Sunday, March 31, 2013


Easter is a weird kind of day for me. On the one hand, it's just a random Sunday. Seriously. Ostara, my Spring holiday, has come and gone; it's not today. Unlike Christmas, I have no lingering, warm memories of it, or any secular ties to it. In fact, one of my most embarrassing nights out ever took place on Easter (*waves to the person who was with me, and still blushes*), so really, that's not a good memory. All in all, it's ... a day. On the other hand, many of my friends are Christian, and today is really, really important to them. Any solid theologian will tell you Easter is far more religiously important than Christmas. And, most importantly, it is the day in my father's faith that promises him he will see me again, and therefore me that I will see him again. My faith makes me that promise on other days and in other ways. But today is his promise, and I can't disregard that, lightly or otherwise.

So, today, I remember my father. The Weenie. And I throw open the windows, grateful I live in New Orleans, where it's warm enough to do that. And I'll clean house, because the house needs cleaning. And I'll probably eat some chocolate ~ although probably not cross-shaped or clasped hand-shaped chocolates, because that's just a little weird. It will be another day for me, but I will recognize that for others, some very important others, it is far, far more than that.

The Weenie and me, circa 1988 or '89
An oldie but a goodie
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

His Name Was Steven

*possible triggers herein*

Steven was a British teenager who was set on fire at a birthday party. He was gay. He was invited to a birthday party. And they set him on fire. I have wept daily over this young man's death. I can hardly write about him. Which is why I must. They invited him to a party and then they set him on fire because he was gay.

His name was Lawrence. He was a 15 year old 8th grader when he was shot in the back of the head, because he was gay.

His name was Anthony. He was 18 years old when he was beaten and stomped to death. Because he was gay.

His name is Caylend. He had "f**" written on him and was teased and humiliated all day at school. He's been attacked in the bathroom. Because he is believed to be gay.

Her name is Sondra. She was beaten to unconsciousness because she is a lesbian ~ who was also trying to defend a child being bullied for having two mothers.

Her name is Cheyenne. She was attacked and thrown off a cliff by classmates who have known her their entire lives. Because she is a lesbian. Her attackers were originally charged with attempted murder. It was reduced to menacing by the judge.

His name was Jadin. He hanged himself after years of being bullied because he was gay.

The right to marry is important. I get it. I do. I just also think there are other, more pressing issues. If it truly turns out to be the first step and the rallying cry, great. Something has to come first. I get that, too. I do.

Call me a cynic, but I don't believe that will be the case. I believe DOMA will be overturned, there will be much rejoicing, and the general population will lose interest. I want to be wrong. I will happily admit I was wrong ~ from the mountaintops ~ if I am. I just...*sigh*

Regardless, when we have children in the world being beaten, attacked, bullied to the point of suicide, and murdered, do not tell me that marriage is the key. Is the most important first step we could be taking. Or at least do not expect me to agree.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Crash and Burn

It happened this morning. My hard drive crashed. Luckily, I was (almost) entirely backed up, so I didn't lose much. None of my writing is gone, either because I backed it up or because I have emailed it. But I did lose some stuff: pictures taken since my last backup (a couple months ago). A couple folders of "little" stuff. Some silly downloads. Nothing worth crying over. But it got me thinking...

My mother is currently scanning pictures from 70 years ago. Longer. Pictures of my grandparents before my mother was born. Pictures of my grandmother as a young woman. She is able to scan them because we have them. Tangible, hard copies. Almost every picture I have taken in 2013 is gone. Pictures taken in 1949 still exist. How much other stuff are we going to lose access to as technology moves forward? 

Don't get me wrong; I embrace new tech. I really do. But maybe we don't have to throw out the old tech, just because something new comes along, either. I live in a world of "both" and that makes me very happy. 

I like photographs. And yes, I like being able to click through on my camera and show off a digital image and being able to upload them easily. You know me...both.

Those are grateful she didn't lose more than she did Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

143 Mr. Rogers

Happy Birthday, Mr. Rogers. You loved every single one of us, genuinely and unconditionally. You were the best of us. Thank you.

Watch A Message of Hope on PBS. See more from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.

Those are Mr. Rogers' thoughts. That will get you a whole lot more than coffee.

Monday, March 18, 2013

In Seconds, People. Seconds.

I was chatting with Lori the other night and admitted I own two blenders. Here's the real secret, though: I am now thinking about getting a third. Why? Because Lori said this: "So I bought a blender. Because it can turn ice into snow in seconds.

Oh my God.

Ice. Into snow. In seconds. I totally need one of these. I love frosty drinks. I live where it is hot, hot, hot. How do I not have one of these already?

The search was on. If you search sno-cone maker, you get something that looks like this:

An example of ice to snow. In seconds.
And costs anywhere from $1000 to a monthly salary. Huh. What about that. Since I'm not looking to cool off an entire elementary school, or intoxicate all of Cancun at spring break, perhaps something smaller. 

At which point, I found this:

The Margaritaville Margarita Maker
Now, far be it from me to give Jimmy Buffett margarita tips, but this thing costs anywhere between $450 and $550, depending on where you buy it. It's a fancified blender. That's it. It doesn't have to have the word "Margaritaville" on it in order to take me there. Although, the thing the man knows better than margaritas and music is money making, so maybe he doesn't need tips from me anyway...

Still, given that I already have two blenders that work perfectly well, maybe I don't have to have one that turns ice into snow in seconds. As it is, I can have a smoothie, a frozen lemonade, or yes, a margarita, in less than three minutes. I guess that's fast enough. And if I'm wrong, I can always go this route:

And I won't even feel guilty adding liquor!
Those are (admittedly envious) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Friday, March 15, 2013

On The Streets Of NOLA

Just to and from the grocery store this evening...

1. Two men, both very drunk, both with painted faces. One man to the other: "No, really, the turquoise butterfly is very butch."

2. Two women, having just stepped out of the hotel. "This town is so unreal. It's like Harry Potter here."

3. The same two women. A man in very nice dress shoes approaches from behind, and does the fast pass, leather soles clicking on the sidewalk. "Oh my God, that was a man! I thought it was a woman. Who knew men could sound like that? Do you know men could sound like that?"

I love my town.

Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ with some help from some tourists. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee, or perhaps butter beer.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

And while we're being all church-y and Christian-y and shit, there's this:


Yeah, folks, the world is a'changing.

Those are amused Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Habemus Papam

This Pagan is quite excited. Don't get me wrong ~ I know nothing about the new Pope, except what we all just learned: he's from Argentina; he's 76; he rides the bus at home. I'm still excited. He appears humble. He appears to be connected to the people in a way that is important. He is reported to be an intellectual. 

Why do I care? He is the leader of billions of people on the planet. That makes him important, regardless of your religion. The man's got power. Serious ass power.

Also, I have great affection for religious leaders. Priests (of all varieties), Imams, Rabbis, Nuns, Ministers, Priestesses ... I love them as a group. Of course, I have absolutely met religious leaders that I didn't like as people. As a group? Great affection. And I want them to love me, too. That's the kicker. 

It is hard to find a religious leader who loves me for me. Who accepts me for me. Who doesn't want to convert me, or fix me, or tell me I'm wrong. I'm Pagan. I'm female. I'm not exactly heteronormative. I associate with people who are even less traditionally religiously acceptable than I am, and none of us really give a damn.

For now, an hour into his...reign? term? appointment? whatever it's called... I will stay excited. Stay pleased. I pray to the Goddess that he is a good man, who will love me, as much as I want to love him.

Come on, Francis, I'm pulling for ya!

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

ETA at 4:22 ~ Well...shit. Apparently, he is openly anti-gay marriage. Honestly, this in and of itself is not a turning point for me. I don't happen to believe that marriage should be the most important issue facing the LGBTQ community. I'm more concerned with safety and job discrimination than just marriage. What is concerning to me is that he also considers gay adoption a form of discrimination against children. Hmmm... Okay, Francis, I've gone from pulling for you to praying for you. You can do this. You really, really can.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Huh, Who Knew?

My apologies to Nemeria, Grandma Carol, and Anonymous. Thanks to Nemeria, I have learned that some comments ~ very real, very not-spam comments ~ were marked as spam. I didn't even know comments *could* be marked as spam. Given some of the comments that have made it through, Blogger is going to spam them? Ah well. Hopefully, the issue is now handled.

And Grandma Carol, thanks for the comment relating my hair to Merida's. That made me very, very happy.

Those are unspammy Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Kind Of, Sort Of Movie Review: The Cabin in the Woods

With spoilers approaching rapidly, so read appropriately. which five stereotypes go to a remote cabin in the woods, and proceed to be killed off. And yet...

We learn early on that everything is being manipulated, from the cabin itself to the college kids, by an underground organization of (mainly) men in white shirts and black ala 1960s NASA. Eventually, we learn that these five are intentionally stereotypes ~ The Whore, The Athlete, The Scholar, The Fool, and The Virgin ~ which is a nice nod to understanding that, yes, indeed, five stereotypes walked into the woods.

Through a series of seemingly, and oh so not, random events, the stereotypes end up choosing how they die (Zombie Redneck Killing Family). What we learn eventually, though, is that just about every possible terrifying thing you can think of from your worst nightmares was an option. Things you didn't even know you were scared of were options. Kudos to the writers because they came up with the scary.

Which brings us to why I'm writing about it. One of the people high in the echelon of this movie is arachnophobic. The giant spider is there ~ it has to be ~ but only oh so vaguely. Blink and you miss it there. While we are watching every terrifying thing EVER kill huge numbers of people, the giant spider keeps not showing up. Eventually, we see two large, furry spider legs and a character take an ax to them, but aside from the legs, the rest of the spider is offscreen.

It is impossible for the writers and director to have left this one out. They had a child ballerina with a gaping maw of spiky teeth where her face should be for god's sake. They thought of "giant spider." But, as I have said for years, you never have to worry about being ambushed by a picture from an actual arachnophobe, because we don't post them. We don't make you look at them, because we cannot look at them. I think the same must apply to movies. No matter how scary, no matter how many phobic stereotypes you bring in, if you are arachnophobic, you don't add the spider. First time I've ever experienced it, and it was intriguing (I'm such a sociology nerd, I know).

To wrap up the review ~ which is totally secondary to the "huh, someone there was phobic" realization ~ the movie's pretty good, if you're into that kind of thing. It would've been much, much scarier if they had left out the part about the ancients and just let it be a psycho corporation doing it because they could. But maybe that's just me. Still, good flick and strongly delivered. With the bonus of not having to hide your eyes if you don't like spiders. If it's clowns or creepy white kids that get you though, know you're kind of fucked.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Saturday, March 09, 2013

Bits and Pieces

Once again, I have gone long enough without blogging, and little enough obvious has come up, that I am a bit overwhelmed. So, here are some random bits of babble. Nothing big enough for its own blog post, but little snippets that make their way through my brain...

Lithus has gotten his flight simulator up and running. I cannot wait to try it. :)

I have discovered the joys of time management games. It's the strangest thing; I love them. Not the ones where you have to make the burger or decorate the cakes. Those bore me. These are the ones where you have to complete certain tasks (build the road, collect the gold, save the bunnies, whatever) in a certain amount of time. It doesn't matter if it's an island kingdom or the roads to Rome or an evacuation of Atlantis, I'm hooked. Same game, different backgrounds. It doesn't matter; I love 'em.

A friend of mine from high school and I have gotten back in touch. We are like this ~ we can go literally for years. We always think we have lost the other one. Then, we haven't. And it is as if we talked last week. It's been ... four years?...this time. Doesn't matter.

I realize how often I write that about my friends. That I am back in touch with someone and it feels like yesterday. The FE; my Muppet; London. Now Starbuck. There's a reason I can say this so often: I am truly blessed. Blessed to have met some amazing people who love and value me as much as I love and value them. It isn't because I am nonchalant with the statement "oh, it was like yesterday!" It's because I take it so very seriously when it finds me.

As of this week, I can now do one set of 12 reps of pushups on my toes. They are the wimpiest, wussiest little pushups you have ever seen. My elbows barely bend. But they do bend. And then they straighten back up again. Considering that a year ago I started doing pushups against the wall because I couldn't do a single one, even on my toes, I am thrilled.

And because it's me, here are some lovely, lovely people to look at. Just for fun.

Hm. There should be more smiles up there, because nothing is sexier than a smile. Just look at Don Cheadle... Next time.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.