Thursday Threesome: Bed, bath, and beyond.
Apr 29, 2002
Sometimes, weekly questionnaires like this just fall flat on their faces. Other times, they’re interesting. More often, it’s a mixed bag. I’ll give this one a go and see what happens. As usual, all spelling corrected to conform to Canadian norms.
Onesome. Bed. You spend a few hours a night there, so tell us about your bed — size, favourite sheets, comforter…oh, and do you make it or leave it unmade?
I have a queensize futon that also converts into a couch…or at least, it has that capability. My comforter cover is blue, the comforter and great big heavy blanket are both king size, and I use king size pillows. And that’s all the detail I’m going to release until the coffee table book comes out.
Twosome. Bath. OK. How much time does it take you to get “ready” on the average day — from first step into the bathroom to stepping out fully dressed.
I admit it, I’m something of a hedonist. If I have the opportunity to take a long hot shower, I’ll do just that. I’ve actually got it baked into my morning schedule — I wake up a bit early just so I can take my time (and get all the *!&#%^ conditioner out of my hair.) Once I managed to get all through the routine in 10 minutes; but that was rather atypical. Average time getting ready is about 30 minutes. Most of that is spent in the shower.
Threesome. Beyond. What is your favourite room/area of your home? Tell us all about it.
Directly in front of my bookshelves, choosing what to read; or sitting on my sofa or in bed, reading whichever book caught my fancy that nanosecond.
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Yay, vicodin. The pain's still there, I just don't care quite as much.
Apr 26, 2002
Sorry I’ve been so quiet lately. I’m nursing a badly sprained ankle — I mean REALLY badly sprained. It’s been a week since the injury, and I’m barely able to use crutches. It isn’t a fracture, but it’s almost as bad. Moving this weekend will be interesting…
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Never say never, I suppose.
Apr 11, 2002
I dreamt last night that I was walking through my grandparents’ house. Some things were in boxes, some things were gone, but for the most part, the house was intact.
The rug in the living room was gone, as was the picture that hung over the sofa for decades. I sat in grandpa’s green rocker-chair that creaked every time he moved. His pipestand was on the little shelf next to his chair, and the TV remote was on the other table — just as things always were.
In the bathroom off of the kitchen, there were boxes and gym bags being packed with towels and linens.
Just off of the foyer, the two closets (though there was only ever one IRL) were filled with Christmas decorations, toys that we all played with when we were grandkids, and boxes and boxes of candles.
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Lyrics to some of the songs by Cirque du Solei, with occasional translations.
Mar 19, 2002
Kèro Hiréyo
From Varekai (buy this CD), lyrics by Violaine Corradi
Feel free to reuse this page for noncommercial purposes, but please remember:
All lyrics are copyright © Cirque du Soleil.
One day I found this on the zompist forums. They had gotten it from closer2myself, who had originally found it on a page that is no longer with us (actually, with some careful digging, I found it. Now I wonder why I bother displaying the Cirque lyrics...because this other site has them.) I have no idea what the lyrics mean, nor what language they're in.
Qué ferá iero zouno
Qué verrá iorro donihé ihé
De perraya hiero dono
Qué ferá iorro donihé ihéla
Dala hierro so que ré
Qué ferá iero zouno
Qué verrá ioro donihé ié ié hé
Ke ire yá
Su ferro soyero zouro
Selia — senyó
Querá hirré
Kèro hiréyo
Na hiré payá
Kere ho kere ho kere ho
Hierro ya hiré
Qué ferá iero zono
Qué verrá iorro donihé ihé ihé hé hé
Chorus:
Na na covanyo tango maño caro
Na na covanyo tango mahiña
(repeat)
De perraya hiero dono
Qué ferá iorro donihé ihé
Kerehiyo
Su ferró soyero souro
Selia
Nahí seyedou ma
Kèro hiréyo oro
Selioro
Keri eh rah ya
Kera hiré seyedou ma
Kerehirrehí
Qué ferá iero zouro
Qué verrá ioro donihé ihé ihé hé
Kerehirey
Su ferro soyero zouro
Selia — Senyó
Querá hirré
Kère — Selia
Na na covanyo tango maño caro
Na na covanyo tango mahiña
(repeat)
More..!
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Music by Sergei Prokofiev, lyrics by the Society for Creative Anachronism, rampant lunacy by you
Mar 19, 2002
This song has been termed The Viking Birthday Song, The Mongol Birthday Song, The Barbarian Birthday Song, and who knows how many other variations. It originated in the Society for Creative Anachronism — so blame them. Other verses exist somewhere out there in cyberspace, and you can make up your own; but these are the ones I learned. It’s sung to the tune of “The Volga Boatmen”. If you’ve got an energetic/overstimulated crowd of people who don’t mind Attracting Attention To Themselves, include a sound effect after each “happy birthday!” (bang mugs on the tabletop, growl, whatever makes you dizzy with delight.)
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Death, destruction, and despair, People dying everywhere
On your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
May the candles on your cake burn like cities in your wake
On your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Birthdays come but once a year marking time as Death draws near
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Now that you’re the age you are your demise cannot be far
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Black Death has just struck your town you yourself feel quite run-down
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
So far Death you have bypassed — don’t look back, he’s gaining fast
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
When you’ve reached this age you know that the mind is first to go
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday never fear, you’ll be dead this time next year
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
We brought linen, white as cloud for the sewing of your shroud
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
While you eat your birthday stew, we will loot the town for you
On your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
This one lesson you must learn: First you pillage, then you burn
On your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Burn, then rape by firelight; add _romance_ to life tonight
On your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Your servants steal, your wife’s untrue, your children plot to murder you
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Just be glad the friends you’ve got haven’t found out you-know-what
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
You must marry very soon — baby’s due by next full moon
On your Birthday! But Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
May your deeds with sword and axe equal those with sheep and yaks
On your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Let the women wail and weep, kill them all, but SAVE THE SHEEP
For your Birthday! Oh Happy Birthday!
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David Brin's precision short story about epilepsy, auras, altered states, and space travel
Mar 16, 2002
David Brin is a scientist and an excellent writer. This precision short story is part of the collection River of Time.
This story copyright © 1987 by David Brin.
“Folks!” the bodyguard announced. “In moments Lasselovsky will be here. You all know what that means.”
From my regular booth by the window, I saw several customers abruptly leave. The brave, or curious, remained.
“He’s the Oldtime spacer who returned, but didn’t hide, right?” Sam, our bartender, asked.
“Yeah, so don?t bother him! If anyone here strongly resembles someone from his past, and triggers a deja-vu attack, we could find this building on another planet…”
Deja vu. I suppose everyone’s felt this clue to Time’s true nature. Epileptics once dreaded it as an “aura,” foretelling seizures. And historically, people feared epilepsy, never suspecting grand mal hinted a door to the universe. Today only Oldspacers suffer lingering aura shock. I hear neuroconvulsive hyperdrive is perfected nowadays. Modern pilots needn’t endure terrifying seizures to attain that special mental state which propels a spaceship starward. To modern spacers, induced deja vu is a key. To Oldtimers, though, it’s pure terror.
“...sudden recognition could trigger a jump seizure. So don’t approach him. If he feels safe, maybe he’ll mingle…” Talky bodyguard. Most Oldtimers retreated to cozy surroundiings and stayed put. Ex-crewmates avoid reunions.
Stubborn Lasselovsky, though, keeps moving. He’s a free man, so the authorities send bodyguards ahead to warn people.
Time’s funny. It flows, then surges like a convulsion. I sit and wait, feeling the years. Through the window, I see a familiar face.
“Captain…?”
I should have left before this. Already my hands are shaking. Still, it is nice to see, again, the stars.
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