.

Okay, I have to stop now.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:53 AM

October 08, 2005


This made me laugh like a hyena on crack.


DCS, you kick ass.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 05:04 AM

October 05, 2005

Tarotmania, Torimania, and Track[albumversion]omania

I'm not sure why, but I've developed a mild obsession with finding my old Mythic Tarot, even though I have a new one--probably to reassure myself that I couldn't possibly be stupid or reckless enough to lose permanently something as important as one of my decks. I'm damn near at the point where I'm ready to start searching my car.

One good thing that's come out of this is that I've found a hell of a lot of stuff to throw away.

I'm also feeling unwell, both physically and mentally, which is why I'm blogging during work hours; I called in sick and am at home.

I'm also about 100 pages behind in my reading for school. I have another 3 chapters to read, and two forum posts to post, by tomorrow evening. So I've been curled up in bed with my stuffed skunkie and reading about criminals and appeals courts and recidivism rates and stuff.

I also discovered three more Tori Amos CD's that somebody made for me, that have the B-sides off of several of her older singles and what sounds like an EP or something. And the Tornado Mix of "Talula" STILL ISN'T ON THERE. Grrr. However, if I can't find anybody who has that mix, I'll just buy the maxi single that has it from Amazon. Then I'll have to get a CD [or CD-quality MP3's] of the rest of Pele and burn my own copy. The only other alternative would be to search high and low for another factory copy of Pele that has the Tornado Mix. Apparently I picked up one of the few copies of that edition ever made, because I've never seen it again. Until then, though, at least I can have the single, that song, and the whole album as I remember it before it was destroyed.

I ended up doing something vaguely similar with Modern English's After the Snow; the CD edition I bought of it had different versions of several of the songs. Luckily, the versions that appeared on the vinyl were stuck on the end of the CD, so I burned a copy that just had the tracks from the vinyl in the order they appeared. It simply wouldn't have been the same record otherwise.

I'm still royally pissed that you can't get ZZ Top's Eliminator with the same version of "Legs" that was on my cassette. It's like at some point, everybody said, "I know, let's just gather all the songs where there's an album version and a radio version, and throw all the album versions in a big goddamn dumpster and only put radio versions on reissues from now on." Whoever out there is deciding to do that, you are a bunch of evil clownfuckers. If there are two versions, put them both on the CD. You're putting a reissue of a 40-minute album onto a 70-minute disc; it's not like there isn't room. Then let people decide what they want to hear, and if they don't like both versions, they can bloody well take a ten-cent blank CD and make their own version of the album. Or, for a no-cost solution, they can use the >| button on their remote.

Anyway, I didn't mean to start rambling about that, but there it is. Needed to be said. And with that, I'll go back to reading textbooks, writing forum posts and hunting maniacally for something that's probably lost forever. I will leave you with these words: Anchorage; parmesan; sarsen.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

P.S. Dude, when you get back from the Continent, I'll have those tracks waiting for you, including the stuff from the singles. If I don't, make sure you yell at me. I haven't listened to all of it, but it sounds like there's some good shit on there. I'd have told you in e-mail but I don't know if you're getting my e-mails...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 03:15 AM

October 02, 2005

The time has come, the Walrus said...

...to talk of many things.

I. All My Exes Don't Live In Texas, But They Bloody Well Should.

Especially the psychotic ones. Yes, I'm aware that sometimes schizophrenics improve over time, but the chances aren't good. [There's a thing called the rule of thirds; it's based on observation of schizophrenics and states that 1/3 of them improve, 1/3 stay the same and 1/3 get worse.] And it's also possible that he's on a medication now that controls his hallucinations and delusions without a lot of nasty side effects. I doubt they'd have let him out of the hospital if he weren't on something that worked fairly well. However, there is no medication for being an attention-greedy, fake-intellectual, Jello-brained pothead, which is what he is in addition to being insane. [I wonder if it's ever occurred to him that his meds would work better if he didn't smoke dope and drink booze. Moderate pot use isn't excessively harmful to most people's nervous systems, but it's very hard on schizophrenics and makes their symptoms worse. But I digress.] For this reason, I really don't ever want to talk to him again, even if his symptoms have improved, because once I saw through his fake intellectual, fake culture schtick, I found out I really didn't like him as a person. He has a mind like warm cream cheese and a personality like a bowl of plain rice covered with a bad photocopy of a picture of caviar and beef Wellington.

So that's why I might start doing my shopping elsewhere, or at least stick to doing it early in the morning when nobody's around. See, the town where I usually go to do my shopping is where his folks live. Last I'd heard, he was in the hospital, presumably for good. Well, they must have let him out for some reason, because I've seen him twice. The second time was Saturday, when my ma and I were in a dollar store poking around.

There's something about your first fuck that sticks with you. I'd recognise him anywhere. I know how he stands, how he carries himself, how he's built, everything. I know how he holds a cigarette in his mouth. This was him. He didn't see me, I don't think. I've always been afraid that he'd recognise me too, even though I've lost a few dozen pounds, sprouted increased boobage from the Depo, gotten more muscles and better posture, and have much longer, different-coloured hair. It was a somewhat slim chance, but I didn't want to take it; if he was that unmistakable to me, I might be at least somewhat familiar to him. In any case, I didn't want to be milling around the Halloween decorations and the discount shampoos waiting to bump into him, so I let my mom know that there was somebody there I knew that I didn't want to talk to and that I would be in the mall. Then I beat cheeks out of there and didn't come back to look for her until I'd been to the other end of the mall and back. We caught up with each other, shopped a little more and then left.

No, I don't think I need to do a lot of shopping there anymore, except maybe groceries and herbs.

II. Goddamn, I Hate Acid Reflux.

It's my fault, too. I should know better than to drink that much soda.

III. I Also Hate Motorcycles And Large Pickup Trucks.

I've already explained why in an earlier post, but in case you're too lazy to search for it [I know I am], the short version is that they make too much noise with too little justification. And no, proving your virility to stupid people is not sufficient justification. The trucks also suck because they're so fucking huge that you have to be on a giraffe to see over them. And 99% of the dicksnackers who own them never haul anything bigger than groceries in them anyway.

IV. Sometimes Shit Is Just Weird.

Occasionally something happens that's just a tad too big of a coincidence for me to comfortably label it a coincidence. When it involves something like a Tarot deck, it adds kind of a spooky element that makes me wonder even more.

A year or three ago [I don't remember exactly when], I bought a copy of the Mythic Tarot, which is a lovely deck that comes with a book and a reading cloth. It's a nicer setup than what you typically get with the decks from US Games; the accompanying book is paperbound with an actual spine instead of just folded and stapled, and it's thick and full of information. The art on the cards isn't Rembrandt or anything, but it's not bad, and it does a good job of evoking the cards' meanings. Since this deck had the fewest naked people in it, I chose this to take with me last Samhain as part of my fortuneteller Halloween costume. I remember taking it with me to my mom's house and using it a bit [though not for the trick-or-treaters] and then wrapping it back up again. I'm fairly sure I brought it home, and I think I saw it once in my apartment soon after Samhain. After that it vanished, and I've been looking for it ever since. I've torn up the apartment repeatedly for the better part of a year looking for that dang deck.

Friday I went shopping, and I stopped at the occult/new age shop where I'd gotten my pentagram and my Goddess Tarot. Last time I'd been there, she'd been out of Rider-Waite decks, and I wanted one; she said they were on order and would be there in a couple weeks. So I stopped back on Friday and picked up a pocket-size Rider-Waite deck [the cards are the size of playing cards] and some cursebreaker oil; and I mentioned to the lady, who if I'm not mistaken is psychic, that I was missing my Mythic deck. She said to me, "It wants you to look for it." I said that she was probably right, and bought my stuff and left.

On the drive home, I wondered if she was shitting me or if there was something to it. As goofy as it sounded, it actually made sense. Knowing how my decks behave [they're perverse like me], it wouldn't surprise me one bit if the damn thing was doing exactly what she said. If it wanted me to look for it, though, it must be because the search itself was important for some reason. It occurred to me that I might not actually find the deck. After all, she didn't say "It wants you to find it." If I didn't find it, or even if I did, there had to be some other purpose behind the search.

And indeed there was. I didn't find the deck, the cloth or the book, but I found my gold nightgown that was missing [under the bed in a Sterilite tub], old artwork I'd done, art supplies, and a whole bunch of other stuff I'd forgotten I had.

Saturday, after my mom and I got back from shopping again, we passed a yard sale. We had originally planned to go to one of the fall citywide yard sales but decided not to because we really didn't have any room for more crap. We'd agreed, though, that if we just happened to pass a yard sale, we'd stop and poke around. So I decided to drive back into town using a route I occasionally take, and as I turned in, we spotted the sale and stopped.

So what did I find? A brand fucking new Mythic Tarot, never out of the box. The cards were still shrinkwrapped, the book still crisp, the cloth still folded. It was the damnedest thing I've seen in ages. This is not a town in which people hold with things like Tarot cards. It's just not done. Why this lady had one, I have no idea; Mom speculated that she goes to other people's yard sales and buys stuff to resell at an increased but still reasonable price. I saw some stuff, such as board games, that looked like Christmas presents that had never been opened. But why she would buy a Tarot deck to resell in a tiny Christian town is a mystery. More mysterious would be why she would buy one for herself, or receive one as a gift, and never so much as unwrap the cards to look at them.

I'm glad to have the new one, but what worries me is that somehow finding the new one gives me the distinct feeling that I'll never see the old one again. If I do find it, I'll give the new one away. I know a couple people that could probably use one.

V. The Shit List Redux.

Since I'm in a better mood, and since I'm aware that many people are very busy this weekend, I have moved the folks who are not answering my e-mails from the shit list to the crap list. If I don't hear from you in a couple days, you will be back on the shit list. If I do hear from you, you will be upgraded to the skid mark list, and, if I like your reply, from there to the clean undies list.

Christ, I had no idea keeping a shit list could get so complicated. This shit is giving me a headache.

VI. Of Shoes And Ships And Sealing Wax.

Ha. You thought I wouldn't remember the rest of that verse, didja? Just to be perverse, I'm gonna talk about that crap now.

Shoes are nice, but sandals are better when it's not cold out. Also, cats seem to have a thing for sandals. They treat them like catnip. I took mine off at my folks' house yesterday and the cat was sniffing them and rolling around in ecstasy like Madonna doing "Like A Virgin" at the VMA's. I don't know what it is about foot funk that drives cats nuts, but it doesn't do the same for me. I'm not sure if I should be grateful or disappointed.

Ships are pretty cool as long as nobody makes an over-hyped three-hour leviathan of a movie about them sinking. Then they suck. Also, ships carry pirates, so they can't be all bad.

I haven't had much occasion to use sealing wax, since licking my envelopes generally works just fine. In any case, I wouldn't trust the postal service to preserve the seal, the way they abuse the mail. Maybe I'd use it if I were going to hand-deliver something. I don't have a seal, so I'd have to use something else to mush down the wax. I suppose I could just use my thumb or the bottom of my coffee cup.

VII. Of Cabbages And Kings.

Cabbage is pretty versatile; you can make coleslaw out of it, or soup, or, uh...um. Okay, you can make coleslaw and soup. And sauerkraut. Hm. Let's move on.

Kings are a damn pain in the ass most of the time. You can't move them anywhere unless you have an empty space, and they're plain useless unless you have some queens to put on them. The only time I like kings is when I'm playing a game where you can put kings on aces. They're also useful in cribbage sometimes, especially if you have a five or a queen and a jack.

VIII. And Why The Sea Is Boiling Hot, And Whether Pigs Have Wings.

Yeah, but the sea isn't boiling hot. Yet. Give us another decade or two, and yank the teeth out of the remaining EPA regulations, and we'll have 'er there.

And pigs typically don't have wings. [Buffalo do, though.] If you're seeing winged pigs and it's not a screensaver, put the pipe down and go sleep it off.

I'm going to go to bed now.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:18 PM


I've sent out a lot of e-mail lately, and apparently either everybody fucking died or people just don't check anymore. If I have sent you an e-mail asking a question, and you haven't replied, you are now officially on my shit list. This includes you, brother dear.

Have a nice day.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 04:07 PM